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Optimus stood in his quarters, looking at the stars through the window.
Tomorrow would be his orn off. Usually, he would refuse to take such big breaks, citing the enormous amounts of work he had to deal with to keep the war efforts going, but this time Ratchet had been unrelenting. The medic would usually put up with his antics, albeit with a wrench or two to the helm for good measure, but not this time.
“YOU HAVEN’T HAD A PROPER DEFRAG CYCLE IN VORNS! IF YOU SHOW UP TO THE COMMAND CENTRE TOMORROW, I WILL PERSONALLY ARRANGE YOU A MEETING WITH PRIMUS!”
Optimus couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. After he had been escorted to his habsuite, Ratchet had promptly handed him a bottle of very strong enjex and walked off muttering about how he was a medic not a sparklingsitter.
The Prime stared at the bottle of bright pink alcohol in his servo. He had the distinct feeling that it was mocking him.
Optimus shook his helm, took a cube and poured some in it. He couldn’t just let perfectly good high grade go unappreciated.
He opened his mask for what felt like the first time in vorns and took a sip. The liquid was bitter, it burned when he swallowed. Just like he liked it.
Optimus settled on his berth, leaning against the wall as he took another swing from it. It was strong, probably one from Ratchet’s personal stash. He always did love a drink that could knock a bot off their pedes.
‘Quite the medicinal remedy, old friend.’ he could imagine the medic’s trademark scoff and optic roll at the words.
He took his time drinking. For once, he didn’t feel the need to hurry.
After the second cube, the silence in his suite became unbearable. He needed a distraction from the hollowness in his spark.
Optimus got up and went over to the crate on the other side of the room and kneeled before it, placing the cube beside it. It’s been a while since he’d had the chance to listen to music.
He opened the lid and took out the small speaker that took up most of the space inside, along with a cable which he connected to his personal datapad.
As he scrolled through the songs, a feeling of nostalgia overcame him. He grabbed the forgotten cube, chugged the rest of the liquid inside it and made his way to the berth.
As the Prime settled back in, he pressed the shuffle button on the playlist and reached for the bottle of high grade. A slow ballad began to play, one that he recognised from an old opera he had once attended. It was a song about love, loss and guilt. Three emotions he was very well aquatinted with.
As the song played, he reached for his cube, intending to refill it, but in the last moment decided against it.
He took a swig from the bottle and let the melody wash over him. The buzz in his systems had been growing steadily with every cube he drank. How many had that been anyways? Two? Three? Did it matter? Ratchet had given him the high grade for a reason so he might as well drink all of it.
As the songs changed, Optimus found himself singing along to the lyrics, most of which were rather melancholic.
The Prime almost choked on his drink when a Tarnian song came on. He reached to put on the next one but froze in place as the mech began to sing. He sang of hardships and hope, of how after every starless night came the sun. The words felt familiar and yet so foreign.
Optimus felt grateful that every habsuite was soundproof both inside and out as he began to sing along, his voice reverberating through the small berthroom. Tears welled up in his optics as a new song came on, another Tarnian one. There were so very few ever made, how come two played one after the other?
He couldn’t stop himself from singing, it was Megatron’s favourite, after all.
The memory of the two of them dancing slowly, his ex-lover singing lovingly to him broke whatever little strength he still had. Optimus put his face in his servos and sobbed, the almost empty bottle forgotten. His tears fell freely as he cried his spark out.
Where had everything gone wrong? Why couldn’t they resolve things peacefully? So many lost, so many dying because he couldn’t stop the Descepticons. It was futile, he knew that well, but held on in hope – his stupid, ridiculous hope – that he would change Megatron’s mind, would stop this senseless and slow extermination of their species from the universe.
For all his hope, for all his sacrifices, he would try one more time. That’s what he always said to himself. He couldn’t just let all his hard work be in vain, he would try one more time and maybe, just maybe, finally realise that it was futile and deal the final blow.
But until that day, he would hope against all odds and cry to their favourite song.