Log 21: I think I'm a kobd fic writer now...
okay listen. i don’t mean to sound unprofessional, but i am one more smirk away from losing my entire neural processor.
knockout and breakdown have been unbearable lately. like, i get it. they’re close. they’re partners. they’ve been through a lot. respect. solidarity. whatever.
but today in the medbay? breakdown was sitting on the berth, looking all bashful (yes, bashful, like a sparkdamn sparkling), and knockout was polishing his armor with that look — you know the one, all smug and delicate and entirely too slow. They stared into each other's optics for hours.
Hours.
i am a professional soldier. i have fought autobots. i have flown through laser fire. i have seen megatron bench-press an entire corridor. and yet nothing has emotionally destabilized me like watching those two flirt.
they do it everywhere. in the halls. in the rec room. over comms. yesterday, knockout said, “breakdown, darling, be careful with your hands.” and i SWEAR half the crew short-circuited.
the worst part? they’re not even subtle about it. like. please. i’m BEGGING. get a room. or at least a private comm channel.
i thought i was imagining it at first, but then i caught starscream watching them too. he had this face like he was offended by their happiness. which honestly, mood.
so yeah, i’ve been taking notes. not because i care. just, you know, for… morale documentation. observation logs. totally official stuff.
…except i may have started writing dialogue. and scene descriptions. and a little bit of emotional tension because apparently i have issues.
genre: enemies-to-lovers-but-not-really-because-they-already-are. tags: slow burn, unresolved tension, weapon polishing as foreplay, fluff with occasional explosions.
i told soundwave as a joke and he sent me a 3-second clip of knockout saying “breakdown, you complete me.” i think that was encouragement? or blackmail material.
point is, i think i get humans now. i used to wonder why they wrote fanfiction. now i know: sometimes reality is too much, and you just have to process it through badly disguised literary therapy.
so yeah. if anyone asks, i’m working on a strategic morale report. if anyone sees my datapad open to a document titled “scene 4: the polish confession,” no, you didn’t.
