Exploring the limits of solitude with a friend did have its benefits. Since Cybertron was still under reconstruction and space was limited, Swerve had finally managed to persuade Drift to be his roommate, and the latter bore witness to another side of Swerve. He saw past the humourous, talkative facade. While very little limit-of-solitude exploration was done, they did often stay up late sharing their thoughts, experiences and eventually even secrets.
"Hey, are you actually okay?"
Swerve generally wouldn't be concerned over other people's health, but Drift was an exception. He wasn't looking good, lying shivering on his berth despite the layers of thermal blankets piled over him.
"Mmm..." was the only response, and Swerve pressed a hand to his forehead, already preparing to call Ratchet.
"I'm sorry, Drift, but I can't even keep a houseplant alive, so I'll have to take you to see Ratchet."
The fact that the small television screen showed the Velocitron Cup grand finals did not do much to alleviate the loneliness of sitting alone in the clinic waiting room, but at least it kept his mind distracted from his current worries until First Aid came out of the small white room.
Swerve tore his eyes away from the screen.
"How is he?"
"He'll definitely be okay. He's recharging right now, and he's going to be like that most of the time until he's better. He's overheating but it's getting better."
Swerve thanked First Aid and returned to desperately scanning every single scene for any traces of Blurr.
The next morning found Drift onlining his optics and looking around in the hopes he might be still there like he had been last night. Finally, the aching of his head and the blurry vision had stopped, and everything felt better.
Everything except his spark.
He had been so kind…
Someone who helped others, someone who cared. Someone with enough love in his spark to light up worlds and change demons to angels. Someone who saw good in one of the worst Decepticon killers of all and amplified that good, making it resonate and change Deadlock to Drift forever.
Drift would be eternally thankful, and Wing was eternally loving. They faced hardship and injustice during the day, but nights were spent above the ground, lovingly held in each other's arms. They would lie gazing at the stars until they fell asleep, bathed in starlight and the most beautiful feeling in the universe. And one night, Wing finally said it.
"I love you, Drift."
Said mech helplessly watched as the point pierced through the armour, the snowy white frame was tainted with energon and Wing was shattered forever.
He had a sword. Drift held on to that sword. He would power it with his spark like Wing had done, and a part of Wing stayed with him within the sword. He would only use it when he needed to, when he found something worth fighting for.
And he gazed into those lifeless optics, those kind, amber optics. His only consolation was that he'd had the chance to say goodnight, tell Wing he loved him and hold him close through the entirety of his last night alive.
He hadn't meant it to be a goodnight forever.
It felt like the healing wound in his spark had been torn open again, and fresh emotions bled from his optics into his hands as he desperately tried not to let the tears fall. He must've somehow made a racket, because First Aid's hand soon appeared on his trembling shoulder.
"Drift? Are you ok? Why are you crying?"
"Hey, sweetspark," he said, when he noticed he was awake.
Drift's vision cleared as his optics rebooted, and Wing's figure came into focus.
"W-Wing..."
"I've missed you. Seems like it's been forever, doesn't it?"
A smile lit up his face as the fact that he was sitting beside him sank in. He was right. It felt like years since he'd seen his mentor and lover.
"Yeah... I missed you too."
He felt something squeeze his hand, and noticed Wing was holding it gently, intertwining their fingers. Distant memories of something like this crossed his mind... but this felt better. There was something uncomfortable about the past, an element of shyness and not knowing what to do. First love, thrilling but extremely awkward.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking one of two cubes of energon off the nearby table.
"I think I might be sick..."
Wing held the cube in front of his lips and let him take a sip. "You're in a hospital with a high fever and you think you might be sick?"
"...heh."
Wing touched his forehead and Drift lay against the pillows, feeling his hand around his own, letting him do his administrations.
"You're a little quiet. Is something wrong?"
"I'm just tired..."
"Shh. Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."
"Goodnight..."
"Goodnight sweetspark. I love you, Drift."
The blankets were tucked in carefully, and digits traced along his finials and caressed his cheeks, the gentle touch coaxing him to rest.