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"Optimus, what time is it?"
The hum of tarmac disappearing beneath the tires of his alt-mode form seemed to form a strange baseline to the alien rhythms of his engine, of the subtle sounds that Y/N couldn't quite pinpoint because she knew so little about engines and less about Cybertronians.
"It is eleven-forty-seven," he said, the deep, resonant baritone vibrating through the sleeper cab. Y/N blinked, staring into the dark cab.
She'd been trying to sleep for almost two hours.
"Oh my god," she groaned into the thin pillow. Despite the how cool the cab was sweat slicked her skin. "Optimus, will it mess anything up if I turn on the radio?"
"No. Why?"
"Can't sleep." Can't sleep for shit, apparently. "Figure music might help." Might. If I can find a classical music station. "Will you still be able to talk to me?"
"Yes. I will simply 'comandeer' one of the speakers if it is necessary."
Y/N rolled out of the bed and crossed the cabin. The feeling of floor moving-and-not-mobing under her feet was strange to say the least.
The dashboard was lit by blue light the same shade as his optics in his default form. The radio, too, was backlit in blue; black numbers dark against the blue. As Y/N pressed the PWR-marked button, static-fuzzed pop blared over the speakers, startling her badly enough she stumbled backward and landed flat on her rear.
Ow.
"Are you alright?" Optimus rumbled, concern lacing his baritone voice.
"Fine," she said ruefully, rising awkwardly. "Just being silly."
She fiddled with the controls, searching in vain for a station that wasn't too static-blurred and actually had something decent on.
"I miss you, I miss you--"
"--more dry weather fore--"
"--drag me away from yooouuuuu--"
Y/N sighed and let the strains of Africa buzz through the speakers, her face cradled in her hands.
"I bless the rains down in Africa..."
"I feel awful," she muttered.
"Why?"
Y/N cringed. Had she really said that out loud? " 'S nothing. Stupid."
Optimus said nothing. Y/N wondered if he was waiting for her to elaborate or if the clumsy deflection had worked. She wondered which she would rather it be.
How much should she tell him? How much could she tell him?
"I just worry," she said awkwardly. Worry obsessively. "About... y'know, about my family."
"Are they in some sort of trouble?"
"No! No, no, that's why I said it was stupid. Everyone's fine, everyone's safe and I'm so anxious I feel sick! Stupid, paranoid 'what-ifs' and stupid me not being able to ignore them..."
The radio switched off of its own accord, leaving only the strange rhythms of Cybertronian inner workings. Y/N squirmed, well aware his attention was now focused on her.
"...I can't explain it," she mumbled awkwardly. "I… told you it was stupid."
There was a measuring, assessing sort of quiet.
"Can I help?" he asked.
Not really. "You can tell me in that deep, strong, oh-so-reassuring voice of yours that everything is OK."
He chuckled. "Very well. 'Everything is OK.' Did that work?"
Y/N offered a little, half-hearted smile. "Maybe a little bit. Thank you, Optimus."
She could hear the tiny smile in his voice. "You are welcome, Y/N. I advise you attempt recharge again, and if you have any more problems, I am here."
Why, you big old softie. "Thanks Optimus."