Warning: The story is slash. Read at your discretion.

    The room was dark, since the lights had gone out some time ago, but Sunstreaker didn’t mind. While he still lay on the couch, lost in thought, he deemed that he wanted to remain like this forever, in the darkness, hiding from the rest of the world. After all, he didn’t need the world anymore.  He had something in his arms that was more than enough for him.

    With that thought, he looked down at the silver form that was huddled close to him as comfortably as possible in the narrow space the couch provided. Sunstreaker couldn’t see Bluestreak’s face, because the soldier was using his yellow chest plate as a headrest. But he still noticed the doors shaking gently as Bluestreak calmly cycled air, apparently lost in the land of dreams.

    The artist couldn’t help it. He smiled warmly at the sight, and then reached for a silver door to caress with light fingers.

    “You’re awake,” Bluestreak whispered, his optics flashing as they came online.

    Sunstreaker froze, certainly not expecting that. “I thought you were recharging.”

    “No. Just thinking,” the soldier answered. He nuzzled Sunstreaker’s chest plate, his doors twitching expectantly. “Don’t stop. I like it.”

    Sunstreaker couldn’t deny the younger mech, not when he asked him in a tone that made his spark melt; so he started caressing the doors again, relishing the smooth surface underneath his fingertips. A warm breath on his chest told Sunstreaker that Bluestreak sighed deeply, and the silver arms tightened their grip on the yellow chassis.

    “You alright?” Sunstreaker asked quietly.

    “Yeah,” the soldier answered, “Thank you, by the way.”

    Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge in an amused manner. “For what?”

    Bluestreak lifted his gaze and faced Sunstreaker, a small smile on his lips. “For making it wonderful.”

    Under other circumstances, Sunstreaker would have grinned and mentally pat himself on the back. Now, however, he just frowned, because he could easily see that that small smile Bluestreak gave him was a wistful one. He cupped Bluestreak’s faceplate with his hand, his thumb rubbing the cheek seams tenderly.

    “Then why that face?” he asked in a gentle tone.

    Bluestreak shut his optics for a moment, leaning to the touch. “Because I’m the real idiot.”

    Sunstreaker revolted at once. “Bluestreak…!”

    “I am,” the soldier insisted, effectively silencing any further protests. “When I came to see you, I convinced myself that it would only be for a day, and all I could hope for was that we would at least part as friends. Now that this happened and I got a taste of what it could be… all I can say is that it’s almost dawn.”

    An unnatural lump formed in Sunstreaker’s vocaliser. He looked at the nearby window, and he bit back a curse when he saw that Bluestreak was right. Dawn was swiftly approaching, covering everything with its grey light. He faced Bluestreak again, anxiety almost overwhelming him.

    “You have to leave now?”

    Bluestreak nodded ruefully. “I’m expected.”

    He didn’t say anything else. He just turned his back to Sunstreaker and got up from the couch. The cold tendrils of numbness reached for Sunstreaker’s spark with unrelenting claws as the artist realised that that was the end. Bluestreak was going out of his life, leaving him breathless and alone all over again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

    Or was there? Sunstreaker still recalled Ultra Magnus’s words, and they were enough to finally snap him into action.

    In a flash, he also got up, and grabbed Bluestreak by the arm. Bluestreak faced him with a dubious look in his optics, but Sunstreaker didn’t let go. He had already made the mistake of giving up once, and he didn’t plan on repeating it.

    “If you’re to go to Ultra Magnus, go to file in your resignation.”

    Bluestreak shook his head. “Sunstreaker, I can’t just abandon my duty.”

    “Yes, you can,” Sunstreaker declared, almost fierce in his determination. “The war is over. You don’t have to be a soldier anymore. You know that,” he said. “Sideswipe will need a trustworthy assistant; you can be that.”

    The silver mech pulled himself away. “Don’t do this,” he said, and he turned around.

    “Don’t do this to yourself!” Sunstreaker said. Both hands clasped Bluestreak’s shoulders, stopping him once more. “You’ve asked me to wait for you and I did, in spite of everything. Now I ask you to stay here with me. Why don’t you?”

    He knew he was practically begging; he didn’t care. Pride wouldn’t help him if Bluestreak walked out that door. And as the soldier remained perfectly still, his doors upright behind his back, Sunstreaker waited with bated breath to hear Bluestreak’s answer.

    “Cybertron isn’t my home anymore,” the soldier reasoned, but his tone wasn’t as resolved as he probably would have liked. Sunstreaker could hear it clearly.

    “It can still become one; as long as you want to.”  

    Moments passed, and finally Bluestreak sighed, the tension that had coursed the silver form subsiding. But Sunstreaker still gripped both silver shoulders, doing his best to control his trembling hands.

    “I have too many bad memories of this place,” the silver mech whispered.

    Sunstreaker’s spark wrenched so violently at those words that it almost tore the artist apart. But Bluestreak just turned around and poked Sunstreaker on the chest plate in mock threat.

    “So you’d better give me some really good ones, you hear?”

    Sunstreaker jolted back to life at that. And as warmth surged through him once more, the yellow mech wrapped his arms around Bluestreak and held him close.

    “I hear you,” he said, smiling broadly.

The End.