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Go.
Go.
Megatron laughed at his own choice of words.
How simple and unrefined. A simple glyph that spoke for itself; lacking the flowery language Megatron would usually use to cushion the impact. Straight to the point, a characteristic he was not known for.
And yet, even if he were to sing to Optimus in paragraphs of why he should chase that gods-forsaken mech, Mangus… Megatron didn't think he would be able to find the right words.
Besides, the glyph had slipped out of his intake before he could even think—no. He had processed the variables, the consequences, the results to this simple action.
He had enough time to think about it.
And Megatron chose to speak his truth in the end.
Go.
He slowly vented in. His servos found themselves gripping the closed doors to the coronation cathedral that he sure knew was filled to the brim with mechs awaiting their arrival. Awaiting for their new leaders to share their vows, to look at each other with the great trust and love that had been tested through the thick and thin of time. Awaiting them to share a kiss—
But those mechs will never witness the flimsy fantasy that Megatron oh-so desired to come true.
Because their Lord High Protector told their lovable Prime to—
Go.
Go to him.
Go to Magnus.
Vent out. The weight of colorful apparel—the cape bearing Optimus' colors—felt heavier on his frame. Weighing down his broad pauldrons; reminding him of what he had willingly let go.
Go.
How comedic. How pathetic of him.
Megatron's servos slack against the large doors as he slowly, but surely, started to walk away from the entrance to the coronation cathedral. Started to walk away from what could have been.
This had been his chance. A once-in-a-life-time chance to have Optimus—his Prime, his everything, and almost…his official conjux—a chance that even Magnus himself had been unable to achieve despite the strong love and loyalty he held for Optimus.
For the Prime that he had once served.
The Prime he abandoned.
And once again, the Prime he was willing to protect once more.
Magnus had approached Megatron, begging to serve Optimus despite the fact that he deserted not only the Prime, but his own soldiers—his own causes and beliefs. He had acknowledged his cowardice for running away.
He had acknowledged the undying love he had for Optimus.
And Megatron couldn't have been any more jealous of Magnus' determination to return. His determination to keep loving the Prime no matter what; regardless the initial rejection and regardless of Megatron's objections.
Megatron's servos clench hard. His digits almost clawing into his palms. Vent. Calm down. You did this to yourself—
An overbearing tightness aches from deep within his chassis; from within the very spark that had touched Optimus' own. The spark that Optimus chose over Magnus. For a moment, he had almost believed he had won it all. The love, the respect, and the change—
Optimus.
No. He was not an object to win.
He was not someone Megatron could keep to himself.
This was supposed to be a Conjux Endura ceremony, not some gladiator arena where he must fight to the death to keep the place he had rightfully earned.
Optimus was no prize.
Magnus was not an opponent.
And Megatron…
He was no longer enslaved. He was free.
Free to have his own opinions. Free to own anything he desired. Free to make his own choices—
GO.
GO.
GO.
AND YET—
Why was he so persistent in letting Optimus go?
Why did he let him choose Magnus over him?
Why did he let Optimus free?
Free to—
Free to chase after the very mech he had loathed from the beginning.
…
Optimus did not deserve to be chained down like he once was before.
Optimus deserved to be selfish.
He deserved to be free—just as much as the Megatron who once struggled to stay alive in the pits; struggled against the high caste who tethered him down to poverty, starvation, pain—
Optimus deserved to be selfish. Deserved the ability to be able to make choices without the pain and guilt of sacrificing something dear to him.
"How could I hold you back?"
Megatron's own words echoed in his processor.
"How could I keep you strung to me when you looked you miserable?"
How could he keep being so selfish?
A cool breeze snapped Megatron out of his thoughts. He found himself at a balcony, alone, looking over the vast city of Iacon that stretched for miles across the sacred land of Primus.
The city that Optimus had somehow—in someway—brought back to its pedes in the short span of a few stellar cycles. The cold hard evidence of how much Optimus cared.
Optimus was willing to lay down his life in order to bring miracles to a once divided land.
Oh. Oh, how lucky he had been to find a mech like Optimus.
Megatron's optics soften. He approaches the banister of the balcony, servos steadily gripping the railing as he continues to admire the golden shimmer from up above.
In time, even Kaon would look just like this.
How lucky he was to have met such a selfless mech. One who was willing to put their life at risk just to bring Megatron's once out-of-reach, hopeless, impossible dream of equality to fruition.
How lucky he was to have found someone who understood him. Who loved him despite the harsh rumors of his past. Who loves him for all that he was.
Good or bad.
Perfect or flawed.
Optimus saw through the thick walls he had surrounded himself with. Had saw him for more than just his frame type.
Had saw him.
Oh, how lucky.
And he let that mech go.
His vents hitch. Vocalizer buzzing with built up static. He struggles to vent.
He let that mech go.
Go.
Optimus' crystal blue optics had widened then and there. His dermas agape in shock. Baffled.
Go.
Megatron had taken his servos into his; holding them oh-so gingerly, yet firmly. He could still feel the warmth of those small blue servos that had nonetheless fit perfectly in his. In another life, maybe he would have done the same down the aisle. He desperately wished to hold them just a bit longer—
But he withheld the urge and stayed silent. Hoping that maybe, just maybe the outcome of saying—
Go.
—wouldn't lead to Optimus leaving him behind.
He could still see the coolant that pooled in Optimus' optics, dripping down his faceplates as Megatron reassured him—affirmed—that whatever choice they were to make—
No matter who Optimus chose—
He would not control Optimus any longer.
He would not keep him shackled—
GO.
And how pitiful he must have looked as he stood there, watching Optimus leave without hesitation. Watching Optimus run far, far away from him like a the perfect depiction of a runaway bride.
Megatron could still see flashes of that purple veil trailing behind the mech; waving in the air as if to bid the abandoned groom goodbye. And while he had known—had truly known—this was not the end… that Optimus would return to his arms—
That Optimus would always come back to him—
He still mourned. He—
He feels liquid trickle down his cheekplates. Warm and all-to-familiar despite knowing it had been eons since…since—
He cried.
.
.
.
He cried.
Coolant started dripping faster. The liquid hitting the banister with a gentle splash. He tried to stop it. He tries to wipe away the tears because—
Lord High Protectors don't cry.
Warlords don't cry.
Gladiators don't cry.
Miners don't cry.
And yet.
An unfamiliar noise left Megatron's intake. Something small, yet akin to the sound of weeping.