[Location: Streak’s Hideaway???, Date: Unknown, Time: Late Off-cycle, Status: 0 errors detected]
“Cozy hideout you got here.”
Streak rolls his helm to look at me, optics bright and spun wide. His weapons do not activate; his wings remain relaxed, even giving a pleased flutter. He grins and lazily stretches; my spark stutters.
“Sol...Sol...Sol, sneaking out under Squad-Command’s nose. Who’s covering if we both out here?”
Despite his words, Streak gestures me over to his gaudy nest of mesh and over-sized pillows. I lay down on my ventral plating beside his legs; a wandering servo strokes across my closest wing, too friendly even for Streak.
“Dabbling in throttles again?”
“Called Dreamware...suits it. Not a shareable version, sorry.”
I lay my helm on my forearms and look up at him. It’s the most relaxed and open he’s appeared all astroweek, void of the tight, pinched faceplates and stiff irritated wing flicks. He looks like I could tell him anything, and he’d forgive me in an instant.
“Your helm must be twenty hics up right now, but we need to talk about something. That’s why I snuck out.”
“Not right now.” The slide of his servo on my wing is comforting, practically lulling me into recharge. “Standby me when they chew us out tomorrow?”
“Don’t I always?”
He squeezes my wing by way of reply and starts humming some soft, optimistic tune I don’t recognize.