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The day had started gray in that particular way the Beast Wars liked best, with a low sky, a quiet wind, and the sharp kind of cold that felt less like weather and more like warning. The world out here was never gentle for long. Which was exactly why Corvii stole her gentleness wherever she could get it.
She’d slipped away from the Axalon with the kind of practiced eas learned when living in a warzone and refused to allow every joy be stolen. There were tracks in the snow behind her, light impressions that didn’t match any patrol route or supply run, made for once without a care of who might see them.
The clearing she had found wasn’t much, really, just a shallow divet between the snow-dusted fir trees, the ground a quilt of pillowy white broken by stones and the dark slash of an old fallen log. It felt hidden, like the world had folded its hands over it and decided, for a little while, to keep it safe.
Corvii paused at the edge and let her optics drink it in. Peace could never really belong to them out here. Not when Predacon scanners could sweep a valley in seconds, and when energon signatures were bait and bullets, and when every quiet moment came with the knowledge that it might be the last quiet moment for a long time.
But on days like today, for someone like her, peace could be borrowed. For a little while.
That would have to be enough
Her vents eased. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, tension leaking out of joints she hadn’t realized were locked. Her wings flitted against the brittle stillness, shining iridescent in the deceptively cold sunlight. Then, with a small, bright sound that was half laugh and half chirp, Corvii stepped into the clearing and kicked up a spray of powdery snow like she was scattering a wave on the beach. It puffed around her shins and sparkled in the muted daylight, each flake catching what little light there was and twinkling like a star caught in the night sky.
She did it again. And again.
Then she crouched, her digits splaying into the snow, and scooped a double servo full up just to feel it spill through her talons. It was even colder than it looked, the ice crystals clinging to the seams of her plating and collecting in the grooves of her knuckles.
She lifted her arms higher and let it fall, slow and soft, like she was making it snow on herself. For the moment, she didn’t look like someone who’d been chased through canyons and dragged into firefights and had to learn how to be fierce just to survive. For this moment at least, she looked like a femme who’d found something pure and silly and good, and decided to keep it.
Corvii straightened and shook herself like a bird ruffling its feathers. And then, because the impulse hit so sharp and sweet she couldn’t ignore it, she transformed. Her mass folded and reconfigured in a smooth, practiced motion, and the raven that emerged was a flash of dark metal against the white world. Her wings unfolded with a crisp snap, sending a faint scatter of snow into the air. Her optics glinted, and a soft, pleased click ticked from her beak.
She hopped twice, then flapped hard enough to lift herself a short distance and plop back down into the snow like she was diving into a pillow. It exploded around her in a perfect, ridiculous burst. White sprayed up over her wings and back, clinging in clumps to her feathers, making her look like she’d flown straight through a cloud and brought half of it down with her.
Corvii froze, then tilted her head in exaggerated solemnity, as if considering the crime she’d just committed against dignity. Then she shook every part of herself, rapid and violent, spraying snow everywhere. It came down in a sparkling arc that looked almost like glitter. It dusted her wings, the log, the low branches of the pines. It seemed to make a little miniature blizzard in the clearing, a momentary storm that belonged only to her.
She cawed, loud and satisfied, and hopped again with a clumsy sort of joy. She vaulted onto the fallen log, claws clicking on the wood, and then launched herself off it in a swooping glide that barely cleared the snow. She skimmed low, just high enough that her wingtips dragged against the snow and carved lines into the surface, making loops and swirls like calligraphy with a brush. The snow feathered up behind her in thin ribbons, curling on the wisps of wind left in her wake. She banked, turned too sharply, and tumbled into an undignified roll that ended with her half-buried and glaring at the offending powder as though it had attacked her first. Then, after a pause, because she couldn’t help herself, she wriggled deeper into the pit she had created, like it was the best thing that had ever happened.
The silence of the clearing fell thick once more. Corvii rolled onto her back in the snow, wings splayed, and stared up at the sky. It was still gray, of course. The war was still out there, looming just at the horizon. Tomorrow would still demand hard and ugly things when the Beast Wars rumbled back to life. But right now the world was cold and soft and bright, and she could hear her own amused little clicks.
And for now, that was enough.
In that peaceful moment, she didn’t hear the soft crunch of snow at the edge of the clearing. She didn’t hear the pause as someone stopped to watch, or the little exvent that sounded like a laugh being held back. The first thing that she did noticed, however, was the shadow. It slid across the snow like a living, long-limbed thing. and unmistakable, over her wings, her chest, and the whole ridiculous little hollow she had made while wiggling.
Corvii’s optics snapped open. She was on her back, half-buried, and the last person she wanted to see her like this was there at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a pine with an ease that looked casual, unless one knew him well enough to read what lived underneath. His plating was dusted with snow along the edges, and his optics were bright in a way that didn’t belong to the gray day. He’d clearly followed her tracks. And he was clearly trying not to laugh.
“Uh-huh,” Cheetor said, his voice warm with amusement. “So this is what top-secret recon looks like when you do it.”
Corvii froze, staring up at him for a moment that seemed to somehow stretch too long. Then, with slow, deliberate dignity, she transformed back into bot mode, as snow slid off her plating in little sheets, catching on her shoulders and collar. She didn’t stand right away. She instead sat up in the snow, staring at him as if he’d personally offended her by catching her in such a state. Cheetor’s grin only widened.
“You didn’t–” she began, then stopped, because the truth was obvious and insulting.
Cheetor pushed off the tree he was leaning on and sauntered closer, his pedes crunching softly in the mound of snow he had to cross to reach her. “I didn’t what? See the mighty Corvii, master of the skies, strategic genius of the Maximals, waging honorable combat against a snowbank?”
“It attacked me first,” Corvii said with perfect seriousness.
Cheetor made a thoughtful sound, like he was taking that under advisement, but couldn’t dispel the sparkle of amusement in his optics. “Yeah? It looked pretty vicious.”
“It was!”
He crouched a few feet away, close enough that she could see the way his optics softened at the edges when he looked at her. Close enough that the cold suddenly didn’t feel quite so sharp. “Do I need to file an incident report? Get Rhinox to run snowballistics?”
Corvii’s derma twitched as she tried to keep her expression stern. But the humor was already in her vents and beginning to curl at her intake. “Maybe.”
“Mm.” Cheetor nodded as if solemnly agreeing. “Rattrap’ll love that. He’s a big fan of paperwork.”
Corvii huffed out, and it came out as something suspiciously close to a laugh. Cheetor’s grin turned downright smug, like he’d won a game Corvii didn’t know they were playing. He shifted closer, one knee in the snow, and reached out, slow enough to give her every chance to swat him away. When she didn’t, his digits brushed against her shoulder, flicking off a stubborn clump of snow. The touch was light, careful in a way that didn’t match his usual restless energy.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured, but his tone didn’t carry worry so much as fondness, as though she were a marvel he had found after a storm.
“I’m fine,” Corvii said automatically. Cheetor lifted an optic ridge. Corvii glared at him, her cheekplates darkening. “I’m fine,” she repeated, but with less conviction.
Cheetor’s optics sparked. “Uh-huh. That's why you’re sitting in a snowdrift like you’re incubating it?”
Corvii opened her intake to retort. And then, because she was still half-buried and because he was right there and because she’d already been caught being soft, she did the only thing that made sense. She scooped up a double servo-full of snow and threw it at him.
It hit Cheetor square in the chest and exploded into a bright white puff that sprayed up into his neck cabling and across his cheek. For half a nanoklik he just stared, stunned. Corvii’s optics gleamed with triumph. Then Cheetor’s expression shifted into slow, dangerous delight.
“Oh, that is it,” he said, low and delighted, like a mech who’d just been handed permission to misbehave.
Corvii scrambled to her pedes , already backing up, servos raised. “Cheetor–”
Too late. He lunged.
Corvii yelped and dodged, pivoting on a heel and darting sideways through the snow. Cheetor gave chase instantly, fast even in deep powder. Corvii was quick, but she wasn’t built like him. The snow grabbed at her legs and tried to drag her down. She laughed despite herself because the struggle was half the fun. She took three bounding steps and then transformed mid-run, mass folding and snapping into raven form.
Cheetor skidded, pedes scraping against the stones under the snow. “Hey! No fair!”
Corvii cawed, sharp and smug, and launched upward in a spray of snow, wings beating hard enough to kick up a tiny storm behind her. She circled once over the clearing, just high enough that she could look down and see him glaring up with mock outrage, optics bright and smiling even when his mouth tried to frown. Then, she dove. Not at him directly but just beside, swooping so low her wingtip clipped the snow right beside his buried feet and sending a burst straight into his front, coating him in white powder.
Cheetor spluttered snow out of his intake. “Corvii!”
She banked, laughing in that bright, clicking way again, and looped around, only to find a compact snowball flying up toward her like a missile. She jerked midair, wings flaring, and the snowball whizzed past her tail feathers. She snapped her beak in indignation and circled higher. Cheetor was already forming another snowball in his servos as he looked up at her and grinned fully and unguarded, the kind of grin that made the whole gray day look bright and shining as the snow.
“You started it!” he called.
Corvii cawed back something that sounded suspiciously like ‘liar!’ Then she dropped from the sky like a stone, transformed mid-fall, and landed in the snow hard enough to make it burst outward in a ring, straight up his front again. Cheetor flinched at the shower of crystals, then laughed, the sound like pure sunlight. Corvii didn’t waste it admiring it, though. She scooped snow, packed it, and launched her own snowball back at him, hitting him right in the shoulder.
Cheetor staggered dramatically, clutching at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Oh… oh no… tell Rattrap… I loved him…”
“You’re so dramatic,” Corvii accused, laughing.
Cheetor collapsed backwards into the snow with theatrical flair, one arm flung over his faceplate as he continued to wail. “Struck down in my prime! By a ruthless feathered menace!”
Corvii stepped closer and loomed over him. “You’re not struck down. You’re performing.”
Cheetor peeked up at her through his digits. “Am I?”
Corvii leaned in, narrowing her optics, and he moved before she could react. He sat up in a sudden burst of motion and grabbed her wrist, tugging her forward against him. Corvii yelped, caught off guard, and then she was falling into him, the two tumbling into the snow together in a clumsy heap. They landed chest to chest, snow puffing up around them like a curtain.
For a second the world went quiet again. Corvii’s servos were planted on either side of his shoulders. Cheetor’s arms were around her, half holding her, half bracing himself in the snow. Their faces were close enough that she could see the tiny scratches along his cheek plating from their many skirmishes with the Predacons, the faint scuff marks that never quite buffed out. She could feel the warmth of his field, so much brighter than the cold.
Cheetor’s grin softened into something smaller and quieter now. “You okay?” he asked gently, and it wasn’t about snowballs anymore.
Corvii’s expression softened as her digits slid up to brush at his cheek, careful around the scuffs. “I’m okay.”
Cheetor’s optics searched hers as his voice fell softer. “You sure?”
Corvii exhaled, vents fogging the air faintly. “I was… trying to be.”
Cheetor’s arms tightened around her just a little, not to trap her, but to anchor her to him, to the here and the now. “Good,” he murmured. “’Cause I kinda needed to see you like this.”
Corvii’s intake hitched, soft and surprised. “Like what?”
Cheetor’s grin flickered back in, quieter now. He nudged his helm against hers, a gentle bump that felt like a promise. “Happy.”
Corvii stared at him for a second, something warm blooming in her chest and her cheeks that had nothing to do with energon flow and everything to do with being seen as she tried to deflect “You only came out here to get hit by snowballs.”
Cheetor snorted. “I came out here because I saw your tracks and thought, ‘Oh no, Corvii’s escaped and is being a menace to nature again.’”
Corvii huffed. “Excuse me? A menace?”
Cheetor’s grin turned bright again. “A menace I’m very fond of.”
Corvii’s intake twitched, and this time she didn’t fight the smile. She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his derma, light and teasing, and gone before he could catch it. Cheetor blinked, momentarily stunned. Corvii sat back up over him, looking smug.
Cheetor’s optics flared with delighted outrage. “Oh, no, you don’t!” He surged up, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her with him again. Corvii squawked very much like her beast mode and clutched at his shoulders as he stood, both of them wobbling in the snow. Cheetor grinned, holding her close. “You don’t get to do that and then act like you’re not responsible for my entire spark trying to climb outta my chassis.”
Corvii’s optics went wide, then she laughed, bright and helpless, and swatted at his chest. “Cheetor!”
"What?” he huffed, sounding entirely unrepentant. “It’s true.”
Corvii shook her head, laughing, and tucked her face briefly against his neck plating, just long enough to steal warmth from him, enough to hide the way her smile softened. Cheetor’s arms tightened around her again, and he rocked them slightly, a gentle sway like they were dancing to a song only they could hear.
Cheetor savored the moment, then glanced around and back to her, his mischief returning. “So what’re you doing out here, anyway? Besides committing crimes against snow?”
Corvii’s optics glittered. “I was…” She paused, then shrugged with exaggerated casualness, “borrowing peace.”
Cheetor’s expression softened again, that warm look that made her feel like she could breathe. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
He looked past her shoulder, toward the fallen log and the sheltering pines, toward the way the snow drifted deeper where the wind couldn’t reach. Then his grin flicked back in, childish and bright. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret, “if we’re borrowing peace… we should probably make it harder for the universe to take it back.”
Corvii blinked. “How?”
Cheetor tipped his head toward the drifted snow near the log, where the bank rose like a soft wall. “Dugout.”
Corvii stared at him.
Cheetor’s grin was shameless. “A snow dugout. Like… a little den. Block the wind. Hide our energon signatures a bit. And, y’know…” His optics danced. “If we happen to… canoodle in it a bit, that is purely for warmth and morale…”
Corvii’s optics widened, then narrowed into a look that tried very hard to be stern and absolutely failed. “Morale,” she repeated, dry.
Cheetor nodded in a would-be solemn and serious way. “And warmth. Vital mission parameters out here in the cold.”
Corvii huffed, then leaned in close, her voice dropping. “You’re ridiculous.”
Cheetor grinned. “Yeah. But you like it.”
Corvii swatted his chest again, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she slipped out of his arms and took two steps backward into the snow, spreading her arms wide like she was about to address the entire forest. “Fine,” she declared, dramatic now too. “Lead the way, o brave architect of questionable snow dens.”
Cheetor’s laugh rang out bright and unburdened. He turned toward the heavy drift by the log, already pretending to roll up his imaginary sleeves like this was serious work, and Corvii followed, snow crunching under her steps.
Cheetor tested the snowbank first, shoving his forearm into the drift and grinning when it held instead of fully collapsing. “See?” he said, already enthusiastic. “Good density. Packs easy.”
Corvii glanced at the drift skeptically. “You sound like Rhinox.”
“Hey,” Cheetor shot back, mock offended, “I should sound like him. I learned from the best. Survival skills and questionable hobbies.”
She snorted and knelt beside him, scooping snow with her hands and packing it against the log. The wood itself was half-buried, its surface rough and dark where the snow hadn’t soaked ice into it yet. Together, log and drift formed a natural wall, cutting the wind down to a low whisper. They worked side by side without much talk at first, just the quiet rhythm of servos moving and packing snow, the soft crunch and thump as they packed it into shape. Corvii found a strange satisfaction in it, shaping the world a little, literally carving out a space that felt intentional.
Cheetor, meanwhile, was having a little too much fun with it. He scooped a load of snow, packed it, then exaggeratedly pressed it into place with a flourish. “Structural integrity,” he declared. “Very important.”
Corvii arched an optic ridge. “You’re narrating again.”
“I am educating,” he said solemnly. “Future generations will want to know how this masterpiece was built.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself, and added another packed layer. “Future generations are going to wonder why the masterpiece has claw marks and uneven walls.”
“That’s character.”
She snorted in amusement. “You have plenty of character for all three of us, me, you, and the masterpiece.”
They hollowed it out slowly, digging inward just enough to form a shallow recess. It wasn’t elaborate and certainly not permanent. Just a small, curved space tucked into the snowbank, shielded by the log and framed by low pine branches that sagged under their own frosting of white.
The wind dropped noticeably as the hollow took shape and they finished the exterior walls at last. Corvii paused, servos resting on her knees, and tilted her head. “Oh.”
Cheetor noticed immediately, too. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s much better.”
They exchanged a look, soft and pleased, a little proud in the way of those who had made something simple and meaningful with their own digits. Cheetor ducked into the dugout first, brushing loose snow from the top with a forearm. “C’mon inside. It’s even nicer completely out of the wind.”
Corvii followed, crouching and crawling, and then settling on the snow floor beside him, their shoulders brushing. The space was tight, the ceiling low enough to touch the feathers of her helm crest, but it felt protective rather than confining. Snow muted the outside world, dulling sound until the clearing felt far away, like they’d stepped into a pocket of quiet.
Corvii let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay,” she admitted softly. “This was a good idea.” Cheetor’s grin flashed, but he said nothing, letting the silence speak words he didn’t need to say.
They sat there for a moment, just listening to the faint wind, and feeling each other’s fields overlapping in a way that felt warm and steady. Corvii leaned back against the log, letting the rough bark press through her plating. Cheetor shifted closer without thinking, knees angled toward her, one arm braced behind him. It was peaceful enough that it almost felt dangerous…
Which was probably why the crunch of footsteps outside made Corvii stiffen instantly. Cheetor caught it too, his posture changing, alert and ready, before a familiar voice drifted through the trees. “Oh, you have got to be kiddin’ me!”
Corvii closed her optics for half a second. Cheetor winced. “Rattrap.”
Sure enough, the Maximal saboteur emerged from between the pines, waddling in east mode through the snow, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Beside him walked Dinobot, tall and rigid, snow barely clinging to his scales as if it knew better than to linger.
Rattrap took one look at the dugout, then at the two young bots tucked inside it. His grin went feral.
“Well, well!” he drawled. “Guess the snowstorm really brought you two together, huh?”
Corvii groaned quietly. “We’re not–”
“–doing anything wrong,” Cheetor cut in quickly. “We’re just… erm… sheltering.”
“Sheltering,” Rattrap repeated, savoring the word like it was fresh energon goodies. “Yeah, sure. From what, exactly? All dese snowflakes with malicious intent?”
Dinobot’s optics narrowed as he stepped forward, his stern gaze sweeping the clearing, the half-built dugout, and the lack of obvious equipment. “This is not a sanctioned day of rest,” he said coolly. “There is work to be done. A relay station to the east has gone silent under the weight of this storm.” Corvii straightened immediately. Dinobot lifted a clawed raptor hand, sharp and authoritative. “The mission requires efficiency and focus. Not…” his gaze flicked pointedly between her and Cheetor, “...frivolity.”
Cheetor bristled. “Hey!”
Rattrap was suddenly there, transforming and swiping his hand between Dinobot and the youths.
“Whoa, Chopperface,” he said lightly, but there was something deliberate and grounding in his tone, the teasing he had used before gone. “Ease up.”
Dinobot looked down at him, clearly displeased, and his growl made it all the more clear.
Rattrap didn’t back down. He leaned in instead, lowering his voice just enough that it felt like a private aside, even though everyone in the clearing could hear him. “C’mon. You remember what it’s like to be young, right?”
Dinobot stiffened as he stared at Rattrap, and his jaw tightened.
Rattrap tilted his head, optics surprisingly earnest beneath the sarcasm. “Or… okay. Maybe not exactly like this. But you remember what it’s like to carry too much, all the time. To forget how to stop.”
Dinobot hesitated. Corvii watched him carefully, her spark in her throat. She’d seen that look before, the internal war between discipline and something… quieter. Not in Dinobot, but in Optimus, and even in Rhinox.
Rattrap followed Dinobot’s gaze to the dugout, to the way Cheetor and Corvii sat close without even trying, sharing warmth like it was instinct. “One day ain’t gonna hurt anything in the end,” Rattrap went on, softer now. “They’re just… borrowin’ a minute.”
Dinobot’s optics flicked to Corvii. Then to Cheetor. Then, slowly, his posture eased by a fraction. “One day,” he conceded stiffly. “Not more.”
Rattrap grinned, triumphant. “See? Reasonable.”
Dinobot shot him a glare. “We will proceed without them. The relay can be repaired with two.”
Rattrap nodded, already tugging him away by the arm. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll save the world while Romeo and Juliet here–”
Corvii pointed at him and scowled. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Rattrap laughed, backing away. “Relax, kid. I ain’t totally sparkless.” He paused at the edge of the clearing and glanced back, voice dropping into something unexpectedly sincere. “Just… don’t take too long out here, okay? Snow’s gonna start comin’ down soon again. More relay stations to fix come tomorrow. World ain’t gonna wait forever.”
Dinobot didn’t look back as Rattrap steered him toward the trees, but his voice carried once more, stern and begrudging. “Do not allow sentiment to dull your readiness.” Then they were gone, footsteps fading into the hush of snow-laden forest.
The clearing fell quiet again. Corvii let out a breath that came out half laugh, half relief. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”
Cheetor snorted. “Yeah. Thought for sure Dinobot was gonna drag us out by our finials.”
She glanced at him, smiling softly. “Rattrap saved us.”
Cheetor’s grin turned fond. “Yeah. He’s got a soft spot. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Corvii leaned back into the dugout, shoulders relaxing now that the tension had passed. Cheetor shifted closer again, their knees touching, their fields warming the small space. He reached out, digits brushing hers, hesitant for just a sparkbeat, then more confident when she didn’t pull away.
Outside, as promised, the snow began falling again. Inside, the world felt paused.
Cheetor squeezed her hand gently. “You okay?” he asked for a third time.
Corvii nodded, then rested her helm against his shoulder, careful, sounding much more comfortable this time. “Yeah. I am now.”
His arm slid around her, slow and sure, drawing her closer until she fit against him like she belonged there. The dugout seemed to shrink around them, cocooning them in shared warmth. For a little while longer, they let themselves believe that this quiet closeness was what they were fighting for. Not victory or even survival. But moments like this, stolen and cherished, glowing softly against the cold.
The dugout changed once the others were gone. Not physically, of course. Snow was still snow, the log still rough against Corvii’s back. But the feeling of it shifted, like the space itself had fully exhaled. The distant edge of responsibility had finally loosened its grip. The silence deepened into something almost reverent.
Cheetor adjusted first, angling his body so he blocked more of the opening, his broader frame catching the worst of the cold seep. Corvii noticed immediately. “You don’t have to–” she started.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, already settled. “I do.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she shifted closer, knees drawing in, their legs tangling naturally. The contact sent a subtle spark through her field, warm and familiar. It eased something tight in her chest that she hadn’t realized was there. Cheetor rested his head back against the log and looked down at her, optics reflecting pale light filtered through snow. “You’re shaking,” he murmured.
Corvii glanced down at herself, then shrugged. “It’s just cold.”
He gave her a look that said he knew better, but didn’t push. Instead, his arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her in until her side was pressed fully against his chest. The warmth of his frame soaked into her plating almost immediately. “There,” he said softly. “Better?”
Corvii hesitated, then nodded and leaned into him properly, letting her weight rest against his shoulder. “Yeah.” Her hand came to rest on his chestplate without thinking, digits splayed, feeling the steady rhythm of his spark beneath. “Much better.” She traced one of the faint scratches there, slow and absentminded.
Cheetor’s vent caught.
“Sorry,” she murmured automatically, pulling her digits back.
“No.” His servo closed gently around her wrist, stopping her from pulling away “Don’t stop.”
Their optics met in the dim space. The playful spark from earlier was still there, but it had softened into something deeper, quiet and intent. Corvii swallowed. “Okay.” She let her servo stay.
Outside, a heavier gust of wind swept through the trees, dumping snow from branches in soft avalanches. It pattered against the top of the dugout, muffled and distant. The sound made the space feel even smaller, and even safer. Cheetor shifted again, careful and deliberate, until Corvii was nestled almost fully against him, her head resting beneath his chin. He tilted his helm slightly, cheek brushing the top of her head.
Corvii closed her optics, and for a while, neither of them spoke. The Beast Wars had taught them both so young how rare and precious this kind of silence was. Silence without tension, without waiting for alarms or scanners to scream. Silence that didn’t feel like the pause before something broke.
Corvii breathed him in, the warm metal, faint traces of oil and ozone and something uniquely Cheetor. Her digits curled lightly in his plating. “I like this,” she said eventually, voice barely above the hush of falling snow.
Cheetor smiled, chin dipping slightly against her helm. “Yeah. Me too.”
Quieter still, she added, “I don’t get to feel… full very often.”
His arm tightened around her again, careful not to squeeze. “You do right now.”
Her intake hitched, the truth of it settling deep. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”
She tilted her faceplate up, optics flickering online. Their proximity made everything feel heightened in the most wonderful of ways. The closeness of their forms, the warmth of their fields, the way all of him wrapped around all of her like a promise. Her gaze traced the familiar lines of his faceplate, the scuffs on his cheeks, the pinch in the corner of his optics when he smiled, and the way his grin softened when he wasn’t trying to be brave for everyone else.
Cheetor looked back at her like she was the only thing in the world. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down. Corvii met him halfway. The kiss was gentle, exploratory and warm. Their derma brushed together in soft, lingering touches that carried more comfort than heat at first. Corvii sighed into it, a sound that made Cheetor’s servo slide instinctively to the small of her back, pulling her closer.
The second kiss deepened, still slow, still careful, but fuller and unhurried, like they weren’t afraid of the moment ending too soon. Corvii’s hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers curling there as she leaned into him, trusting.
Cheetor broke the kiss only when they both needed to vent, resting his forehelm against hers. “Hey,” he murmured.
“Hey,” she echoed, smiling softly.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek, wiping away a lingering fleck of snow. “You know… if the universe ever asks what we were doing when everything went sideways…”
She snorted quietly. “I’m not telling it we were hiding in a hole in the snow.”
“Why not?” His grin flickered back in. “Sounds mysterious.”
She laughed then, quiet but genuine, and kissed him again, shorter and more playful this time. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
They shifted again, settling more comfortably. Corvii half in his lap, legs tucked in, her back against his chest, Cheetor with both arms wrapped around her and his chin resting on her shoulder as they watched the faint light filtering through the snow-thickened entrance. Outside, the storm deepened, but it only made the dugout warmer by contrast. Their combined heat kept the space comfortable, almost cozy.
Corvii traced idle shapes against his arm plating, listening to his steady breathing. “You think this is what it’s supposed to feel like?” she asked quietly. “When things are… right?”
Cheetor thought about it for a long moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “it’s what it feels like when you stop running for half a klik, and realize you’re not alone.”
She leaned back into him, contentment humming through her spark. “I don’t want to run yet.”
“Good,” he murmured. “I’ll race you later.”
She smiled, optics closing again.
For now, the Beast Wars could wait. For now, there was snow and warmth and the steady presence of someone who chose her. Not as a duty or as a strategy, but simply because he wanted to. In a world that asked them to be sharp and relentless, they curled around something small, bright, and soft instead. A borrowed thing. A cherished thing.
It was enough.