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There was something almost grimly beautiful about Cybertron in it's infected state. The spots of stark red light stood out against a sea of dark shades in a way that Dead End almost would've called nice, if it weren't for the reason it was like that. As it was, his appreciation for the view was a little stunted by the fact that it looked like that because they were in the middle of an apocalyptic alien invasion.
But, well, he'd always kinda been into that grimdark stuff. Wildrider had called him a downer about it. Then Breakdown had called him morbid, and Motormaster had called him a "little creep."
He was almost insulted by that last one.
It wasn't like he was happy about what the Quintessons had done. He wasn't happy that everyone besides himself and a handful of mechs were trapped in a recurring mental time loop. He wasn't happy about any of this. He was just… finding the silver lining in that the city looked kind of nice from where he was perched on the roof of Maccadam's. Which was a disgustingly optimistic way of thinking about it.
He'd blame the company he'd been keeping.
Speaking of company, in the silence of the sleeping city he could hear the hatch that led to the roof swing open in stark clarity, as well as the quiet pedesteps as someone climbed out and closed it behind them.
An "I'm not in the mood to chat" was on the edge of his vocalizer before he spotted exactly who had come to join him, and he abruptly fell silent.
"I thought I would find you up here," Perceptor said, stopping a few paces away when the edge of his pede bumped a storage crate. "The others have decided to play a board game downstairs."
"Okay," Dead End replied, cautiously, "so… what?"
Perceptor shrugged, still not moving. "I was not keen on joining them. So I instead chose to join you up here." Pause. "If that would be alright."
He could say "no." He could say no, and Perceptor would listen, and he could go back to staring at the world in lonely silence. That was something he liked about Perceptor, or that made him like the scientist more than anyone else in their motley crew anyways. He knew how to take no for an answer. Which was always a welcome trait in Dead End's book. One of many, most of them of a similar caliber (like knowing when to shut up, or when to leave Dead End alone when he clearly didn't want to be bothered, or when to stop messing around and get stuff done. Which, Dead End belatedly realized, were all traits Perceptor also possessed.)
"Yeah," Dead End said, shifting aside to make room on the crate he was seated on. "Sure."
When Perceptor still didn't move, Dead End put enough brain cells together to realize he probably didn't wanna risk moving around when he'd have a hard time knowing where the edge of the roof was. So he reached over, gently took Perceptor's wrist, and tugged him closer. With enough feeling around Perceptor was able to sit down next to him with a quiet "thank you."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dead End going back to staring out at the ruined city and Perceptor quiet beside him. This was… not a terrible use of his time. What else would he be doing, anyways?
"What does it look like?" Perceptor asked quietly.
"Uh," Dead End said, glancing at him for a moment before looking back to the city, "well." Perceptor had been able to see at one point, so he could at least use, like, colors and stuff. "It's… dark. Like, the city as it was, buildings and stuff, but there's no lights from th' windows, and everything's in shades a' greys and blacks. Weird… rope thingies wrapped around some of 'em. Lots of little red lights scattered around." Someone else could describe it better. (Someone else could always do better than Dead End.)
But Perceptor seemed satisfied, staring out at the city he couldn’t see and nodding slowly. “Thank you,” he said, and he didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic about it at all.
“No problem.”
They returned to sitting in silence.
For about five minutes, before there was the click of a vocalizer resetting in the silence, and Dead End looked over to see Perceptor… fidgeting. Which, like, that was pretty out of character, Perceptor wasn’t really the type to fidget, or not be sure of what he was saying.
Dead End gave him a look. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Perceptor said, stitedly, still fidgeting with his hands. He vented once. “I am not good at talking to people,” he began, and Dead End got the feeling this was the start of one of Perceptor’s tangents he was known for going on, so he sat back to listen, “I-- I am very intelligent, and I know this. Not bragging, simply fact. But when it comes to matters of interpersonal relations, I find myself lacking. I do not know what is appropriate to say, or what is the right thing to say in a situation. I cannot tell what someone is feeling just by the tone of their voice. And… I do not get the particulars of conversation. There are many nuances that escape my understanding.”
“...Okay.”
“And it is not-- there is nothing wrong. I have done tests, scans of my processor. It’s not a malfunction. But, well, that is-- I am losing track of my point.” He huffed. “My point is. Sometimes I cannot read the atmosphere of a room, and am unable to act according to how I should. I say things that are off-base to a severe degree. So if this is… if I am mistaken, please tell me, and I will rescind my query and leave you alone.” He took another deep vent. “May I kiss you?”
What. What? Hang on. Pause, full stop, rewind, play that again. What?
“What?” Dead End asked. The brief moment of gratitude he’d felt that Perceptor couldn’t see the dumb look on his face was wiped away by the fact that he was pretty sure he sounded as stupid as he looked at the moment.
There was a quiet creak as Perceptor gripped one of his servos in the other tight enough to strain the plating. “Again,” he said, talking a bit faster, “if I am completely off-base, if I have misread the room and our dynamic, tell me and we can forget this ever happened. I do not want my inability to understand social niceties to ruin the friendship we have already built. But I--”
He abruptly fell silent, probably because Dead End reached up and covered his mouth with one hand. He was still fidgeting, though.
“Just,” Dead End said, “wait a second.” His processor was doing its damnedest to catch up with the conversation and having a very hard time of it. It was playing that last audio clip on loop over and over, until the words stopped sounding like words and it got kind of garbled in his head. Trying to make sense of what Perceptor had just asked.
Carefully reaching up and removing Dead End’s hand from where it was still covering his mouth, Perceptor set it down on the crate and stood. “I apologize,” he muttered. “I will-- just go.”
Before he could think to either stop himself or give himself the go-ahead, Dead End reached up and grabbed Perceptor’s wrist before he could walk away. “Wait,” he said, voice tight. “I-- I didn’t say no. ”
Perceptor froze. After a few moments of complete stillness, he sat back down.
“I’m--” Dead End cleared his vocalizer. “I’m not exactly… nice. I-- I’m not a good person. Still technically a Decepticon, even if we’re all working together at the moment.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t really get along with people,” he was on a roll now. “I’ve been told I’m ornery. Uncooperative. Uh, rude. I don’t really have any friends. Not good at keeping them. Most of the folks who would spend time around me did so ‘cause they were told to, or ‘cause of some sense of obligation or something. I got a hard time not being a sour jerk about everything. Real lazy sometimes, too, got a hard time getting up and doing things for no reason.”
“Alright.”
“And, um.” He was quickly running out of reasons why this was a bad idea. “I tend to scare people off.”
“Well,” Perceptor said softly, threading their digits together and reaching up with the other hand to gently rest it on the side of Dead End’s helm. “You have not managed to frighten me away just yet. You have also not answered my question.” He leaned ever so slightly closer. “May I kiss you?”
Dead End nodded clumsily, and Perceptor must have felt it against the servo still curled against his helm, because the scientist smiled and leaned forward and then there was the soft press of lips against his.
It wasn’t like he’d never done this before. Like-- he didn’t have a ton of experience, because he didn’t really like people enough for that, but he’d kissed folks once or twice in his life. He’d never really seen the appeal. Which (and yes, he knew how stupidly cheesy it sounded) he thought was probably because he’d never kissed Perceptor before.
What felt like hours but was probably a few seconds later, Perceptor pulled away, still smiling. “Thank you,” he said.
“Um, sure. No problem.” Dead End cringed. Smoothe, real smoothe.
Perceptor patted his helm, then shuffled back so he was no longer encroaching on Dead End’s personal space quite as much. “Do you want me to leave?” From anyone else it might’ve come off as dismissive or a rejection, but Dead End knew Perceptor was asking for his sake. He was observant enough to know that Dead End needed time alone now and then. It wasn’t personal. Just how he was built.
“Nah,” Dead End said, tightening his hold on their still-intertwined hands. “You can stay.” It was true he sometimes needed to not be around other people, but… Well, Perceptor didn’t count. He didn’t make Dead End feel tired like hanging out around most anyone else did.
Another smile, one that made Dead End’s spark flutter in an unfamiliar though not-unwelcome way, and Perceptor moved close enough that he could rest his head against Dead End’s shoulder. Dead End squeezed his servo again, and Perceptor squeezed back. Still unfamiliar, though in a way that Dead End thought he might be able to get used to.
Yeah, he thought as he listened to the quiet humming of Perceptor’s frame pressed up against his. I could get used to this.