Blaster checked his chronometer again, though he knew it had only been half a breem since he looked last. Even upset as he was, the flat was simply dim and empty without Soundwave.
With his semi-regular job – becoming a little more semi than regular of late – at a local nightclub, usually Soundwave waited up for him. But their roles had reversed of late, and not without tumult. Blaster knew to where Soundwave slipped off, the meetings and the figurehead which called him with dangerous attraction, and didn't like it one bit.
Soundwave didn't sneak, but he left wordlessly every other megacycle; he had maintained that discreet silence ever since the first fight. Blaster shifted moodily on the cushion. They never fought. They might have spats every once and a while, but a full-blown fight was rare. And over politics, of all things!
But this bot Soundwave would support – that he would follow to war, it seemed ever more – gave Blaster a terrible feeling. For all his charismatic words and admirable goals, his methods left a bad taste in Blaster's mouth. No, he didn't like Megatron one bit, and he had a myriad of reasons. But there was a personal sting to his dislike, and it fueled the increasingly frequent arguments with Soundwave; Megatron was the true target of Blaster's anger, because he felt Soundwave slipping away and into the clutches of a fearsome leader who would wage a war.
Blaster folded his arms over his front, like it would protect his spark from the sting. He silently reassured Steeljaw, who drifted up from his slumber in Blaster's chassis at his carrier's disturbance. There was barely time for him to wonder if they would fight tonight – Blaster automatically turned his head at the sound of the door opening. Soundwave stood in the door a moment, coaxing Ravage out of his chassis.
Something else that was new and ever more present: that facemask of Soundwave's – he wore it even inside the building now, only removing it once inside their flat. It placed a chill in Blaster's spark for reasons he couldn't quite name.
Soundwave turned, caught sight of him, hesitated; Blaster didn't have to be a telepath to know he wondered the same thing – would they argue again? He even paused a few kliks before lowering his mask, his caution and unease evident.
And there was that sting, sharper than ever. Blaster pressed his lips together, hurt welling up hot through his spark and he almost lashed out because of it, but – no. He turned away, letting off a sharp burst of air from his vents. He didn't want to fight. He never did. All he wanted was the bot behind him, who still stood uncertainly just inside the doorway, and the nights mere stellar cycles ago where their sole concern was the care of their symbiotes.
Blaster stood, very aware of the gaze on his back, and strode to a nearby panel on the wall. With the flip of a switch, soft music filtered into the room. He paused for a moment, then looked back at Soundwave. His partner's confusion was palpable, and that brought something like a smile to Blaster's lips. He crossed the room again and took Soundwave's hands in his own.
"Wanna dance?" he said softly.
Soundwave studied him from behind his visor, then nodded. His arms moved to circle around his red counterpart, and Blaster let out a soft sigh. He rested his helm against Soundwave's shoulder. Call it hiding, or irresponsible dodging, or any number of things – right now it was simpler to soothe the ache in his spark with music and the close press of Soundwave's frame.