It's not as though it was terribly difficult to find the shuttle. The Harold could find anymech easily enough if he cared enough to. That did not mean that he had the gumption to actually approach.
It was some dump of a bar on a little moon of no consequence besides passing travelers. The shuttle was hunched over his drink, absorbed in his own thoughts from the looks of him. Starscream sat looking at him from the far corner, optics glowing morosely the more he looked. He was starting to wish he hadn't come. He glared hatefully at the table in front of him, mouth twisting and pursing, digits scratching against the surface anxiously.
This had been a terrible idea. He stood up, jostling the table violently as he did, pushing mechs out of his way as he headed for the door. He swiped at his face when, to his astonishment, his optics started leaking. There wasn't any point. There just wasn't any damn point.