Chapter Text
Skyfire could safely say he had never imagined any of this being possible. Once, he was just a simple delivery shuttle, living tucked away in the slums of Altihex. His days were spent ferrying important mechs from city to city, delivering cargo across planetary borders — always carrying others to their ambitions while feeling as though he had none of his own. When he wasn’t working, he was locked away inside his crumbling apartment, peering out at the chaos of the streets below and finding peace only in the distant glows of the sunset.
Now... now he was in his second stellar cycle at the Iacon Academy of Science and Technology — a place where only the brightest minds of Cybertron gathered. A place he had once thought was meant for others, not for someone like him. And yet, here he was, not just surviving, but thriving, participating in experiments and innovations he had once only dreamed of witnessing from afar.
But perhaps the most miraculous thing of all wasn’t the academy, nor the education. It was Starscream.
His partner. His courted.
A seeker who, when they had first met, had greeted him with icy optics and scathing remarks. A firestorm in frame and spirit — snappish, sharp, burning so hot he seemed almost untouchable. Starscream was everything Skyfire wasn’t: brilliant, loud, radiant, and unafraid to demand a place in a world that was all too eager to crush those who dared to rise. He was stubborn and prideful, with a temper that could light the skies aflame — and Skyfire loved him for it, loved him with the same intensity he once reserved only for distant sunsets.
And right now, that same intensity was very much on display — though in a way Skyfire rather wished it wasn’t.
It was Swampbell again. The small, scrappy mech who seemed to have made it his personal mission to harass the flyers at every possible opportunity. Starscream, to no one's surprise, was ready to meet the challenge head-on.
"I always knew you were an idiot," Starscream snarled, his wings rigid and quivering with fury. "But I didn't realize you were disgusting as well!"
Swampbell sneered, his stance low and mocking. "What? You saying it isn't true? All you seekers are the same. Feral. Barely more than glitch-rats with wings."
"Feral?" Starscream's voice cracked into a disbelieving laugh, as sharp as broken glass. "You've never even seen a seeker besides me!"
"And one's plenty enough!"
Skyfire saw it happen before it even fully unfolded — Starscream’s frame tensing, his hands curling into trembling fists, wings flaring like a warning banner. He was seconds away from lunging, ready to let Swampbell feel every ounce of the rage burning inside him.
Without thinking, Skyfire moved between them, a practiced motion born of far too many similar incidents. He placed a broad servo on Starscream’s chestplate, grounding him gently.
It wasn’t that Swampbell didn’t deserve a thrashing. Skyfire knew without question that whatever insult had sparked this latest eruption hadn’t been minor — the evidence was scattered around them. Crushed and twisted on the polished floor were the remains of one of Starscream’s latest projects, a small prototype the seeker had poured so many hours into.
The shuttle's spark ached at the sight. He knew how much work Starscream had put into it — the late nights, the careful adjustments, the rare moments when he'd beam with pride as he explained the intricate details of its inner workings.
None of the nearby grounders milling around seemed remotely interested in intervening. In fact, most looked the other way, a few sneering or exchanging pointed glances, like this was just another expected show from the 'problematic' flyers.
Skyfire tightened his hand against Starscream’s chestplate, feeling the rapid, shallow vents rattling beneath his touch.
"You’re better than him," he said softly, just for Starscream's audials. "You always have been."
And he meant it. Starscream was a storm, yes — but he was also brilliant, creative, stubbornly compassionate in ways he refused to admit. Skyfire could see the cracks where the academy's prejudice tried to wear him down, but the seeker never let it show. He fought back every single time, even when it left scars nobody else seemed to care about.
Starscream’s glare didn’t falter — sharp and smoldering — but Skyfire had long since learned to read the subtler signs hidden in that fire. The restless twitch of a wingtip, the tight pull at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t angry at Skyfire — no, this was frustration, helplessness, and humiliation all tangled together in a knot he didn’t know how to untie.
Skyfire turned then, slow and deliberate, facing Swampbell with an uncharacteristic chill. His usual warmth drained from his voice as he said, "If you’re done harassing him, don’t you have a class to get to?"
Swampbell bristled, baring his denta in a sneer. "What? This doesn’t concern you, giant freak!"
Before Starscream could lunge — and he would have, Skyfire had no doubt — the shuttle caught him with a gentle but firm hand, anchoring him back.
"And yet," Skyfire said, his tone steady and almost eerily calm, "you insist on making our business yours — stomping on others whenever you think you can get away with it."
Swampbell opened his mouth as if to spit out another insult but stopped short under Skyfire’s level stare. There was no threat in it — Skyfire didn’t need to threaten. His sheer size spoke louder than any words could. Skyfire had never so much as lifted a servo against anyone, but everyone at the academy knew he wouldn’t tolerate cruelty, not toward himself — and definitely not toward his friends.
Swampbell scoffed, giving a half-hearted glare before turning on his heel. "Let’s go," he muttered, his usual little pack of followers trailing obediently after him.
"Coward," Starscream hissed under his breath, wings twitching as he glared after them. Then, reluctantly, he crouched to gather the shattered remnants of his project, scattered like broken dreams across the floor.
Skyfire knelt down beside him without a word, gently helping to collect the crushed components.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, knowing full well that Starscream wasn’t— but needing to ask anyway.
He could see it in the way Starscream’s jaw tightened, in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly. There was a spark of anger there — hot and wild — looking for a target. Skyfire braced for it, prepared to weather it if he had to. But Starscream didn’t unleash it, not on him. Never on him.
Instead, the seeker drew in a sharp vent and growled low, "This puts me behind. And they won’t care — if anything, they’ll probably reward that scrapheap!"
Skyfire straightened, offering a steadying hand to help him up. Starscream allowed it without protest, carefully gathering the ruined pieces into his subspace.
"How much time do you have left?" Skyfire asked.
"It was supposed to be ready tomorrow," Starscream spat, his voice rough with frustration. He let out a sound that could only be described as a distressed screech — one of those uniquely seeker sounds that Skyfire found strangely endearing. "I can't afford the grade! What if they think I’m unreliable? What if I lose my spot on the next expedition?!"
Skyfire shook his head firmly. "That won't happen, Starscream. Bias or not, they know you're brilliant. They can't ignore that."
He watched the way those words worked their slow magic. Compliments always softened Starscream’s edges, even if he pretended otherwise. His wings sagged slightly, some of the fury bleeding out of his frame.
"Unless I can fix this," Starscream muttered, glancing toward his subspace like he could will the broken project back into working order, "none of that matters."
"Then we’ll fix it," Skyfire said simply. "Two minds are better than one, right?"
Starscream frowned, wary. "You can’t. You have your own work to do. I won’t be responsible for you falling behind."
Skyfire just shrugged, easy and warm. "I'm ahead on my assignments. I’ve got time to help. Besides…" He smiled a little sheepishly. "We are courted. Helping each other is part of the deal, isn’t it?"
For a beat, Starscream just stared at him — and then, finally, the tension cracked. The seeker let out a reluctant chuckle, small but genuine, the barest smile tugging at his mouth.
"I suppose it is, my helpful shuttle," he purred. "Alright. You’ve convinced me. But—" he held up a taloned digit for emphasis, "if you have anything else that needs doing, you’re not to waste your time on me."
Skyfire grinned, his spark swelling at the affection buried in those bossy words. "Of course, my fiery seeker."
Starscream snorted, wings flicking in amusement. "Sap."
"Hey," Skyfire said, laughing softly, "you started it."
Their path took them to the edge of the academy’s sprawling grounds, where their personal lab sat tucked away like a secret — a modest structure, out of sight and mind for most. Skyfire often suspected that the administration had placed them here not out of kindness, but because some mechs still stirred up a fuss about flyers "intruding" on sacred academic spaces. No matter how much they proved themselves, no matter how many top marks or groundbreaking projects they produced, prejudice clung stubbornly to the walls of the Academy like rust.
Skyfire didn’t dwell on it — not today. Because this space, at least, was theirs.
Starscream led the way, his sharp steps quick across the worn path. He pressed his wrist against the scanner, the familiar buzz answering, followed by a soft hiss as the airlock opened. They slipped inside, the doors sealing shut behind them, muffling the outside world away.
Inside, their lab was a controlled chaos of creativity. Tables and counters were cluttered with half-finished models, scattered datapads, and a mess of components that only they could decipher. Projects both assigned and dreamed up on sleepless nights shared space here — evidence of their curiosity, their ambition, and the way they pushed each other further with every passing cycle.
There were two small adjoining rooms — one for each of them — but everyone close to them knew Starscream's was mostly for show. More often than not, the seeker ended up curled against Skyfire on the oversized berth they'd customized for his larger frame, wings tucked close, comforted by the shuttle’s steady presence.
The heart of the lab, though — the thing no visitor could ever miss — was the glass capsule standing proudly near the back wall. Inside it, under carefully calibrated lights and atmosphere controls, a Vosian crystal flower bloomed. Once a small, delicate thing Starscream had gifted Skyfire during their early days together, it had grown over time into a towering, magnificent specimen. Its translucent petals caught the lab's lights, refracting them into a shimmering cascade of color across the room.
To an outsider, it might have seemed impressive or perhaps a strange indulgence. But to the two of them, it was so much more — a living testament to their hard work, their stubborn resilience, and their bond. A piece of Vos, a piece of each other, preserved and thriving.
Starscream moved first, weaving through the tables with a sharpness that belied the weariness still clinging to his frame. He found a cleared spot on one of the counters — or rather, he made one, sweeping aside a mess of forgotten tools with little ceremony. From his subspace, he pulled the broken remains of his project, setting them carefully before him as if laying down a wounded comrade.
Without a word, he perched himself on a tall stool, wings twitching in slight impatience. He flicked a servo at Skyfire and gave a meaningful tilt of his helm — a clear summons to join him.
Skyfire smiled softly and grabbed his own stool — one built sturdier and taller to accommodate his larger frame — dragging it over with a soft scrape against the floor. He slid in beside Starscream, hunching forward just enough so he could get a proper look at the delicate mess before them.
Their shoulders brushed, a quiet point of contact that neither of them commented on. They didn't need to.
Slowly but surely, they began piecing the small contraption back together, bent close over the counter with a shared intensity. Starscream spoke in low, focused tones, explaining each component, each circuit, each delicate interlocking piece — not with the typical sharpness he used with others, but with an ease reserved only for Skyfire. Much of it, the shuttle already knew by now; he’d heard Starscream’s excited ramblings about the project for orns. But hearing it again, now, with his own servos deep in its repair, gave the information a fresh weight.
Some parts were salvageable with careful mending — soldering, rewiring, coaxing the broken tech back to life — but others were too mangled, needing to be replaced entirely. Every time Skyfire uncovered another crushed microchip or snapped support arm, his frown deepened.
“He did a number on this,” Skyfire muttered, voice thick with concern.
“Him and his pack of lackeys,” Starscream grumbled back, optics flashing with a restrained anger. Skyfire caught the slight tremor in the seeker’s wings, the rigid set of his shoulders, but Starscream’s servos stayed steady — careful and precise as he teased a bundle of delicate wires back into place.
“He came up to me out of nowhere,” Starscream went on, voice low and venomous. “Started spouting complete nonsense about seekers — interfacing, instincts, like we're some kind of beasts. When I told him exactly what I thought of his ignorance, he just slapped it out of my servos. Then they all started stomping it. Laughing.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he swallowed it down. “There was a professor right there. Didn't lift a servo. Just looked the other way.”
Skyfire’s fists curled reflexively around a fragment of casing he was holding. He forced himself to breathe slowly, unclenching his servos before he crushed it further. Times like these, he tasted anger in the back of his intake — a rare, burning thing.
“I’m sorry he did that to you, Star,” Skyfire said quietly. His voice was thick, pained with sympathy. “Swampbell's just a spoiled, stubborn hardhead who thinks tearing others down makes him taller.”
Starscream only shrugged, a brittle motion. “You shouldn’t have to apologize for the actions of idiots.”
“No,” Skyfire agreed softly, glancing up at him, “but you still deserve one all the same.”
“I do deserve one,” Starscream said simply — and for once, without any sharpness or pretense, just a quiet acknowledgment.
They drifted into silence after that — but the quiet between them was easy, comfortable. It was filled with the faint sounds of clicking tools, the hum of wiring being resoldered, and the occasional muttered curse from Starscream when something refused to align properly.
Before long, Skyfire began suggesting adjustments — small tweaks that could make the final product even sturdier, more efficient. Some ideas Starscream accepted with an eager nod; others he dismissed with a pointed shake of his helm and a soft explanation why. They discussed, debated, and collaborated—working seamlessly, losing themselves in it.
The megacycles bled together unnoticed. Hours must have passed, yet neither mech seemed willing to stop, pushing through the mounting exhaustion for the sake of victory. Determination settled thick between them, as tangible as the scent of hot metal and energon in the air.
Finally, with one last careful connection, the repaired device sparked softly to life on the table.
Skyfire leaned back with a long, low groan of relief, pushing his stool away. His plating gave a series of audible little pops and tinks as he stretched his arms overhead, his joints protesting after being hunched for so long.
Starscream snorted, resting his cheek lazily in one servo. “You sound like an old mech. Sure you don’t need a pit stop at the nearest maintenance shop to get your joints oiled?”
Skyfire shot him a tired grin. “Ha, ha. Maybe I'm just aging prematurely from trying to keep you out of trouble.”
Starscream only smirked, wings giving a pleased little flick. “A small price to pay for all the extravagant benefits of my company,” he purred, the smugness in his voice unmistakable.
Skyfire chuckled, shaking his head fondly — and then Starscream was moving toward him, the glint of mischief unmistakable in his optics. A single digit trailed lightly down Skyfire’s chassis — teasing, daring—wherever he could reach.
“And speaking of benefits…” Starscream all but purred, voice dropping into a low, sultry lilt. “I think a certain shuttle deserves a reward for his… dedicated assistance.”
Heat surged through Skyfire’s systems instantly, pooling beneath his plating and turning his vents a little shaky. He gave a helpless laugh, his optics brightening.
“You mischievous little seeker…” he rumbled, allowing Starscream to catch his servo and tug him — without much resistance — toward his room containing the massive berth.
In that moment, as Starscream pressed close and laughed low against his frame, Skyfire thought, Primus, he really had never loved anyone more.
It was several solarcycles after that exhausting endeavor that Skyfire stumbled across it.
Starscream had already submitted his assignment, earning a respectable enough grade—though, true to form, the Seeker had made sure everyone within auditory range knew exactly how he felt about the deductions he’d received. Skyfire had listened with quiet amusement as Starscream ranted, every word sharpened with irritation.
Yet, despite all his grumbling, there was a certain satisfaction glinting in Starscream’s optics. He had succeeded. His work had been graded, critiqued, and, more importantly, accepted — a far better outcome than the alternative he had so narrowly avoided.
Afterward, Starscream had taken off on some brief, unexplained excursion. He returned just as abruptly, offering Skyfire no hint as to where he had gone or why. The shuttle had asked once, maybe twice, but the Seeker only brushed him off with vague mutterings and a distracted wave.
It wasn’t until Skyfire spotted it that everything clicked into place.
Nestled carefully among Starscream’s usual clutter was a small pot, containing an even smaller but brilliant plant. Its delicate leaves shimmered with a faint, iridescent glow. Skyfire recognized it immediately — Glittermoss. A rare, luminous flora that only sprouted in places saturated with rich energon deposits.
A soft gasp escaped him. His passion for botany had never been a secret; Starscream, of all mechs, knew this better than anyone. He had proven it once before, with the gift of that precious crystal flower.
Skyfire's spark seemed to brighten as he approached the little plant, reverently lifting the pot into his large hands. A smile tugged at his mouthplates, warmth flooding his frame.
He knew Starscream would deny it, scoff at the idea that he had gone out of his way for such a thing. But Skyfire saw through him as clearly as starlight in a clear night sky.
Cradling the Glittermoss with gentle care, he was already planning out everything it would need to flourish — and vowing, quietly but firmly, to cherish it, just as he had every other gift Starscream had ever dared to give him.