Chapter Text
You kept staring at them bitterly from across the bar; as bitterly as you could manage with a visor hiding your optics from view. Riptide made a joke about how the glass you'd been cleaning for 'at least an hour' was 'probably clean now' but you don't give him the reaction he was hoping for as you place the glass down and fill it with his favorite enegex and slide it carefully to him.
The aforementioned 'them' was Skids and Nautica.
It wasn't as if you bore Nautica any ill-will. If anything she was just collateral in the bitter sensation that made your spark burn and your processor race. No, it was Skids who was facing the brunt of your ire. Or he would be if he had bothered to notice. You didn't understand at all. He was the one who had found you near-dead in your room, the one you had shared so many (seemingly) significant moments together. He was the one that was so concerned for your well being on Swearth.
and yet for the past few weeks he'd been slowly paying you less mind and paying more and more to the purple Camien. At first it seemed like normal excitement over someone new to talk to: Skids would gush about her non-stop to the point where you had joked that you must have rubbed off on him a little. Then over time he sat at the bar less and less and at the booth they were conversing at now more and more.
You willed time to go faster but it seemed to slow as if in retaliation. You wondered if you would have felt so lonely if Trailbreaker was still around: You two had known each other from Kimia (not that you two worked together but it was common ground enough) and you were fairly certain if Trailbreaker was here he'd have kind words to say. You try to imagine it.
"Don't worry Swerve I'm sure he still cares about you!"
"You're a really fun mech Swerve, he'll come around."
"Just try and talk to him about it if you get the chance! Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding?"
The bar starts to get busy and you focus on work instead, stealing the occasional glance over to the booth. Your spark still burns and aches and you do your best not to rip it out of its casing. No one seems to notice how oddly quiet you are. Then again the only one who would have ever noticed had unofficially declared you not worth his time. You sigh, plastering a fake smile and go on with your night, deep down wishing you were still dying in your habsuite.
Closing time finally comes, and to your relief you notice the booth is empty. As the bar clears and you clean up, you realize something.
You hate Skids' smile now. The laugh that once made your tank flutter with nerves now made it turn The way his wings flutter when he's piqued with interest, the way his optics would light up with mischief at a well placed bit of snark. You hate it all. It's a crushing realization.
With no one around, you let the tears fall and the sobs come. Quietly at first, then hiccups that shake your frame, then long, low wails that fill the empty space and make your faceplates crumple. You collapse to the floor and curl up, hugging your knees to your chest plating and pressing your helm to your legs to try and stifle the sound, praying no one walks by and Primus forbid try to take pity on you.
When no one knocks on the door or pings your comm you are both relieved and further crushed. You laugh bitterly as tears still flow down your faceplates and you pick yourself up, deciding to hunker down behind the bar and drink until you can't see straight.
You don't get very far when Tailgate sends you a message. // I thought I heard crying from the bar. Do you want me to keep you company? // You feel like you don't deserve an amica endura like Tailgate.
You respond with //yes, please. I'm headed to my habsuite now// and stumble to your pedes. Keeping the enegex you had opened in your servo, you trudge to your habsuite slowly, half-smirking when Tailgate is already outside, waiting for you with energon sweets and the idea to watch your favorite movies all night. You nodded and open the door, apologizing for pulling him away from Cyclonus. Tailgate dismisses you with a wave of his servos and you both settle in for the night.
Tailgate, bless his spark, lets you vent as the movies play, comforting you as you start to cry again. He stays until you start to yawn, and you find yourself surprised that it's the end of your waking cycle. Tailgate chuckles softly and tells you to rest up: things will get easier in time.
You thank him for being so good to you and lay on your recharge slab, vision dimming as you watch him leave.