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You’ve been Swerve’s loyal bar assistant for much too long to be unable to tell when something was wrong.
You noticed whenever the smile on his faceplate faltered the smallest bit when whatever group of bots he was speaking to easily dismissed him, and how the smile returned to his face in the blink of an eye as he made his way to the other side of the bar.
You noticed the way he cleaned every glass in his hand for a just a little too long, any trace of engex long since scrubbed away with his hand towel, a smile on his face despite the way he stared into seemingly nothing.
You noticed when, after last call for the night came and went and everyone started making their way out of the bar, he stopped saying goodbye. Stopped wishing everyone well. Stopped making conversation to the very last minute. Eventually, he simply stuck to giving you a wave as you tidied up your things— until he started leaving before you could even say goodbye first, that is.
All with that same damned smile.
Something was most definitely wrong with Swerve. Yet he made no move to show it, or ask for some kind of help.
It appeared that, out of all of the sentient beings upon the Lost Light, it was the little fleshing human who needed to make that first step. And so, you did.
The unmistakable smell of high-grade filling your nostrils as it always did when you entered Swerve’s, you caught Swerve busying himself behind the bar— making sure every container of every brand of engex and similar drinks were filled to their brims, but not before grabbing a glass and topping one off for himself.
Reaching the top of the teeny set of stairs Nautica had graciously built for you on either side of the bar after your embarrassing first few days of working at Swerve’s— asking for a ride to the countertop every day tended to make you feel just a bit too pitiful for your liking— you flinched back as Swerve slid the glass to the end of the counter where you finished your climb. The pint glass slows to a stop just before you, pink fluid spilling on either side from the reckless motion, thankfully none getting on you. You instinctively bounce on your toes to peek over the glass and glare at Swerve, but the glass was a relative couple of feet taller than you, so you opt for the next best thing and peek around the side.
Swerve was already looking in your direction— likely looking to see if his slide would have knocked the glass clear off the table and into a sharp, pink mess on the floor below— so you can see as his optical ridges raise themselves at the sight of you. “Oh, hey! My favorite little bartender!”
Seeing that signature grin on his face, you couldn’t keep your glare up for much longer. You deflate into a chuckle, sidestepping the glass and showing yourself fully to him. “You’re here early,” Swerve adds. “I usually don’t see you till just a couple minutes before we open.” As he speaks, Swerve steps towards you, reaching for his drink and taking a chug. “What’s the occasion, little guy? Finally wanted to try something here for yourself?”
“For the millionth time— as much as I’d like to, no, it would kill me,” you snort, and Swerve laughs along with you. “I just… wanted to stop by early. See the master at work as he sets up shop.”
Swerve makes an interested little noise, shrugging as he takes another sip. “Well, you ain’t gonna’ see much. What you see now is all you’re gonna’ get.”
“I don’t care,” you say, a little more intensely this time, and the way Swerve’s glass slowly falls from his dermas makes you know you’ve hit something. “I’m here for you.”
And, for the first time, you see an expression fall upon Swerve’s face that you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before.
He appeared pensive.
While you could only see yourself and the rest of the bar reflected in the mirror of his big, blue visor— somehow, you could tell his optics were focused directly on you. You wished this moment could grow, and if not, that it could last at least freeze and last forever— this moment of openness Swerve finally allowed himself to share with you.
Yet, as quickly as it came, it was gone.
The mech resets his vocalizer, a slick smile quickly spreading across his face as he finishes off the last of his drink. “Jeez, how sweet of ya’ to take interest in little ol’ me,” he jokes, and your shoulders sag as you know the moment has passed. Drink finished, he brings the empty glass to the little sink behind the bar and begins to rinse it off. “But there’s a reason I don’t really ask you to come until we’re just about to open. I don’t really have anything for you to do.”
The minibot had deflected your words— changed the path you set into something he could more easily traverse. While you were itching to dig deeper, truly ask him what was wrong, Swerve was at least somewhat correct. The bar was going to open soon, and you couldn’t very well have a heart-to-spark with drunken bots running around, asking for their fourth round of drinks.
So, you waited.
Hours passed by quickly at Swerve’s, but that’s how it always seemed to go. You made quick work of washing up any dirty glasses, leaving them on a small drying rack for Swerve to pick up and completely dry off whenever he needed one. And if you weren’t doing that, you were scrambling across the bar countertop, taking orders and making small talk with the wide variety of patrons.
It was a routine you had grown not only used to, but grown to love. The lively atmosphere of Swerve’s always got you in a good mood, and the constant bustle got your adrenaline pumping in just the right way. Of course, though, hearing the sound of Swerve’s deep belly laugh echo from behind you from your spot at the counter was the best part. Hearing Swerve really be in his element and socializing with everyone else made your heart soar— you loved seeing him so happy, without a care in the world.
But now, knowing that none of it was genuine? All of his smiles, jokes, and laughs— all of it just being a way for him to make sure no one suspected a thing about him?
It tore you up inside.
So when the final customer was finally escorted out of the bar by one of their friends— he had gotten too drunk to walk himself— you whipped your head around to try and catch Swerve before he could leave without a word once again. Much to your relief, you found him setting down the last set of dry glasses beneath the bar, and you made your way to the spot on the counter where Swerve’s helm would lift up when he was finished.
“Swerve,” you begin solemnly, and the minibot jumps back in his place in surprise.
He quickly raises his helm, a mix of terror and confusion on his faceplate— only for him to relax when he sees just who it is. “Oh, it’s just you!” He makes a show of ex-venting, and you can feel the cool wind of his internal fans blow past you, rustling your clothes and hair. “We’re closin’ up shop here now, you don’t gotta’ stick around.”
And there it was again, that same deflection tactic. But you weren’t going to let it slide this time. “We need to talk.”
The jokey smile on his face fell as quickly as it returned in the very next moment, though it looked like the furrows in his optical ridges were there to stay. “Uh, what’s up, bud?”
“Swerve,” you repeat his name, hoping the darkness of your tone would assure him he could be honest, “are you okay?”
And Swerve laughs. His optical ridges are turned in confusion now as he chuckles. “What?” He breathes, “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine,” You approach his face, and the minibot pulls back. “I can tell.” You see him open his intake to speak, begin to move his servos to gesticulate as he talks, but you resolve to get the truth out of him no matter what. “You aren’t happy.”
There were many words you could have said. You could have pointed out every little mood adjustment he’d made in the last week, every little gesture he’d done to indicate he wasn’t quite all there— yet, you hit him with the simplest truth there was.
And for someone as verbose as Swerve, it made a surprising impact.
Instantly, the smile on his faceplate disappears, a faint frown in its place. He stammers for a minute, voice box cutting in and out with static, and it’s only when you stepped forward once more and cupped his massive face in your tiny hands that he stops.
“It’s okay to not be happy,” you whisper gently, only being able to speak so low thanks to the proximity. “You’re there for everyone, and you think no one’s there for you. And while that’s not true, the mind is a funny thing. Even if you think you have no one else who truly cares about you, I want you to know…” you incline yourself head forwards, bumping your forehead against Swerve’s.
“I’ll always be here for you.”
You don’t even have time to process the movement as you’re suddenly lifted into the air and pulled forwards into something smooth and warm. A familiar white surrounds you, and a red appears at your back, and it’s only when you see your own reflection above you in blue that you realize what has happened.
Swerve had scooped you up into his servos and pressed you tightly against the cheek of his faceplate.