(A/N) Slight Swearing
(y/n) = Your Name
(a/c) = Armour Color
It's been a living hell since he left. My spark had been ripped in two, then sloppily molded together by my friends and teammates. The black truck, Ironhide, has been the most help these days.. always sure Optimus isn't dead, always making sure I get some food into my system. His faith is refreshing, yet un-needed. I don't know why he's always around—I'm always in tears or a filthy mess. I haven't washed my (a/c) armour in days, and there's dried energon streaks everywhere. As my optics surveyed the scene, a familiar whiz came from behind me.
Damn it, Ironhide, I don't want you seeing me like this again.
“You know, (y/n), you need a shower.” The black autobot said beside me, squatting on my left as my legs dangled over the edge.
I looked the opposite direction, not wanting him to see the new trails of tears.