Curate, connect, and discover
Chapter ?: “You Poor, Single Aft”
Peace was supposed to be quiet.
Not easy—but quiet.
Instead, Optimus stood in the center of the High Council chamber, optics dim with exhaustion, surrounded by squabbling diplomats and far too much polished stone. He kept his expression neutral, his shoulders squared.
The Matrix, nestled within his chest, pulsed.
Warmth spread through his spark—sudden, sharp, and intense.
He froze.
A powerful wave of longing rolled through his core, unfamiliar and dizzying. A vision bloomed behind his optics unbidden. —hands cupping a face —foreheads pressed together —a kiss that made the world still
Optimus inhaled sharply.
To his right, Ratchet gave him a concerned glance. “Headache?”
“…No,” he said quickly. “The Matrix is… active today.”
Ratchet stared. “Active as in ‘wisdom of the ancients’ or active as in… well—you’re blushing.”
“I am not—” Optimus stopped himself. Recalibrated. Lowered his voice. “I am simply… warm.”
Ratchet did not look convinced.
Across the chamber, the diplomats debated the stability of Kaon’s outer bridges. Optimus tried to listen—he truly did—but then another wave hit him. This time, it came not as heat but a heartbeat. Not his. Someone else’s. Deep, slow. A familiar rhythm.
His optics flicked up—unthinkingly—searching for the source.
And found Megatron.
The ex-warlord stood in the far corner, arms folded, posture stiff and proud, optics flicking over the chamber like a bored cat sizing up lesser beings. The light caught along the silver of his plating. His scowl was… elegant. Unmoving.
The Matrix surged.
Another image. —Megatron, laughing, hand resting on Optimus’ chest —Megatron asleep, curled beside him —Megatron in a flowing silver cape, walking down an aisle of light—toward him
Optimus’s field jolted. He staggered.
Megatron’s head turned sharply, optics narrowing.
“…Is something wrong, Prime?”
Optimus scrambled for composure. “No,” he managed, voice thick. “Everything is… functioning.”
Megatron looked him over with that intense gaze that made Optimus feel picked apart, examined down to his smallest screws.
“You were staring,” Megatron said slowly.
“Was I?” Optimus asked too quickly. “I wasn’t. I was looking—past you.”
“There’s no one behind me.”
“Ah.” Optimus’s hands twitched. “So there isn’t.”
Ratchet leaned closer. “Do I need to drag you to medbay?”
“No,” Optimus said a little too fast.
The Matrix pulsed again, hotter this time—almost desperate. Longing coiled in his spark, visceral and aching. Not just his. It felt like someone else’s, too. Someone hollow. Waiting.
His optics drifted back to Megatron.
Megatron was staring again, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suspicion and… confusion?
Another image burst behind Optimus’s optics. —his own hand brushing the side of Megatron’s face —Megatron’s lips parting in surprise, leaning in —the feeling of something clicking into place, finally, completely—
Optimus forced a breath. “We should revisit the Kaon bridge plans later.”
One of the diplomats looked up in confusion. “But we haven’t finished—”
Megatron’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “Kaon is mine. You do not reroute anything without my explicit approval.”
The Matrix responded instantly.
A final image—this one hazy but heavy with feeling—Megatron curled against his side, breath soft, whispering something into his chest.
Optimus didn’t hear the words. But his spark clenched like it already knew them.
He blinked hard. “Meeting adjourned.”
And walked out—face calm, expression unreadable.
Even as his spark roared.
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The matrix ships it and has begun actively trying to do something.