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ainyan · 11 months

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The Last Memory

(This story can also be found on Ao3 for those who prefer.)

It was bitterly cold, the snow swirling in the air, but he did not feel it. Such mundane concerns like temperature and weather did not concern him; the ice did not touch him, and he felt no hint of the frigid wind. The thick coat that covered this body was only for show; neither it nor he needed it now; had not for some time - but one mustn’t upset the natives by wandering around in inappropriate clothing.

How tedious. Life had been much easier when everyone had worn the same thing, had been the same race, had wanted the same goal.

This parody of existence these creatures called living now was messy and fleeting and horribly insulting. But it is all he had to work with.

For now.

Pushing aside his dark thoughts, he paused on the graveled path leading up to the village before him, studying its wooden walls with disgust. No more the soaring towers of Amaurot; no more the glorious spires, the glass and steel etchings, the flowing lines and sleek curves. These creatures - these “men” - had barely discovered how to work iron again, much less build anything that wasn’t strictly functional.

But there was something behind those rough-hewn walls drawing him onwards; he’d been feeling the pull and tug for days now, forcing him ever northwards until he’d reached this tiny hamlet tucked deep into the snow-shrouded woods of the northern wilderness.

Another of his lost brethren, perhaps. So far he’d managed to find nine of the thirteen and restore their memories to those shattered, broken souls, but four still eluded him. It was possible - nay, probable - that another shard lay within those walls.

Though he was eager to be done with this damnable duty, it would ill-suit his current form to go bursting through those gates and causing a ruckus. As much as it pained him to admit it, he had a role to play, and it would not do to have the natives - or whatever they were - discover that there were forces so much more powerful than their insignificant selves in their midst.

Not until they’d finalized their plans to undo what that wretched woman had done.

So he took his time, striding up the path, straight backed, square shouldered, just another traveler like those who infrequently wound their way along the dirt-and-gravel paths that traced the vast distances between the scattered villages and hamlets that dotted the northern tundra. As he approached the gates, he could hear a muffled shout - directed not at him, but at the guard who stood within the walls, and one of the great doors ponderously swung open.

Trusting fools.

He stepped across the threshold and onto the main thoroughfare for the hamlet, one that ran directly from this gate to the one on the other side of town. In the distance, he could see what passed for a town square, the shingled buildings rising around it, short and squat and nothing like the magnificent edifices of a bygone era. Trying to ignore the twinge in his heart, he instead turned to face the guard who approached him.

And he knew why he’d come.

Her eyes should have been green - a bright, emerald green with rims of brilliant platinum, their flowering irises shaded with hints of forest green and tawny gold - not such a pedestrian shade of cornflower blue. Her hair should never have been the bland color of wheat, without a hint of individuality - rarely had her hair been so much as its original raven hue; instead, always an ever-changing rainbow based on her whims.

Even her skin was wrong - sunkissed rose now, rather than the rich color of walnuts, as smooth as the finest silk woven from her precious bombicae. Tall for one of the creatures that called themselves a ‘hyur’, she was nevertheless significantly shorter than she’d once been, her body slimmer, less lushly curved beneath the furs and leathers of her clothing.

Wrong. She was all wrong. This was all wrong.

Even her soul was all wrong.

That it was hers, he had no doubt. Faint and dull like any of the sundered, it was still a thousand times brighter than those of the creatures who inhabited the world that had been theirs. Only a few shades of blue rose from within to shimmer below her skin: sapphire and cobalt and lapis lazuli. Less the oceanic tides that had once surged with vigor and more an insipid pond like one of the ornamental water fixtures that had graced the city parks.

Still. It was hers. Mnemosyne.

She smiled at him, her eyes meeting his with a frank curiosity as she crossed her arms and leaned back on one heel. He could sense her confusion and knew that she felt that same tug and pull - so much stronger now in such close proximity - that had drawn him all this way. Unlike him, however, she had no idea what it meant. No idea what connection it portended, a connection that would last until the last star burned out and the universe collapsed upon itself. One that would draw their souls together again and again and again, as it had for countless millennia before. “Welcome, stranger.”

Soft, breathy, lilted. In no way the powerful, rich, sinfully deep voice that used to tease him to a fever pitch, that would cut across the floor of the Convocation chamber and slice her opponents to shreds without a single blow, that would lift in song - out-of-tune, but still - when she showered or would rise in ecstasy as he drove her up and over the edge again and again.

“Greetings,” he said, trying his best to modulate his tone - he’d been told that even at his most pleasant, he often came across as supercilious. By the flicker in her eyes, he gathered he’d once more failed. As her expression lost some of its cheerful welcome, his hand slid into his pocket, clenched around a stone.

The rest he carried in a pouch beneath his jacket, but this one - this one he couldn’t bear to place with the others.

It never should have been made. Lahabrea and Elidibus would be appalled if they knew he’d gone behind their backs and created a stone for her as well as the missing ten members of the Convocation, but he didn’t care. She was a hope he could not give up.

And now she was here. He had only to draw out the stone, to channel his magicks through it, and she would remember.

She would be.

“What brings you to Hearthward?” she was asking, her eyes glinting suspiciously as they flicked down towards the hand he’d slid into his pocket, her own fingers skimming surreptitiously towards the sword dangling at her side. “Don’t get many strangers around here.”

His mind raced, considering ramifications even as he answered in an off-hand tone, offering a ready-made excuse for his presence. “I’m scouting ahead; the rest of my party is a few days behind, but I wanted to make certain nothing had changed on our maps.”

Those pale blue eyes flickered over him, and he knew she was seeing his well-worn gear - similar to hers, leather and hide and fur, sturdy and ugly, with a heavy, primal scent that still offended his nose after all of these years. The pack on his back was filled with all manner of tools he had no idea how to use, but was certain the malformed soul that had once worn this body had. He’d learned enough during the conversation he’d struck up with the creature in the last town, before luring him out and shedding his body of its burden, to take it for his own.

“I see,” she said, nodding slowly as her hand fell away from her sword, and he knew she’d accepted his response. “Very well. If you have any need of resupply or wish to take an evening’s respite, the inn,” and she pointed to the largest building in town, just off the square, “and the general store,” and that was the smaller building squatting in the inn’s shadow, “are there, and open for another several marks of the candle.”

Just a simple spell, a shove really, to release the memories, the personality, the person within the stone, to restore her to herself. To restore a little balance to a world gone mad.

A little equilibrium to himself.

Even as his fingers closed around the amber-colored stone, her eyes shifted past him and, for a brief second, her eyes lit up. He knew that look; he’d seen it directed at himself. At Hythlodaeus.

He turned.

The hyur was tall and slim, dressed as they were. His hair was pale blond, his eyes a rich chestnut brown. His smile was quick and ready as he greeted the guard, and in it, the visitor could read his interest, his desire. A quick glance back at her showed him the same; no affection - not beyond the bounds of friendship, not yet, but an attraction.

Jealousy, hot and angry, curled in his belly, and he could feel his aether rise in his breast, already forming the spell that would smite this misborn upstart into his component pieces, motes too small to see with the naked eye.

“Excuse me,” she said, breaking his concentration. “Is there aught else you needed?” He turned to meet her eyes, and she stared up at him, her smile faltering. “Forgive me, good sir, but… have you been here before? I would swear I know you from somewhere.”

Her fingers raised unbidden to brush between her breasts, across that point from which heart and soul sprang, that center of self.

That center that bound them together through eternity and beyond.

One little twist of his magic.

And yet.

She had stood in opposition of the Plan. She’d turned away from him, from them, refusing to give her aid to summon their lord Zodiark, to bring forth the only being which could restore balance to the world. She’d left him, left Hythlodaeus, left the Convocation and their people to walk amongst these- these twisted, stunted creatures, these creations with their pallid, insipid souls. To save them, at the cost of them.

And if he restored her… if he restored her, she would do the same. She would never espouse what they were doing now, never agree with the tentative plans Lahabrea had begun to make to rejoin the fourteen shards of their shattered star.

He could have her back, but she would never be his again. And their disagreement would be an ache in his breast from now until eternity ended.

“No,” he said after an uncomfortable stretch of moments, during which both hyurs had stared at him, perplexed. “No, I have not been here before. I’m afraid we have never met.” He forced his lips into a smile, and deliberately slid his eyes towards the man. “A pity, I think.”

Her brow furrowed and the man stiffened. “Indeed,” she said slowly. “If that is all, then I bid you a good day. Should you have need of aught else, simply see me, or anyone within the village, and we shall be happy to help you.” Her smile was quick and bright - almost too bright; the bond was beginning to pull at her, draw her in. Draw her to him.

He bowed slightly, and her eyes widened, then crinkled in amusement. Such a familiar expression; such a familiar pang in his breast. As he turned to walk away, he could feel her eyes on his back, then felt her regard slip away. A few more steps, then he turned back.

She was staring up at the pale-haired hyur, and he was gazing back. They did not speak, but there was a comfortable familiarity that spoke of friendship, of comradeship. He could read the tentative courtship in their stances; the way that they angled themselves towards each other, the way the man’s fingers curled, as if to keep himself from touching her. The way she twisted her fingers together for much the same reason.

The bond pulsed and pulled in his breast, tugging him back to her. Now that he had found her, he would never lose her again, not as long as their souls remained tied together by fate and destiny and a love too profound to ever be defined by words.

And he knew she could feel it too. Even as the man began to speak, her head turned back towards the visitor and met his eyes - and he could see her puzzled confusion, her helpless interest. The man faltered, frowning, then also turned to stare at him, eyes darkening with jealousy.

He took a step back. She took a step toward.

This would not do.

He could not break the bond. Would not break the bond. To do so would jeopardize her chances of ever finding fulfillment, the snapped thread of their futures together forever tripping her up. As frustrated and unhappy as he was; as disgusted as this world made him, he would not wish such misery upon anyone - especially her.

But perhaps…

He forced himself to turn away again, to begin striding towards the square. He heard a deep, rich voice rise in question, and felt her falter, heard her voice answer, anxious and confused. He waited until he was certain her attention had been diverted once more, then turned back.

The man had a hand on her arm, and his expression was one of distress and concern; that told him all he needed to know. Despite his jealousy, his first thought was her and her wellbeing. This man could never give her everything that he could - and the one thing he could not give that she needed more than anything.

Support.

Together, they would be at odds. She would remember the world they had lost, would once again feel her impotence and helplessness to aid those who had once looked to her for succor. She would blame him for the death of their beloved Hythlodaeus, just as she had before, and she would be no more likely to stay now than she had then. He would lose her again and again, and she would lose him again and again, and through their bond, they would suffer.

Apart - she would live her life, die her death, a thousand, thousand times. She would love, she would lose, she would weep and she would laugh, and she would never remember the love they had shared within their perfect paradise. And he… he would never forget.

He took a breath.

He let it out.

He reached into himself, into his limitless wellspring of aether, and he crafted a spell, a breaking, a rebinding. He tore free their bond from his own soul, snapped the threads of their future with an almost audible snap. He felt the pain of it sing through his body, saw her convulse as the loss of it struck her as well. Even as the other hyur caught at her, calling her name, he threw the spell at him.

It struck home, it sank in; it pulsed, he convulsed - and then it settled, braiding itself indelibly into his soul. The pair leaned drunkenly on each other, disoriented and confused. He waited with baited breath to see if his spell had done its work.

The woman looked up. The man looked down.

Their eyes met. Widened.

Then their mouths met. The bond would not push them into love; not immediately, but it would break down the barriers formed by shyness, by reticence, by the nagging feeling of waiting that would have kept her from forming any such bonds at all.

He did not wait to see what came of it. Already the ache of it was fading, and nothing pulled him here any longer. Head clear, heart clear, he strode off, bypassing the inn, the store, for the gate on the other side of the wall.

And when he passed through it, he dismissed it from his mind, and relegated her to where she belonged.

To memory.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #emet-selch #shard: mnemosyne #shard: thancred #after the sundering #au: woven souls

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cuppajj · 1 year

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[TF Mercy] No Longer Helpless

Kindred in their history, Fortress Maximus and Rung meet up to check in on each other's well being; but what was planned to be a simple conversation suddenly goes south, and the Autobot general suddenly finds himself in the midst of the hunter's abrupt and trauma-fueled panic attack.

[AN: So uhhh I ship Rung and Fortress Maximus in TF: Mercy >>;; it started out as a joke about them getting together because they went through some very similar stuff but then the joke turned out to have actual substance, one thing leads to another and here is my first fic for the game with them! It takes place after Reformed Predator, and hence has spoilers from the story. Just to be safe there are also spoilers for Space Adventure as well! If you haven't read Mercy's RP or SA Storylines then I encourage you to so you have better context of what's going on--but you can still enjoy it without nonetheless! Anyway without further ado!]

TF Mercy belongs to @emperor-kumquat

Fortress Maximus had arrived on time like he always did, knocking on Rung’s apartment door with a book in his servo. They had agreed to check in on each other, discussing their feelings, thoughts, and anything that had happened to them within the past two weeks. It had become an unofficial two-way therapy session, with a little amiable conversation about life thrown in, and the occasional book talk. As a librarian, Rung had given Maximus plenty of book recommendations, most revolving around the general’s flowering interest in nature and animals. Today, Maximus had finished his book on early cybertronian botanical practices, and was interested in returning it to Rung ahead of time. When Rung opened the door, the two greeted each other with friendly smiles, exchanging pleasantries as he let him in. A pair of energon glasses were already prepared for them, Maximus’s favorite blend, which carried a strong aroma. They sat on the coffee table, and the Autobot had helped himself to a sip as he managed to fit his massive frame on the couch. He hadn’t said anything, but Maximus had noticed that Rung sounded gloomier, whenever they called each other. He insisted he was okay when he asked, blaming work or recent hunts for his troubles; but as much as Maximus wanted to leave it at that, he knew that Rung wouldn’t feel this way over work. He hoped to discuss it with him today, during their official unofficial session, when they were meant to divulge everything. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t come across as too nosy, especially if the reason was truly such a simple thing. “Oh, I almost forgot our notes,” Rung had realized as he was about to take a seat next to the other. “I’ll be right back.” “Take your time,” Maximus implored, setting his glass back down on the coffee table. Rung disappeared past the door to his habsuite, leaving both of them to their own thoughts.

Thoughts that Maximus was unaware of, that had been in the back of Rung’s head for weeks. Every time he stepped into his room, he would pass Funeral, mounted on the wall. He hadn’t stopped to gaze at it lest he was pulling it off, but recently, he found himself staring at each intricate cut and scratch riddling its sleek gray metal, from the history of monster hunting that he would embark on. There were times when a sparkeater would round on him, claws and tendrils ready to scratch and stab relentlessly, and Gravemaker would use his gun to push them back, letting the weapon take the hits for him. He could fight back against the monsters he faced, capitulating not once even when all odds were stacked against him. On any other day, Funeral’s battle scars would imbue within Rung a sense of pride. Today was different. Today was when he interpreted those scars in a different way, when he saw something beyond all of the wear and tear. Yes, he could fight back now, but there was a time when he couldn’t. Not when it mattered the most. Not when he saw his old friend that day, or what was left of him. As he neared his desk where his notes laid, he grit his dentae, attempting to shake the looming trepidation away. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He was with Maximus, he had to stay calm for him! All of that could come later, when he had the right words to tell him. If he even wanted to, when he already had time and time before. Was it even worth it? No, no, but that was why they had sessions like these. Anything and everything could be said, no matter what it was or if it had been heard before. He knew, Max knew, so why was it so hard? Then the thoughts, the memories, came back as fast as Rung had attempted to push them out. The helplessness that he once had, so long ago. He froze in place, inches away from his notes, head throbbing and optics agape. He pleaded for this to not happen to him, not now, not when the time was supposed to be lighthearted and sentimental; but he had pushed these emotions away for so long now, that his attempts to push even further were no longer possible. These memories, this new perspective of Funeral’s marks, were not new; he had harbored them for longer than Maximus had become aware of his sullen mood. They were hungry, now; ready to tear at his mind and feast. Like he’d been.

Outside, Maximus had been playing with his digits, studying the simplistic living room around him as he patiently waited for Rung to return. He shifted a little in place, attempting to sit more comfortably on the couch, but he felt the legs scrape beneath him ever so slightly as his weight dragged them along with his frame. He pursed his lips and stopped immediately, resorting to pushing the coffee table a little further away from the couch so he could position himself closer to its edge. He was unaware of Rung’s condition in the other room until he suddenly heard the door slam open, and out with it scurried the smaller cybertronian. His quick and panicked breaths filled the room, telltale signs for the Autobot that something was terribly wrong. “Rung!? Rung!” Maximus gasped, whipping his helm behind him. “What’s going on!?” Confusion and shock grew exponentially as he watched Rung grip his chassis and helm, optics squeezing shut and blowing open at irregular paces. They gaped at nothing and everything all at once, seeming to lose sight of his own apartment, and Maximus along with it.

Fog rolled into his mind, thick and humid like ghastly breath passing his face. Wherever he dared to turn to, he saw nothing but encroaching shadows and bitter isolation, with no one around to help--no one who cared enough, anyway. He swore he could hear Froid’s condemning voice just beyond the mist, but any desperate call fell short of his lips. He found that he couldn’t talk, or scream, or run, no matter how hard he tried. Not when the other voice told him to stop, to quiet, the familiar and horrendous form it belonged to stalking towards him, his giant servos outstretched and his glare piercing through the haze.

“Rung!”

Maximus planted one pede down as he stood half out of his seat, balling his fists as he watched--he didn’t want to think helplessly, no--he was only stunned. He’d seen Rung sad, he’d seen him cry too, when they had their moments; but he’d never seen him break down into a hyperventilating mess. The Autobot couldn’t figure out what to do, how to calm him down. He had to think, think of something!

“H-h--” Rung gripped his head, stumbling across the living room floor unevenly. In the midst of his hyperventilation, he accidentally bumped into the coffee table, causing the glasses to topple over and fall to the floor, shattering on impact.

CRACK!

Rung yelped at the noise, whirling around so violently that he lost his footing and crashed painfully onto the couch. The smell of freshly spilt energon nauseated him, mixing with the awful stench that doused him and the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear it now, feel it now, the snarling, the acidic drool dripping onto his orange plating, the hypnotic rays racking his processor over and over. Nothing stopped the ghoul from closing the space between them, malice and hunger in his eyes. No! No! “Rung!” Maximus cried. “Rung, please- you’re fine!” Rung could only gasp and flinch helplessly as he felt the skeletal claws on him, the furious growling of the towering ghoul overhead growing louder and louder. Any desperate thought and attempt to flee was ripped from him, the power too great for him to resist. It was too much, the feeling of futility—all too familiar, dreadful all the same. The ghoul’s optics bore into his own, drowning the front of his form in a sick purple light as the shadows behind him nipped and bit at his rattling frame, threatening to engulf him entirely. All Rung could see was his face, he could feel his breath on him, gnashed teeth parting for his long and dangerous tongue to flick out and drag along his tearful face… He couldn’t be back. He couldn’t be back! He couldn’t—

“Rung!“

Instinctively, Maximus reached his massive servos out toward him in an attempt to still him, pacify him, but the sudden motion did nothing but cause the three-wheeler to sink backward, optics bulging wide as their pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks. Suddenly, the ghoul was on him with an inescapable grip, teeth parting as far as they could as they lunged forward and-

He gasped, “no-“

Realizing what he’d done wrong a second too late, Maximus pulled back quickly, spark racing. He stood up and distanced himself from the other, hands raised in front of his chest. Red optics gaped woundedly down on Rung. “I’m sorry,” Maximus uttered, shaken voice pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Rung remained hunched, curled in on himself as his optics continued to struggle to read what was real in that moment. The ghoul’s hulking frame had slinked away so suddenly, peering at him through the thick fog that enshrouded him. The lone purple optic remained fixated on him, finials outstretched, ready to move at a second’s notice—then, another voice broke through into his ears, a stark contrast from the ugly noise grating at him.

A voice, soft and deep, hurt… Max?

Rung blinked as the new voice began to lift the fog and shadows away, the hisses and breaths retreating with them. His optics struggled to register, the silhouette of the ghoul shifting and changing, before the light drowned it out. Optics once purple were now red, brown plating now blue. Gradually, the smaller bot returned to his senses, his quick and heavy breaths slowing down. However, the aftershock of the episode kept his frame trembling. Maximus found his own breaths slowing down, recognizing that the distance had helped. With softened optics, he inhaled deeply before whispering, “I’m here.”

Tears streaked down Rung’s cheeks, the gravity of the situation now aware to him. His horror turned to sorrow, and his grip on the armrest loosened. “Max,” he whimpered, “I…” Maximus took one step closer, and after gauging his response, slowly approached his side once more. His servos fell to his sides. Rung thankfully didn’t flinch or curl further into the corner of the couch, instead sitting back upright. With his optics on his pedes, he slouched and hid his servos between his legs. His lips quivered and his breath continued to tremble. Maximus finally sat back down next to him, eyeing him with deep concern. He extended a digit to him, which the other took and squeezed on. “I didn’t mean to,” Rung moaned. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” “Ssh, it’s alright. It’s alright,” uttered Maximus. “Let’s calm down. Let’s calm down, okay?” Rung echoed his words, nodding quickly and wiping the tears from his optics, but still they continued to fall. He began to breathe slowly and audibly, as deep as he could, and kept the pressure on Maximus’s digit the whole time. He could gauge how badly he shook through his servo, and over time, it slowed in pace. Minutes would pass until the gray bot was finally still. When he was, he opened his optics once more, tears now dripping lightly down his cheeks. He stared at the thin air in front of him, riddled with the same thoughts nonetheless. Maximus spoke first. “It was them, wasn’t it?” After a moment, Rung nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t see Maximus’s gaze darken with the recollection of what he had heard from him of his oldest friends. Rung had trusted him enough to divulge everything that had happened, from their softest moments to the moments where he believed he would die. The betrayal hit too close to home for Maximus, even if the connotations were different; Rung’s sparkbreak was closer than his. Rung saw them as friends, potentially even more than that, for one or both of them. And for them to turn against him… Rung always discouraged his brasher ideas, but even so, they were still there. But now wasn’t the time to dwell upon his pointed anger; he had something more important to concern himself with. Maximus’s expression relaxed, and he angled his frame to face Rung, so he could better look at him. He found that Rung did the same, turning from the emptiness of the room to him, though he still didn’t look up. He let go of Maximus’s digit, which fell back to his side, and took a long, tired breath. The other frowned, squeezing his palm lightly before one of his servos rose.

With servos so huge, capable of crushing the smaller cybertronian’s helm within their grasp, Maximus paid extra attention to the way he reached up to hold it with the utmost care. The sides of his fingers met Rung’s jaw as his thumb reached up to wipe the tears away from his cheek, Rung’s optics closing and frame relaxing at his touch. A shaky sigh left him, and before Maximus’s servo lowered, his own servo lifted to rest atop it, stopping it in place as it cupped the side of his helm. “It’s been… so long,” uttered Rung, helm leaning into the other’s servo, “since all of that happened. I know it was a traumatic experience for me, but I feel as if I should be past it by now.” His optics opened to gaze into Maximus’s, the red optics of one who knew what he meant more than most. When he vented to the general of his woes, all the rigidity he was notorious for would disappear, replaced with the understanding features only one who suffered similarly could have. This was no different. Even stronger, perhaps, as Rung had never broken down in front of him like this. Maximus understood him, he could see it in his face; yet he could also see the sorrow and concern behind it. The giant shook his head. “It changed your life,” he breathed. “He did. They did, after you trusted them and cared for them for so long. That kind of betrayal wouldn’t leave anyone easily.” “It’s not just that it was… betrayal,” Rung winced, as if the word was difficult to fathom. “Max, I tried to run. I tried to do the right thing for everyone. And they dragged me back… he kept me there, and- Max, it was torture. I was trapped in there, struggling to survive all because- because-” Maximus heard Rung’s voice tensing up once more, and he hushed him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore. You’ve had enough for now.” Rung’s silence agreed, the slow nods brushing up and down Maximus’s palm. His optics closed once more, and he squeezed down on his giant servo. “To have someone you care about, who cares for you just as much…” Maximus thought with a low voice. “...I know. And I know you know that, Rung. And things like that won’t leave overnight, as I was saying… but the least we can do is find any and every way to speed the whole thing up, I think.” Rung continued to nod. The general’s words, complimented by his deep and soft voice, helped put him at ease. In his current state, he could simply listen to him go on and on, until the reverberating tone lulled him to a calming sleep… but to admit it now, he wasn’t sure if it was ideal. “You’re right,” he murmured. “I just hope it’s sooner than later.” “It will be,” promised Maximus.

The three wheeler’s lips pulled back into a small smile. To Maximus, it was all he needed to know that his words had reached his spark, clearing the last of the dread that had choked him to tears. Rung couldn’t see the ghoul anymore. No more shadows gripped him, the hisses had been silenced, and the biting cold that racked his frame had been replaced with the warmth of his gratitude for Maximus’s company. Gratitude, among things he was still struggling to wrap his helm around. He truly did care about Maximus, and he knew that Maximus cared about him the same… yet that thought carried such caution, pressure, and history, that it made him hesitant to truly accept it even though he wanted to. Maybe--no, definitely--because of what had happened to him; and even though Maximus understood, a part of Rung nagged on and on that he couldn’t say everything he wanted to. He hoped that would change someday Maximus’s words echoed, it will. He held them close to his spark.

“Thank you,” Rung hummed, and the two finally lowered their servos. “I am truly sorry you had to see that. I suppose I’ve had some bottled up feelings over the past few days…” “I’ll always help you out,” Maximus assured. “Please, tell me next time. Bottling things up isn’t good for you, you hear?” Rung’s optics fell to the side, and he smiled. “Yes, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Always exuding your emotions like so…” He looked back up right as the telltale blush met Maximus’s cheeks, and just as fast, the other averted his gaze. “‘Exuding my emotions’ helps. For me at least,” he smiled sheepishly. “You should try it sometime.” The two fell silent after their exchange of warm smiles. As Maximus sat next to Rung, the other began to observe the state of the room with renewed clarity. Noticing the two energon glasses spilling their contents across the floor, his smile wavered, a silent “oh” falling shamefully under his breath. He knew he didn’t mean to, but he’d prepared them for them to enjoy together as they talked about all of the- “Rung, it’s okay,” Maximus said suddenly, reading his thoughts from his frown alone. “We can prepare more later.” “But shouldn’t we do that before we talk?” Rung blinked back at him, bewildered. “I don’t mean to get up so suddenly, but I should clean that up and prepare us more- ah--”

Strong servos enveloped his thin gray frame, pulling him delicately forward as he let out a soft gasp. Maximus adjusted himself and leaned backward on the couch, kicking one leg up onto the as the other slid over the edge to plant itself on the ground and balance his massive frame. Rung was hoisted up to sprawl atop Maximus’s chassis, and his awestruck expression, he didn’t resist at all. Heat quickly built up in his frame as the giant finally relaxed his servos, keeping them in a blanket across his torso. They eyed each other, and Rung could see the blush across Maximus’s face. He wasn’t used to doing this, picking him up and laying him against him. It was very… forward? Intimate? Words that made his blush deepen, but his gaze remained focused on Rung despite his swirling bashfulness. Part of him hoped Rung wouldn’t take it so intensely. “We’re already talking,” he spoke, their closeness bringing his voice to a hum. “Max…” Rung released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “The drinks aren’t as important,” replied the other. Rung wanted to protest, insisting that complimentary drinks were courteous and deserving for both of them, but he was aware of how his entire frame relaxed in Maximus’s embrace. Maximus didn’t want him to get up, and something told Rung that his tiny frame didn’t want to either.

Oh.

His head flicked left, then right, searching for any spot to obscure the blush building up in his cheeks. He ultimately folded his arms in front of him and hid part of his face in them, covering all but his glimmering optics, and to his misfortune, the blue hue that surrounded them. His optics remained glued below him--which didn’t help as much as he wanted to, considering he was now staring into Maximus’s chassis. He emitted a short unintelligible mumble, shifting in place. Even though Maximus hadn’t said anything, Rung was predicting what words would come next: “This isn’t about them, it’s about you.” “You and I matter more than that.” “Let’s just have this moment between us.” But Maximus didn’t feel the need to say any of those, as he read Rung’s body language. As the three-wheeler shyly tucked himself into his chest, he knew what he meant. “You don’t have to see them ever again,” Maximus said instead, alluding to the subject of Rung’s distress. He squeezed down on him, as tightly as he could with his restrained strength for the other’s comfort. “You’re in a better place now. It’s what you deserve.” Rung bit his lip, legs curling into himself. Those two were his… no, Maximus was right. He never doubted that. If his new perspective meant that his memories of the past would be interlaid with bitterness and pain, then so be it. It was the past. He could make new memories today and tomorrow. And Maximus, he could help. They could make them together. “Thank you,” Rung’s stiffness eased, helm rising from his arms to smile gratefully up at him. Hope glimmered in his optics, which Maximus noticed. He wouldn’t admit it then, but he loved to see that gleam of his, every time… “Of course,” Maximus’s optics lidded. “And I’m here for you. You’re here for me, after all.” We have each other, he almost said, but those words were too much for him and his already blue face. Rung hummed, “yes…”

Perhaps they didn’t need to talk through anything today anymore. The company of the other was enough, the consoling words and equally soft and sympathetic voices the cures for the dread that plagued them. Rung uncurled his limbs, slowly splaying them into a more comfortable position to relax atop Maximus’s broad frame. He rested the side of his helm into his chassis, hearing the faint hum of his spark underneath his tough plating. It was funny, how it was usually him who’d lay against him to his surprise. Maximus was the one to surprise him this time, picking him up and holding him here… he’d be too shy for that. Though maybe he still was, if his facial expression said anything. He was too familiar with it, the cute flush on one so infamous for his scowls… “Could we stay like this for a little longer?” Rung wished to ask, but he listened to Maximus’s slow and deep breaths, and noticed his optics were closed to allow himself to savor the moment. He did the same. It seemed like he didn’t have to ask, when the answer was already yes… The drinks could wait.

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