Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.

He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.

Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.

~

Hello newbie!!!

Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!

It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.

Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!

DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.

~

D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.

“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”

Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”

Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”

D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”

“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”

He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”

“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”

Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.

D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”

Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.

~

DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.

~

Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.

Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.

“D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.

“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.

Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”

D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.

An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”

A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”

Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”

“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”

“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”

D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.

“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”

Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”

“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.

“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.

Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.

D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.

D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”

But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.

“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”

Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.

~

DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift? 

~

“I’m sorry, D.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”

“...no. You didn’t.”

~

DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.

(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)

~

What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.

He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”

“Hm?”

Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”

“Fine,” D-16 says.

“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”

D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”

Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”

“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”

“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made. 

~

Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!

In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)

~

D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.

That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!

“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.

“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”

Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”

A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”

“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”

D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”

Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.

Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”

And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)

“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.

Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.

~~~

Lying there for the past 5 minutes was a very awake Hugh. Simon was on his phone, Hugh spooning him from behind feigning his sleep to not have to get up.

Because him getting up ment Simon getting up. Then they would both have to go to work where they would be separated all day. 

On his birthday. 

You're supposed to get everything you want on your birthday, right? 

I just want to lie here with him. 

Hugh felt Simon reach over to put his phone on the nightstand beside him, then settled back into Hugh’s embrace. On instinct Hugh tightened his hold, nuzzling his face into Simon's hair.  

There was a slight chuckle from his husband, who turned over in his arms to face him. 

Damn, he was found out. 

“Here I was thinking you slept in.” Hugh opened his eyes to a smiling Simon. Best image to ‘wake up’ too. Simon then leaned down and kissed Hugh, “Happy Birthday, Hon,” He whispered into his mouth before deeping their kiss. 

When they finally pulled apart Hugh groaned in frustration, “I really don’t want to work today.” He pulled his pillow over his face, like ‘hiding’ himself would do anything. 

Simon laughed again, “Aren't you the one who said you didn’t wan’t your birthday to be different from any other day. Aside from a cake.” 

“I was asked in front of important judgy people. I wanted to seem like a mature adult.” Hugh said, muffled.

That earned a snort from Simon. 

Hugh tossed the pillow aside, “What? I can be mature.” 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Simon replied, biting his lip to suppress a smile. 

Hugh rolled his eyes, “It's my birthday! You're not supposed to bully me. Where's my unconditional love?”

“You said you don't want your birthday to-” Simon started again, but was cut off hrom Hugh sitting up and hitting him with the pillow from before, knocking him over.

“I admit my dumb mistake.” Hugh sighed, “I want today to be all about me-”

“Like it usually isn’t?” Simon cut him off, rolling his eyes, going back into a sitting position. 

“Shush, no bullying.”

“I literally just got attacked and abused-”

“ANYWAY! I don’t want to work today.” Hugh flopped back on his back, “Stay with me?”

Simon rolled his eyes again, “We can’t-”

“Baby please!”

“Because I planned a nice day for you.” Simon finished sitting on top of his husband.  

Hugh blinked in confusion and Simon leaned down to give him another kiss, “You think I don't know my own husband. Like I wouldnt clear out today for you and our family to do something nice for your birthday? Which I know you like to celebrate.”

Hugh opened his mouth to say something, but Simon beat him to it, “I know, I know! I'm amazing! I love me too. Now get up.” 

Simon climbed off of Hugh lap and walked to the bathroom. Hugh watched him with awe the whole time, a smile unable to leave his lips. 

When Simon came back out, he shot Hugh a look that finally got him out of bed, “So what exactly are we doing today?” Hugh asked his husband, who was holding up a shirt to himself, looking in the mirror. 

“Brunch with Kasumi, Evander and Tamaya. Lunch with Adrian and Max at H.Q and Dinner, me and you.” He tossed the shirt aside, not liking it and grabbed another one, “If you're ok with that?”

Hugh pulled Simon into a hug from behind, “That's perfect, My love.” Simon wiggled his hips in Hugh hold, “And anything and everything in between is all up to you,” Simon hummed.

Hugh met Simon's eyes in the mirror, both mischievous and excited. 

“Anything and everything?” Hugh said, leaning down to kiss Simon’s neck.

“That's what I said…”

“...something sweet?…so delicious…” Hugh murmured into his neck. 

“Whatever you want,” Simon huffed.

Hugh straightened himself and spun Simon around, “So I can have some of the cake right now, for breakfast?”

Simon blinked up at him, “Huh?”

“I want cake. What were you thinking?” Hugh grinned, he may regret this later, but it was his birthday. He was allowed to play around. 

Simon lightly hit Hugh’s chest, “I hate you,” he groaned.

-

Sometimes, he forgot himself in a brawl. Sometimes it was a good thing. Forgotten insecurities, forgotten weaknesses, forgotten past. Sometimes it was a bad thing; missteps and clumsy hands.

And sometimes it was a mess waiting to happen.

When he swung his blade, he swung hard. Knock back one opponent, parry another, blow a longsword clean out of an enemies hands with one stroke. In a show of power, he struck another so hard; sparks clashing between metal, that he could hear their wrist give as bones snapped under impact.

Something so primordial shouldn’t feel so satisfying.

The nobleman took off a few fingers off one absent-minded fool with a bad grip on his weapon, and threw another one down into the dirt before finishing them off. It felt good. He threw a dagger strapped to his leg at another the sense of glee he got at the precision aim was enough to make him giddy. The blood pouring out of the bowman’s neck wound as they collapsed did not leave a victorious feeling however, but a hollow one.

“Pardon me,” Abernathy chimed in. Their footwork pivoted around each other as the paladin hacked into the man in his blindspot, and he gored another adjacent to him.

“Your left,” Amon countered, shoving another back and fending away their sword.

“Look out for-”

“I have it.”

Strike met strike. He grappled with another desperate to take his weapon, and socked them right in the jaw. The rattle of armor clanking in his ears. The cries of dying men. An arrow hitting the solid shape of his shield with a dull thump.

As he raised his weapon to deliver another blow, he turned towards the sound of footsteps behind him. His blade froze, half-raised.

That flash of hair, the shape of her face.

Marie?

In an instant, he was crippled. His will collapsing. He was frail, and delicate; a new bud blooming for the first time.

By the time he realized the eyes were not the same, and the snarl on her face that could never be his once-child, it was too late.

The lance penetrated him like a kabab. He gasped, reaching for the handle as the woman twisted the weapon. It tore through his entrails. Her weight surged into the weapon as he stumbled, and it came through his backside with the sound of ripping leather and tearing flesh.

Wide-eyed, he stared at the weapon, and then at the woman. His vision was blurry. His heart was thunder in his ears. The feeble longing still buried in his soul clutched to the phantom fantasy of a boisterous young lady with her cheery laugh and encouraging smile. It shattered him. Made him weak; bent his spine tender. What he would give to make that Farthing girl he called his daughter own happy.

There were various screams of horror and outrage. He’d forgotten his name had so little syllables but could could hold so many notes.

This particular solar cycle they’re rearranging their berths to accommodate the new crew and D-16 is, predictably, off to the side, eyeing potential placements for his Megatronus Prime decal. Jazz’s dermas quirks into a half smile and jogs over.

“Hey, need any help there?” Jazz slaps D-16’s shoulder plate and D-16 pivots so the tips of Jazz’s digits only scrape the area lightly.

“I’m fine,” D-16 insists, optics flickering to Jazz in a brief acknowledgement before returning to the decal in his servos. “Are you—?”

Jazz grins. “Checking on you? You could say that. Or I’m making sure you don’t eat the newbies spark first, does that sound better to you?”

D-16 shakes his helm, Jazz’s signal that he’s reached his socialization quota of the day. He points at the decal. “Tilt it a little that way. It’s a bit—yeah, that’s it! Now it’s perfect.”

Jazz automatically reaches out to tap D-16’s shoulder plate again—habit from all his other comrades.

“Don’t,” D-16 warns. “You just fixed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Jazz throws his servos up in surrender, smirking grin still in full effect. “I’m over here if ya need anything. And you’re welcome.”

D-16 grumbles low enough that it can’t reach Jazz’s audials—probably either a curse or a thank you, there’s no telling with that one. Jazz strides off to his own berth, plain save for a data pad full of comics stowed away in a side pocket. Perhaps his name would fit across the sides…he’ll have to swipe some cosmetic paints to make it happen but wouldn’t it be cool?

“—the coolest.”

Taken aback, Jazz whirls around only to find that the mech wasn’t addressing him at all. The blue and red newbie is grinning, the corners of his intake almost splitting his face plate wide open. Which, woah, that’s a lot, but what’s even more woah is how he’s speaking with D-16…and D-16 is smiling back? 

“No fraggin’ way,” Jazz’s vocal chip comes close to short circuiting.

“You know,” D-16 begins, verging on chipper, “Sentinel says that Megatronus was—”

“—the strongest Prime to ever live,” the two of them complete together. The newcomer chuckles, followed in suit by D-16, dear Primus, Jazz has to sit down. This cannot be real.

“Orion Pax,” the other bot says, extending a servo.

“D-16.” He accepts the shake.

One of Jazz’s friends attempts to interrupt. “Hey, Jazz—”

Jazz cannot miss one klik of what’s unfolding so he waves an arm out. “Not now, not now.”

“So, you ever mine energon before?” D-16 inquires and that’s— D-16? Asking a question with the intent of getting to know a mech? It’s about work, which Jazz notes to discuss with him later, but it’s progress. Jazz is in equal parts proud as he is insulted.

“No, you?” Orion Pax asks back. His optics, very blue optics Jazz can see even at this distance, turn to D-16, that all-too-easy smile softened and blinding.

D-16 is as struck as Jazz is. “...no.”

Scratch that. He’s much more struck than Jazz is. Jazz forces a shut down to his voice box before the cackle can ruin their moment. What in all of Primus’ glory is D-16 thinking?

“I hear it’s dangerous,” he tacks on.

D-16 must be glitched. There’s no way he isn’t when his rank is splayed clear across his chest plate. Jazz takes all his pride back, shoves it deep within his spark and bites down on his glossa instead of slamming his helm into his berth several times. 

Orion Pax truly must be new because his optics don’t process the ranking badge at all. “Well, how about this? You watch my back and I’ll watch yours?”

A servo stretches out in a loose fist, waiting for an answering bump. Good and honest, and Jazz crosses his spark that this happened, D-16 beams. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sounds good…Pax.”

The two of them tap their fists together—which delights Orion to no end by the looks of it. It’s touching, if it weren’t for the fact that D-16 is the worst flirt in all of Iacon. Oh, he’ll deny it once Jazz approaches him but Jazz has two working optics, a fully functional processor, and a propensity for intruding.

Jazz sets a reminder in his HUD to teach D-16 how to flirt with his little Orion. Properly. In a way that doesn’t involve lying. Maybe he’ll get a proper thanks from D-16 then.

(Probably not.)