[Ratchet opens his mouth to ask why, then stops, then closes it, looking down. It's a few seconds before he drags his optics back up, meeting Drift's.]
[Ratchet stands up, watching Drift's face and he almost falters and just asks Drift how he's been, or about the Scavengers, or starts the conversation with anything but--]
I'm not done. [He cycles his vents roughly, but pushes on.] ...I wasn't--I wasn't lying when I said them, but I felt that way because I was scared. Of a lot of things. But mostly of--of how much you mean to me.
[Ratchet steps forward and catches at Drift's hands as they clench together, squeezing.]
Because you do. Mean a lot. You have since before you left.
[He's the one who reaches out, though, catching at Drift's shoulder and pulling him in. He only hesitates for a split second before he eases his mouth against Drift's, the touch soft and slow.]
[ Ah. That's nice. Ratchet takes the lead and he actually doesn't mind at all. He just leans into it. Still awkward a bit, not sure what to do with his hands, so he settles for a sort of hug.
It's weirdly tender, and honestly that makes him heat more than anything immediately passionate. He can feel it from his toes to the tips of his finials. ]
[Ratchet's arms close harder around Drift, his mouth almost gentle, sliding against Drift's before he pulls back with a soft sound. He looks almost dazed, his optics bright and unfocused for a moment before he shunts a soft huff of warm air from his vents and looks down into Drift's face.]
All right? [His voice is quiet, his expression still slightly hesitant.]
[Ratchet catches Drift a little closer as he shivers, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth taut.]
Drift? [He cups a hand at the base of Drift's helm and strokes, almost soothing, his optics dimming as Drift tucks himself down against Ratchet's shorter, broader frame.]
[He shifts awkwardly but doesn't let go, sagging a little into Drift's grip after a moment and letting his head tip onto Drift's shoulder, forehelm pressing lightly to warm plating.]
[Ratchet sighs, his hands hovering uselessly for a minute before they just... settle, cupping against Drift's helm and his back, fingers stroking almost absently.]
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...have you been gone this whole time?
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Yeah. Mostly.
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Come home. Please.
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Really?
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...please.
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No, Drift, you're not in trouble.
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VIDEO; -> ACTION;
[He turns the feed off and just... waits.]
ACTION;
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...hey, kid.
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Hey, Ratch.
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I'm sorry.
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[ Drift is ready for the hard conversation and then Ratchet. Apologizes. To him. ]
I'm sorry what?
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I said, I'm sorry. What, do you want it in writing?
[He bites his tongue and looks away again, the irritation draining from him to just leave him looking tired.]
The stuff I said, before you left--it was wrong. Of me. And I'm sorry.
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[ He wrings his hands awkwardly. ]
So. Uh.
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[Ratchet steps forward and catches at Drift's hands as they clench together, squeezing.]
Because you do. Mean a lot. You have since before you left.
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Ratchet... that's.
[ Honestly he has to check to make sure he's not dreamed this up somehow. His fingers fold over the medic's though, after a moment. ]
Ah. I understand being afraid. You uh. You really feel that way though?
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...but yes, I do. Feel that way.
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You love me?
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...I love you.
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Yeah. I'd like that.
[He's the one who reaches out, though, catching at Drift's shoulder and pulling him in. He only hesitates for a split second before he eases his mouth against Drift's, the touch soft and slow.]
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It's weirdly tender, and honestly that makes him heat more than anything immediately passionate. He can feel it from his toes to the tips of his finials. ]
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All right? [His voice is quiet, his expression still slightly hesitant.]
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Good.
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Drift? [He cups a hand at the base of Drift's helm and strokes, almost soothing, his optics dimming as Drift tucks himself down against Ratchet's shorter, broader frame.]
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Yeah?
[ His voice is muffled by the medic's shoulder. ]
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[He shifts awkwardly but doesn't let go, sagging a little into Drift's grip after a moment and letting his head tip onto Drift's shoulder, forehelm pressing lightly to warm plating.]
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[ His grip tightens. ]
Sorry. Just another minute?
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[Ratchet eases in Drift's grip, turning his head to tuck his face into the crook of Drift's shoulder comfortably.]
Take your time.
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[ He settles to kind of shuffle them over to the couch. ]
Can we sit?
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[He pulls back a little, just enough so he can walk to the couch unimpeded, and sits down, tugging Drift with him.]
It's all right. I'm not-- [He falters a little, his mouth crimping at the corners.] ...I'm not going anywhere.
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[ As soon as they're sitting, Drift curls up and practically mashes his face into Ratchet's belly. ]
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[ He presses back into the contact easily, relaxing a bit from the awkward stiffness, arms finding their way around Ratchet's waist. ]
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[Ratchet doesn't really relax, but when does he ever? He settles back against the couch, at least, hand moving absently over Drift's back.]
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[ He sounds a lot smaller than he'd like. ]
This makes me happy.
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[Simply, his hands still moving on Drift's plating.]
I'm glad.