Roland – 2:12AM
I think I did… I don't know
I'm sorry I haven't been able to call you really paranoid about producers finding out about you
Honestly they can ping me on the nda
Sorry Smokescreen just can't sleep right now.

Smokescreen – 2:55AM
still up? slag i thought i was bad with trying to get recharge
little dude don't even worry can't even imagine how stressful this is
well i kinda can but we don't gotta talk about that
just text me when u get online again, we can talk more when u get back the show is sounding like you're working with a whole bunch of fraggers
just know its gonna be ok and that when u come home this hot shot rookie's gonna drive u around for the best destress that isn't high grade energon

He hated it when anxiety gripped his heart like an ice cold vice, or whatever metaphor could come close to describing this very strangely recorded waiting game.

Roland didn't have much of a chance to have a conversation with Smokescreen through cellphone, paranoia leading him to fear that the producers could find out that he was friends with an Autobot. Part of it was also him trying to protect the rookie from the clutches of just reality television, especially given that the producers never resisted the chance to exploit whatever they could if it meant it could produce 'better TV.' The last thing he wanted was national security breathing down his and Smokescreen's necks and the show being unable to resist its own temptations. Texting Smokescreen had to suffice, with Roland reading and rereading his messages as the show placed him and the other boys in the inevitable holding pattern of waiting for their results.

The six of them were placed in this holding room within the mansion, which at least presented them with a rather nice oceanside view as each boy awaited their fate one by one. On paper, it should've been easy to wait one's turn, but the rolling of the cameras and the dramatics of each reveal lengthened the process. Considering that everyone was going to be getting their actual result while the cameras were rolling, Roland knew that it would've been inhuman for the pain of not getting through to be quickly sidelined into a silence. Not making the cut was an outcome he personally expected, though Roland wasn't sure if he'd ever be emotionally ready to be told 'no' especially at this part of the process. Regardless of how controlled the environment was, the emotions in the room were more than palpable. Even the usual flippant Anders had a tensed and worried look on his face, knowing that one decision could well change his life.

George… he looked on the verge of crying as the producers began to call up the contestants one by one.

The first to know their fate was a teen heartthrob by the name of Dylan. In TV, Roland remembered the process of finding out the results fairly fast on a contestant by contestant basis, but the power of editing would often remove the awkward silences and tics that were a part of the filming process. Seeing Dylan being corralled by the producers made the prospect of finding out the results just that little bit more real. To keep himself focused, Roland concentrated on how George and Anders were taking the process, the both of them taking in the tenseness of the process in their own ways. Of the two, George was the closest to being indisposed, displaying an anxiety that rendered him almost speechless.

Roland really wished Smokescreen was here right now. The Autobot was the only person he could count on say 'everything is going to be okay' and make it mean something beyond an empty reassurance.

The wait felt like it stretched on for a proverbial eternity, but Roland saw Dylan emerge from the proverbial woodwork with shameless cheers. The first bit of good news to manifest from Angela seemed to be a good one and it was not long until him and the other boys realized that Dylan was the first of the boys to make it to the live shows. It was both a good and a bad omen, the show beginning with good news to uplift everyone's spirits. However, it was not lost on everybody in that waiting room that this meant there were only two spots left to remain in the competition. With five of them left… somebody was going to have to get rejected.

Somebody had to lose.

Anders was the next one to go, with Roland believing that perhaps the show was going to leave them all in an even more intense suspense under the assumption that Anders was a shoe-in. Additionally, Roland also knew that there was no way that the show was going to let go of a contestant like George, especially given what the American music landscape would demand. As much as he did not want this dream to fade, seeing Anders walk off with the producers to learn of his fate forced Roland to confront the possibility that his dreams could very well end in the next few hours. If his fate was for his journey this season to end at this specific point… at the very least, he could cheer on Anders and George while he figured out his next move away from the auspices of reality television.

However, reality was often stranger than imagination. In a seeming twist of fate, Anders appeared with a tear-stricken face and an expression pursed in defeat and sorrow. No audible confirmation was necessary to ascertain what outcome had been ordained for Anders. Roland didn't even have a chance to try and comfort him as his fellow competitor had all but left the recorded premises, Anders directed by the producers to another area where he could be afforded some small measure of privacy. Even so, a camera still followed the clearly upset singer, gratuitously recording his heightened sorrow and tears at having his journey cut short.

"Roland Morrow, you're up."

Those were four words he did not want to hear.

"You got this, Roland. If anybody's got 'ta have this… gotta be you, right?" even through the nervousness, George quietly whispered this vote of confidence to him as they shared a tight hug.

Roland savored the embrace before the producer would lead him to the show's sole host. He could feel one of the cameras follow him through the path that led to the veranda that he performed in for Angela, a sick feeling welling up in Roland's body at how the tension seemed to get worse at every step. He tried to keep in Smokescreen and George's words in mind as he had no doubt that the producers were enjoying the nerves that he did not even need to be prompted to show. Just the sheer tension of his fate being on the line was enough. Before he would go off to face Angela, one of the producers of the show would stop him.

"Keep up those nerves. Angela will say what she needs to say. Now, we have to ask you a couple of questions so we can get the audience to invest you in more. See how you're on the verge of crying right now? If you can make yourself cry when we ask you these following questions, that would be great. So, tell us how you feel. How important is it that you need to make it to the live shows? What does this mean for you as a singer?"

If Roland wasn't already so invested in this process, he would've just honestly walked away. Any disgust he felt had to sit with the fact that all of this was palpably real to Roland. The producers were clearly playing some sort of game and writing whatever narrative they wanted to write, but this was his livelihood at stake. This was a dream he would fight for to make a reality.

He needed something to be real.

He needed that naïve belief.

"If I don't make it…" the thought of not doing so began to make the tears sting out of his eyes, even though his mind couldn't help but recoil in disgust that he was giving the producers exactly what they wanted. "This is my dream. This is what I've wanted for so long. I've fought as much as I could, but I know the decision is in Angela's hands now…" he tried to say those words as carefully as he could, still aware that even in his emotional extremes that his words could be twisted into something uncomfortable. Implications could be drawn that he never meant to express.

"Good… good… more of that. That's really good, Morrow. The public is going to get behind you for sure. Keep saying more. Repeat the words you said during boot camp that this has been a childhood dream for you. Once we have enough, then we'll send you off to Angela."

This was irrevocably twisted, the producers speaking as if he had already made it through the next phase of the competition. He couldn't even find any joy in what the producer in front of him was even saying, Roland far too lost in the anxiety of being told no with the cameras rolling.

"I can't express enough how much this dream means to me… I've wanted to sing as a child. It would mean the entire world for me…" he stopped to wipe away the tears that began to flow down his face, staining and ruining the carefully applied makeup. "If she said yes… it would mean that I'm doing okay. That I'm doing something right."

"Alright Morrow, I think we have enough material to work with," a mercy from the producers, albeit a brief one. "Go with Rob, the host. He'll walk you to where Angela is. Remember, cameras are still rolling."

Roland sighed as he saw the form of the normally energetic host with him as well as the forms of a well-oiled production crew that expertly guided the camera shots to all focus on him and Rob. He couldn't even keep up the illusion of a dignified strength as he was led through the path to where Angela would be sitting. Soon, he would come face to face with his celebrity mentor, Angela framed by the stunning vista of the Atlantic Ocean behind her. Seeming unphased by his demeanor, Angela only merely smiled and patted the seat next to her.

"Roland, lovely to see you. Come and take a seat, I know you're really nervous." Angela began. Suitably, Roland did as he was told.

"I know you really want to know how you did, but I do have to ask you. How are you right now?" Even if the question was redundant, Angela spoke with a reverence and calm that was charming in its own way. Roland was lulled into a sense of security, looking down for a brief moment to contemplate his answer.

"I'm still really nervous, but I think I'm doing okay," he would say, hoping that the way it came out was more resolute than nervous.

"That's good. I wanted to talk to you a bit today about not just your performance yesterday, but your journey so far in the show," Angela began, catching Roland's full attention as his eyes were tentatively locked with her gaze. "You've been a real standout so far, Roland. Your audition was truly magical and it really showed us just how committed you are as a singer and how much you really want this. I think there's definitely a star within you, Roland. We just need to keep bringing him out."

Those were signs that felt promising. However, they were too promising, leading to a hope that Roland did not want to fall prey to.

"Your bootcamp was even better when you did that Celine ballad. I can tell you're really into that kind of graceful style of pop where it's all about the voice, but the other thing about you is that I genuinely believe you when you sing," Angela continued to orate. "However… I do notice that you are still kind of nervous, that you don't really believe in yourself. I know it's been a tough couple of years for you. You don't really sing to crowds that big like the live audition, huh?"

Roland shook his head.

"I figured. What makes you so nervous, Roland?"

He was genuinely at a loss of how to answer that question, torn between fully believing in what Angela was saying and being cynical about why she was even asking this question in the first place. His nerves had been a point of contention in the narrative the show had began to push, and he could not remember a time when the producers did not ask him to keep pushing the nerves. With Angela now echoing that sentiment to his face, he wasn't sure how to proceed. What game was he supposed to play? What was he going to willingly give to the producers by taking the route of an overly earnest sincerity?

Yet, it was also the only thing he knew what to do… being honest, being sincere.

He just wished that he did not have the suspicion that this was what the producers wanted from him.

"I'm… really scared of messing up and feeling like this could be my last shot of making my dream happen. I get scared at first before I get comfortable to like… settle into a song. I haven't really sang to crowds like this in a long, long time," Roland confessed, not even sure if he was answering the question coherently.

"I can see that. I get that sense that it feels like your confidence is really low… when you get up there to your really high range, you sound beautiful, but I also really need and want you to believe just how good you are as a singer," was Angela being sincere when she said all of that. "That's something we've got to work on for you, especially. With that in mind and all of the performances you've done so far… I've come to a decision about you."

All thoughts about the show's veneer of editing, its facades, and even the stories that were being written behind the scenes all faded in this moment. Roland waited with bated breath as Angela remained silent for seconds that felt like they stretched into an unfathomable eternity.

"I see a star in you ready to be born, Roland. You're in my top 3."

He wasn't sure how to describe the feeling of relief that went through his body.

The closest Roland could describe it was that it felt like his chest was going to give out, the feeling of victory coiling through his mind that for that brief moment, washed away what he had seen from the production crew and the very nature of the show he'd seen thus far. He wasn't sure how much of this was preordained and how much this was down to his performance from the past few days mattered. He would agonize over those thoughts with Smokescreen later.

He was caught in a hug from Angela, Roland weeping for a brief moment before his celebrity mentor would congratulate him with a smile that felt so genuine.

"I'm looking forward to working with you in the lives, Roland. There's so much potential in you," he could feel Angela place hand on his shoulder. "We just have to work on that confidence, alright? You need to believe just how good you really are. Think we can do that?"

Roland nodded, muttering a 'yeah' just loud enough for the cameras to catch.

As he left, he swore he could hear one of the crew saying 'that's TV gold… we don't even need to do another take of this. We gotta keep him crying.'

How do you take that kind of statement? How long could this euphoria last?

Roland left the veranda with cameras still watching him, the producers catching him for an impromptu interview about how he felt. He was too lost in the elation of making it to the live rounds and he answered with the blubbering emotions of how much this meant for his dreams coming true.

He was made to do the multiple takes, at least three times he had to repeat this brief interview. In all instances, he was still weeping and emotional, but it was not until the third take where his answers were actually coherent enough to be caught by the microphones.

When the cameras were no longer rolling and when the boys were directed to go back home, that was when Roland got his senses back. The last boy to make it through to the live shows was George, something that relieved that Roland immensely. He wouldn't be alone when the process of continuing to uproot everybody's lives was in full swing. He would have a familiar face when the show would call for its contestants once it was time to start filming for the live shows.

Deep in his heart, he knew he needed to have someone to commiserate with who wasn't Smokescreen when the fires of competition would be stoked further. There was something icky and perhaps even disgusting about this whole process that Roland could not escape from when he was being actively filmed for the show. He had no doubt it would get worse when the show transitioned from heavily edited takes to the unpredictability of live television, with Roland wondering just how much worse the scripting was going to get and how horrific the directives would be. Was this what it took for the speedy path to stardom? As elated as he was that he still had a shot to be the winner of America's Next Big Star, he wondered if this really was the path he should take… or if stardom really is the thing to do, given that no matter what avenue he walked down on, these same issues would crop up under different names.

At the very least, going back home to Smokescreen allowed Roland to set these thoughts to bed.

Even though he had no idea how to admit it, the Autobot truly began to feel more and more like home, making the prospect of trying to forge a better life for himself and for him one that he wanted to fight harder for. Hearing the pride in Smokescreen's voice and seeing the pride in his optics allowed Roland to relish in the positivity of what he'd accomplished when he told the Autobot of the good news, the inherent fakeness of reality television being but background noise for now. As promised, Smokescreen did indeed take him through a joyride of their neck of Southern California, the Autobot racing down the coast from LA County to some nicer part of Orange County when Roland recovered from Florida.

Under the cover of night, Roland and Smokescreen were sitting down on sand in some obscure beach on the California coast, hopefully far and away from any onlookers. This was a habit they'd developed throughout the months the both of them settled into living in the west coast, with Roland insisting that these conversations happen when Smokescreen was in his true form. It wasn't that Roland did not appreciate the holoform or the alternate form, but when it was safe… he wanted Smokescreen to feel safe to appear as he was without any sort of pretense.

One of these days, he would help the Autobot in his own way for real without feeling so helpless.

"How are you feeling, little dude?" Smokescreen asked for a conversation starter.

"Is it okay to say I'm feeling a lot of things?..."

He heard a snort from the Autobot as he could feel one of Smokescreen's digits slowly massage his still tense back. He relaxed into his servos, Roland's eyes lazily gazing over towards the ocean.

"That's you on the regular, Ro. Where do you wanna start, though?"

"I'm… still kind of this weird euphoria from Florida. Your advice really helped me, Smokescreen. I don't think we're gonna be able to see what they edited for a while, but… I still got nervous but I felt more fine and secure. I just wish you were there…" Roland stopped himself before he went on some elongated sermon.

Seeing the pride in Smokescreen's optics would always lead to his heart swelling.

"I'm glad, little dude… genuinely. I know my approach ain't for everyone but I'm glad to see it's working," Smokescreen's voice went from one of genuine sincerity to one where his original bravado returned, a cocky smirk returning to his faceplates at the end. "If there were no war… I'd figure out a way to be with ya. I haven't seen that fragger throughout my patrols, though I haven't been traveling too far out from Long Beach. When this war is over… I can help ya even more, you can hold me to that."

That Decepticon… now that Smokescreen mentioned them, Roland realized that whole encounter was something he had repressed and not really confronted. He would have to make peace with the fact that encounters like those could happen again, but the sight of seeing Smokescreen potentially dying in combat was a sight too chilling for him to reckon with. Putting himself in the spotlight as an aspiring pop star with the war hanging over Smokescreen's head was a horrific idea, even though he hoped that Decepticon would at least not recognize him.

"You're already doing so much for me, Smokescreen…" and that he genuinely was, Roland would keep insisting. "You helped me practice. You're there for me… I've asked so much of you, already. I do wanna give back, somehow. If the war does end… and maybe if this singing thing goes well for me, I do wanna make a better life for the both of us. Get some real money going in… and you can have a proper place than some shitty apartment complex parking lot… make this state a home for us," Roland caught himself as he began to vocally put his unconscious thoughts into words.

"Little dude, don't put that much pressure on yourself… I'm fine, really. A garage would be great, sure, and fossil fuels… ew." Smokescreen made quite a bizarre retching noise, though Roland was well aware of his displeasure of how humans refueled their cars. "As long as you keep fightin for what you want, I'm gonna make sure I'll be there for ya. Now, you better not tell this last part if you ever meet another 'Bot. Can I hold you to that?"

It was a strange request, but Roland slowly nodded.

"Awesome. So… there'll probably come a solar cycle when I'll ask your help for something. I… got my own issues with the war and I'm still working through some slag. You're okay with talking through some stuff, right?"

"I always am," it wasn't even a matter of debate as far as Roland was concerned.

"Aight, just keep it between you and I for now, little dude. No enemy secrets it's just… you're the first anyone I've ever… frag, most of the 'bots I know back in Cybertron just know me as a hotshot rookie. But… you actually have me listening to my spark for the first time in vorns."

At that moment, Roland became aware of how much he was holding onto the rookie physically, his meek hands tightly gripping the servo that he was sitting next to. It was a daunting thought trying to play therapist to a soldier that still seemed so young and even fresh off training, but even so that was an assumption on Roland's part. He didn't know if he would be able to help the way he wanted to, but he wanted to try at least… to try and be there for Smokescreen even if he wasn't well-equipped to be able to work through the traumas of warfare and whatever Cybertronians needed to work through in their processors.

"I can't promise miracles, Smokescreen…" he hoped the rookie's receptors would pick up a statement he knew was probably above a whisper. Roland cleared his throat, hoping that he'd be able to voice the sentiments he wanted to share. "But… I'm gonna try. I won't be able to understand everything, but I want to be there for you… in whatever way you need or want me to be. Singing… all of this… it means so much more when I'm with you," well that was a sudden confession.

"Ro… whoa that's getting heavy, little dude," it was precious to hear the chuckle and to also see the roguish charm on Smokescreen's faceplates, sincerity being a thing that the young Autobot was still not used to. Roland could hear the rookie shift position in the sand, incredulous optics staring into his eyes. "You gotta prep me when you start getting all sincere like that, man… I'm still getting used to it. I keep forgetting that you don't just do the whole sincerity thing with just the singing, heh."

"I'm just speaking my truth," Roland answered back with a faint smile. "I… never really had a lot of friends until I met you either. You're the first in a while where… I can feel vulnerable outside of singing, but more than that… with another person," but he knew that trading in consistent vulnerabilities was not exactly Smokescreen's way of doing things. "Have you… gotten any sign of any other Autobots while I was away in Florida? Has anyone tried contacting you?"

There was a brief silence as Smokescreen first hummed as a sort of non-response. The lack of Cybertronian activity left Roland wondering how much this luck would continue. Any run-in with the Decepticons was more than likely going to be a bad one, but he had been so caught in the world of singing shows that he never really gave meeting another Autobot much thought. Were they going to be friendly? Were they going to separate him and Smokescreen? Would such a meeting even go well?

"You know, that's a really slagging good question," Smokescreen responded. "Haven't picked up any 'Bot signals lately. I've thought about maybe trying to poke around, but… nah, it's too dangerous trying to go solo. Been lucky enough just sticking to Long Beach hasn't been too dangerous for me. I mean… I hope to get to meet another 'Bot with you someday, s'long as they're not one of the mean grumps. I wanna see how you'd do with Optimus… man that'd be a meeting."

Being with Smokescreen would mean being embroiled in this strange and protracted intergalactic war. Maybe one day he would meet with Optimus Prime, even though the thought of that sounded rather daunting. To be fair, he had no idea of who Smokescreen's leader really was except for the name that kept getting thrown about and also for the clear hero worship that the rookie had. If Roland wanted to help… he needed to at least confront some parts of this terrifying war.

"It's… I should've asked this question months ago, but…" Roland began, trying as hard as he could not to sleepily lean on Smokescreen's servo. "Who is Optimus Prime? I know he leads you all, but like… who he is as a person. And… how would I do in that hypothetical meeting?..."

"Asking me two huge questions, yeesh little dude…" Smokescreen chuckled, "I've said in the past he's our leader… no other better warrior than him, really. But also nobody else who's really wiser than him either. He's like the Autobot of Autobots in that way. Knows when to kick aft but he cares about all of us… at least those who worked with him closely. I dunno how he is now, but I imagine he's still largely the same. On the second question…

"I only know of him as a leader, but I don't think he'd be opposed to meetin' ya. If he's established relations with some important human people and if he meets us together… then I'd figure you gotta meet him at some point. Unless you're some 'Con, he never struck me as the type to have hate in his gears. You just gotta be you, Ro… if the 'Bots that knew me are on Earth, they're going to be curious about how you roped me into your orbit. Can hear them know… little squishy human apparently was able to make friends with the hot shot. Heh, back on Optimus though… I think he'd like having ya around."

It was reassuring to hear at least.

Roland could only smile in a contemplative silence as he stared into the pacific ocean, his mind wondering what the future lay in store for the both of them. He began to wonder at what kind of past Smokescreen led prior to their even meeting each other, what friends he did have… what reputation he seemed to secure. There was something deeper to this rookie, he was sure of it. Yet, he was afraid of unnecessarily trying to pry into places where he had no business intruding. If Smokescreen did not want to confront his past, that was his prerogative… but Roland also had a strange feeling that the chickens, at some point, will come home to roost.

"Uh… Cybertron to Roland. You still with me, little dude?"

Roland breathed and huffed as he was ejected from his reverie, looking up towards Smokescreen with utter embarrassment.

"I was thinking about what you were saying," Roland saw the rookie's metallic 'eyebrows' raise, faceplates showing both amusement and concern. "I really need to teach you to be more sincere… I've never really had any comrades or friends, though. It's just been me, music… my father when I was still with him in Arizona. I'd like to meet the Autobots though… but if only if you're comfortable with it happening."

"Heh, you meeting the 'Bots might be inevitable, Ro. On the whole music thing… so what comes next for you now, man? I know there's a lot from what I remember you telling me when you got back home, but I remember ya saying that you were still waiting on the show to send you more stuff…"

Just like that, his mind was cast back to the strange and horrifying world of reality television. The high from advancing to the live shows couldn't last forever, and the elation of that was tempered by the thought of the war that Smokescreen fought in. In that sense, it was a bit of an awkward transition, with Roland trying to gather what he knew following past seasons and also some of the newer documents that the show's production and legal teams were sending him. It was the undecidedly unsexy side of all of this glamor… and he owed Smokescreen an explanation.

"I've gotten a lot of forms to sign now that I've actually been picked. A lot more NDAs. The next round… is the round I never thought I'd make it to," and it was strange to think he actually was part of this year's final 12. "This is… the bulk of the show. Twelve of us… eight weeks of voting until a winner is crowned. All of us sing live each week and we get voted on by the country. This is the part where… it's gonna be even more full-time than before."

He could see a sorrowful glint in Smokescreen's optics as he uttered all of those details.

"You won't be around as much, huh?..." Smokescreen asked.

"That's the thing…" and neither did Roland have the heart to just… outright lie. "It's the whole fame gauntlet. They're gonna style me… give me a behind-the-scenes makeover and I'll even have to be doing press and interviews too." Roland's voice trailed off as even he was beginning to realize that the fantasy of this reality television fame was… soon to be his own reality. "As far as I know… they're gonna be moving us to this house close to the production studio where they record the live shows. How long I stay is… it depends on how people vote. I'm just waiting for all the details right now… when they're gonna make me shoot more footage, interview…"

He'd never seen Smokescreen look more vulnerable until now. With a sigh, Roland set down a careful hand on the Autobot's hand.

"I don't want to stop ya, little dude but… frag it, Ro, why the slag are you so damn endearing?... And why does it feel like I miss you already? Slag, pretend you never heard that."

But Roland could not, knowing the words were already made known. He wasn't sure how to respond, or if he should even do so. Still, he gazed at the Autobot with a fragile determination, knowing all too well that he was going to need the rookie's support more than ever.

"I'm not leaving you… I never will. I'm not gonna be gone for a while yet… if anything I'm gonna need you more than ever," as much as he hated to confess that… the last thing he wanted was to shut the rookie out when he had just heard the Autobot become so much more vulnerable. Even if things were hardly okay, even if Roland knew he was jumping into the hopeless abyss of human fame and celebrity… he wanted Smokescreen to be okay.

He wanted Smokescreen to be happy.

"Ro…"

"I… need you throughout this process, Smokescreen. You've… been the only thing helping me fight through when it feels like I can't. The show is so weird… the show is so strange. But you… talking with you… hearing you… that's real. That is real. I want my friend with me… and I want to let the person I love know that I'm not going anywhere… You're real… and you help me understand and push through it all."

Neither did he expect to deliver such a passionate sermon to Smokescreen tonight. In response, he could feel himself being lifted from the ground and slowly placed onto his companion's shoulders, seeing the emotional glint in the rookie's eyes. Roland was afraid he may have just said far too much… confessed far too many vulnerabilities in an attempt to try and make sense of Smokescreen's.

"I got the message man, I know… I know… I'm sorry you had to see me… soft like that. Frag, I know you'd never judge me like that but by Primus I'm just… not used to saying all of my emotions like that. How in Primus' name do you do it with the singing?... Well, kinda asking that seriously but also not."

Roland only smiled, not wanting to be too forward or to scare the Autobot into hiding his emotions any further. To be fair, the singer wasn't exactly great navigating vulnerabilities either, and he really only had a decent idea given he often traded in singing in wild emotional extremes. He'd at least try to get better for Smokescreen's sake, knowing that trying to insert the lessons imparted by ballads written and sung in the 1990s were hardly going to be emotionally productive.

"It's hard for me too… it's easier through music because that's what I've been used to for so long. But talking like this… you're not alone in trying to navigate it. I just… talk way more than I should. Anyway, are you feeling okay now?..."

"I will be, little dude… still feeling kinda soft but I'll live. You just gotta walk me through the whole process in the future once it actually starts. You being gone for a few days got my spark thinking about things. You're rubbing off on me, Ro. You're making me all mushy…" somehow, Smokescreen was able to package emotional confessions while remaining sly about it. "Heh, maybe a hot shot rookie can learn to be all emotional and still be the coolest 'Bot known to Earth. Good looking and sincere… how does that sound?"

As much as he enjoyed the cockier side of Smokescreen, he couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose at the rookie playing himself up. However, it was worth it just to hear Smokescreen's laughter, even if Roland had to hold onto to a shoulder protrusion just to make sure he didn't fall off.

Finally, there was a joy in Smokescreen's optics.

Somehow, seeing that joy equaled and maybe even surpassed the feeling of a dream slowly being fulfilled. Maybe that feeling of elation in Florida was too tainted by the true nature of reality television. There was so much to contemplate when it came to his desire to chase for fame and the avenue with which he decided to do so. With Smokescreen, all of those worries could finally dissolve… and for once, he could finally put away the thoughts of manipulation, pre-planned drama, and the need to even 'perform' for the cameras and properly laugh with the Autobot.

"You… my god, Smokescreen. You are such a hot shot, it hurts," it did not help that Smokescreen winked.

"Trust me, little dude. I still hold to it that I am probably gonna be the best looking 'Bot you'll ever meet. Nobody comes close, nobody."

Lord, he loved the absurdity of this. Roland giggled like an absolute madman, needing this release after what felt like so many heavy days.

"Right, right. Pretty sure all the 'Bots couldn't resist you. You're so hardcore… almost too hardcore even. It's kind of adorable how much of a hot shot you are. But maybe the hot shot meet his match with a say… I don't know, maybe he meets this meek little singer but with a big voice?"

Was Smokescreen's confidence rubbing off on him? Roland wasn't sure but he didn't mean leaning on an inflated self-image even if for a bit. It was worth it to see the mischievous glint in the rookie's eyes, belying a precious innocence that was still untouched by the war around them. Was it possible for a Cybertronian to wink? He wasn't sure, but that laughter was worth it.

"Two can play at that game, little dude. So… a hot shot meeting this tiny little singer. Well, let's just say this tiny little singer flusters so slagging easy, it makes the hot shot worry for this singer. But hey… maybe the hot shot does meet his match after all. Maybe they travel for a bit and maybe the hot shot learns a thing or two from that singer."

"Well… what does he learn?"

"Heh, that the hot shot can still kick aft, look good, and… learn that there's a little bit more to life than just being the best 'Bot ever. Maybe the hot shot's learned the whole… learning how to be okay with emotions from this little singer. Teaching this hot shot he can be cool… and be emotionally honest with himself, heh. Still, this singer's gotta know this hot shot is the best Autobot there ever was."

Roland had never both felt the feeling of exasperation and laughter at the same time together until now. This feeling with him was something he never wanted to take for granted ever again, a part of him knowing that there may… and perhaps will come a day where he would need the Autobot's support more than ever. He hoped that day would never come to pass and that he would be able to stay strong for Smokescreen's sake.

But he would never trade that exasperation for anything, and he had a suspicion that those that would be senior to this Autobot in experience would find him profoundly frustrating. He can see the rationale, but he would relish within the rookie's carefree nature when things were still alright. In that sense, decompressing from Florida was a bliss he wish would last forever until two things reminded him that life would continue. First was the need to go back to work and finish out his last set of shifts before letting his boss know that he would need to basically walk away from the job due to being in the top 12 of the competition he was participating in. Second was the show's existence and the emails he received about more forms and contracts he needed to sign.

As much as Roland tried to disconnect from everything, email was the one thing he could not avoid forever. The singer tried to take his time with the forms, making a note of all the deadlines and the days in which the producers would start to visit his home, no less the media blitz he would have to undertake when it would be publicly announced that he was part of the season for ostensibly the long haul. That is, if the voters even agreed.

Before he could even face singing his first song live… there were going to be interviews, press junkets, photo shoots, the works. Of course, added to that was a lot of new contracts, new forms, and more legalese he needed to wade through and sign before he could even begin this process. It was too much receive all at once, but it was the reminder he needed lest he risked forgetting about the show's existence entirely. Still, these were things he would file under later worries, knowing that the show was only really airing the auditions still. He had no idea how it was even being received by the public even.

Things seemed normal… until Roland's first day back at work since he was in Florida.

As soon as he entered the restaurant he worked in as a server with the intent to tell his boss about how he would basically need to quit his job, he could see the eyes of a few co-workers who looked at him with an excited glint in their eyes. What did not help is that he could see a few strangers trying to eye him with inquisitive looks, though he figured that perhaps they were just wondering who was showing up for the early lunch shift. Two of his fellow servers, Andrea and Francis, walked up to him with phones at the ready.

"Roland! You didn't tell any of us you were auditioning for America's Next Big Star," at least Andrea had the courtesy to exclaim this in an employees-only area.

"I didn't want it to be publicized," Roland immediately responded, "…I only wanted Rhea to know just in case this ended up being the season for me. I thought I was gonna be turned away."

"You thought wrong, Roland. You should check out your audition. The views are something else… Ands and I heard you sing but the show made you really sound good, but it's not just us talking about you."

Francis was eager to offer his phone, which was already displaying the YouTube page for Roland's audition. He was hesitant to rewatch it, but what caught his eye were the amount of views on the audition.

7,146,488 views

If this was his own phone, he would've dropped it. He staggered back, in utter disbelief at the number he was seeing on the phone screen. In fact, just seeing it felt like a dream that could teeter into a nightmare. It did not help that he saw a little tidbit above the title of the audition video, a notation that this was somehow apparently trending? This was a virality and attention that he was not sure he was even ready to stomach, leaving him completely speechless as he could see Andrea and Francis expecting some sort of response.

"H… how?..."

"You were amazing on tv! You were holding out on us, I didn't know you wanted to be a pop star. You've become a little bit viral in a way, actually."

He honestly did not want to hear anymore of it. Without much of an explanation, he gave the phone back to Francis and immediately ducked out of the restaurant, not caring if he was risking being written up or reprimanded for disruption and being late due to not really properly clocking in. Roland needed a moment to breathe, to reassure himself that the view count did not mean anything. They were just numbers on a web page that meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

As he was outside taking in some fresh air, Roland thought he would find some respite.

"Hi… hi, excuse me?"

The singer turned around to see the face of a stranger he did not know. Roland was confused for a few moments before composing himself to talk to them, perhaps they were lost or wondered what this restaurant was.

"Yes?"

"I… you look familiar. Are you Roland Morrow by any chance, that shy singer that sang the Judy Garland song on America's Next Big Star?"

Roland swore he could feel his heart drop. He had no recourse but to be truthful, as much as he wanted nothing more than to run away and pretend that none of this was happening. This was but another nightmare that his mind concocted, giving him an undeserved and early fame that was sure to be his downfall. There was no way he was going to be one of those contestants solely defined by their audition, no way that he was going to catapult to a fame that was even more fleeting than the music industry's already naturally fleeting nature.

"…Yes?"

"Whoa! That's amazing. May I have a picture or an autograph? My younger sister is obsessed with your audition and so am I. You sang that song so beautifully."

The only thing Roland thought in that moment was that this seriously could not be happening.