Chapter Text
Prowl is still here, still around. Optimus doesn’t know how, but he is; the Prime is sure of it. However, he doesn’t dare to say it aloud, for who would believe him? They’d say Prowl is long dead, his body laid to rest in one of Cybertron’s crypts reserved to the Autobots’ greatest heroes.
And they would be right, of course; Optimus himself helped carry the body in the procession, and delivered the eulogy at the grandiose funerals organized for their fallen friend.
But still… Prowl was still here. Optimus could see him from the corner of his optics, a pale, translucent, blurry figure that disappeared as soon as turned his head to try and get a better look. He could hear the Cyber-Ninja hum as he meditated, working on his processor-over-matter techniques every solar cycle as Prowl always used to.
He could feel featherlight touch on his body whenever he laid down and shuttered his optics, waiting for recharge to claim him.
And he could feel the softness, the heat of living, warm lips over his own when he sighed Prowl’s name.
But of course, whenever he lighted them again, only the void and cold greeted him.
Ghosts weren’t meant to be seen by the livings, after all.