"Neck bite. STAB."

The Nemesis was quiet.

Too quiet.

Even for a warship of the Decepticons, where silence often stretched like wire between tension, there was something off about the stillness that settled after Y/n had gone back to the surface. No one said it out loud, not even once, but they all noticed it.

She hadn't been on board for a single day, and already the empty space left behind gnawed at something deeper than they cared to admit.

In the control room, Soundwave stood, as he always did, a quiet sentinel to the ship's functions. But his visor flicked once—backward—toward the corridor where Y/n's odd, slow footsteps used to echo. Where she used to mutter "click...step...click...step" to herself like clockwork as she moved.

He never recorded that sound. But somehow, it played in his mind anyway.

Knockout leaned over a workbench in the med bay, polishing his tools for the third time that cycle. Normally he'd be humming, admiring his reflection, talking to Breakdown. But now he just paused occasionally, glancing at the empty cot she'd occupied.

She'd stared at him so much. That unsettling, never-blinking stare.

But it was... interesting. Like she saw something behind his vanity, and didn't flinch.

He missed the quiet pressure of being watched without judgment.

Breakdown, usually content in silence, paced more now. Restless. He thought maybe he imagined the sound of crutches tapping down the hallway earlier. Maybe.

He wasn't good with words, but when she told him—softly, and not quite directly—that he made her feel "less broken," it stuck with him. He hadn't told anyone that.

And he didn't plan to.

Starscream, true to form, pretended nothing had changed. He scoffed at the others, barked orders louder than usual, and mocked any display of sentiment.

But he hadn't insulted anyone for the past two days.

Not once.

And when he passed the room Y/n had once sat in, humming tunelessly and tracing symbols on the walls with scrap metal, he paused just a second too long before moving on.

Shockwave, logical to a fault, had tried to delete the human's presence from his memory buffer to make room for more data. But he couldn't.

Because her presence was an anomaly.

Her existence defied basic organic behavior.

She was mimicry and humanity, emotionless yet not, broken but deeply aware. And her absence left a blank space in his data that he did not understand.

He spent more time than usual in simulation, running hypothetical outcomes where she had stayed.

And Megatron, though he said nothing, stood for a long time in the hangar after she left. Alone.

He stared at the human-sized exit hatch. Quiet. Thoughtful. One hand curled at his side, twitching.

She had looked up at him the last time with those brown eyes and said, "...See you, big guy. Or not." then tapped her own forehead with one finger.

And smiled.

That smile haunted him more than her silence ever did.

None of them said anything.

None of them would.

But when they returned to their routines... the gaps were noticeable.

Even the warship felt a little colder without the strange little girl with broken posture, stilted words, and a heart none of them fully understood.

And that was the most dangerous part.

They wanted her back.

Y/n sat at the back of the classroom, her oversized sweater sleeves dragging slightly over the desk as she worked in near silence.

She wasn't paying attention to the lesson.

Not really.

Her focus was on the black pen clutched tightly in her fingers, the lines it dragged across the wooden desk forming hauntingly accurate, highly detailed sketches. A gleaming red sports car with cruel optics. A hulking armored mech with one missing optic and a careful, steady presence. A sleek, silent form with a blank visor. Jagged armor. Clawed hands. A towering, powerful figure with piercing red eyes and a presence that oozed command.

The Decepticons. Her Decepticons.

She missed them.

Desperately.

Even if she couldn't explain why.

Even if they were violent and cruel and broken in ways that mirrored herself.

Even if they were supposed to be the bad guys.

Her pen scratched out little words beside each one:

"Sleek."

"One optic."

"Silent."

"Voice like thunder."

"...Friends?"

The bell hadn't even rung when she felt eyes on her.

She didn't look up.

But she heard Miko whisper to Jack.

"Is she seriously drawing the Cons right now?"

"Dude," Jack murmured. "That's definitely Megatron."

"That's Soundwave," Raf added, a little too loudly, then ducked down in his seat when Y/n slowly turned her head toward them.

"Judging..."

"...S-She heard us," Raf whispered.

Miko gave an awkward laugh. "Uh, hey! Nice drawings! Real... detailed! Definitely not creepy at all!"

Y/n didn't say anything. Just stared. Then tapped the drawing of Knockout with her finger once. Twice.

Then softly muttered:

"Miss him."

They froze.

Jack's brow furrowed. "Y/n, why would you—"

She turned her head back around before he could finish, gripping her pen again, the sound of scratching ink resuming as she started outlining Starscream's jagged wings. She didn't speak again for the rest of class.

But she smiled.

Just a little.

They were watching her, somewhere out there.

She could feel it.

And that made the aching emptiness of being away from them feel just a bit easier to bear.

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