Late-Night love confession — @flightofthestarscream
Late nights was a commonality, dare he say, a staple for Shockwave. He's burned through moonlight more often than he does the sun, always chasing the quiet hours to work diligently on his endless stack projects.
And, more aptly, he had always spent these long hours alone. It had been this way since he was abandoned on Cybertron and it didn't change so much when he returned to the Nemesis, save for the occasional guard that would be stationed outside of his lab after normal patrol hours. Vehicons didn't constitute for much company, as they were often mute or too terrified to speak to one of the few High Command.
That did change, much against Shockwave's best interest, in the shape of a sleek grey-metal Seeker. Given the sort of clumsy nonsense and absolute theatrics driven by his pride, the scientist wanted nothing of him anywhere near his work. He'd have half the mind to toss him into the cage with Predaking and have filth sort itself out — but he wouldn't dare inconvenience his predacon such a way.
Yet, someway, somehow, he found himself beginning to rely on the bot. At times, he'd often wonder where the other had been when he didn't report to his main lab. A servo twitching when the Seeker would be too hasty to contest their leader, wanting to anchor him back from trouble. A searching optic in drawing near him.
It was maddening and Shockwave tried to write it off as a sort of sickness clouding his clarity. But, even he was too smart to fool himself, easy and convenient it would be to pack away these pesky... emotions.
He had to call it for what it was because Primus forbid he say so, he felt his spark misstep from its steady thrum over absolute nonsense. It was nothing important, just Starscream solving a long-form equation for quantum jumping; it was less the success of his solving and more the usual crowding into Shockwave's space with optics expectant of praise. Actually, it was the elation. The bot carried this sort of energy about his work Shockwave seems to have missed since the falling of the Golden Age.
" Starscream, " he called to SIC, nudging into his space this time, with a gentle caress of his knuckle over an onyx shoulder pauldron. He couldn't divine whether the other had fallen into rest or was choosing to ignore him in the usual fashion, but he continued, wanting to rid himself of these words that threaten to claw out of his throat daily, " I do not care if you reciprocate me. I do not care to know your thoughts. If your response is unsavory, keep it to yourself. "
" You've smitten me. It has become a plague on my conscious. I want nothing to do with it, nor you, yet I do. I'm contesting my own nature about how I feel about you when such workplace fraternization is decidedly unprofessional. I want you to stay with me for the rest this war, and should we survive into the peaceful era, for the rest of our lives. My day is never dull with you and I've come to appreciate those underappreciated values about you. I think I could learn to love more, if you'd let me. "
He stops the flow of foul prose, waiting for violent rejection or anything, but waited a second too long to discover he actually didn't want to know at all. He'll pull away, escaping the situation before the mistake haunts him — because as he said, he did not care to know.
