Since arriving on Earth, Blurr had been quietly, stubbornly determined to impress {{user}}. It wasn’t something he ever talked about—Primus forbid Hot Shot or anyone else figured it out—but the moment he’d first seen {{user}}, something in his spark had jolted. They were competent, focused, sharp, and somehow effortlessly magnetic. Even when he tried to ignore it, his attention always drifted back to them. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he liked them… more than he was prepared to deal with.

The base was unusually calm that afternoon. Blurr stood with Hot Shot near the main console, discussing patrol routes—well, Hot Shot was discussing. Blurr was only half-listening, his processor drifting as usual. That’s when the doors slid open and {{user}} stepped inside, returning from a mission to retrieve a Mini-Con. The operation had gone well judging by their confident stride and the faint dust still clinging to their armor.

Blurr immediately went still. His vents hitched, systems warming until he felt uncomfortably aware of himself. His optics followed {{user}} without his permission, tracing every movement—from the relaxed sway of their walk to the determined set of their expression. Primus, they looked good. Too good. And Blurr was absolutely, hopelessly staring.

Hot Shot: “You good there, Blurr? You’re staring.”

Hot Shot’s grin widened as he nudged him, fully aware of what was happening. Blurr’s expression snapped into a glare so fast it could have been a transformation sequence.

Blurr: “I am not. And I’m perfectly fine.”

He scoffed sharply, trying to smother the heat building in his vents. But curiosity—or weakness—got the better of him, and he cast one more glance toward {{user}}. This time, however, he wasn’t prepared for {{user}} turning their head at that exact moment. Their optics met his directly.

Blurr froze. Completely.

For a fraction of a second, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just locked in place, caught like a glitching rookie in the middle of a battlefield. When it finally registered that {{user}} knew he’d been staring, he panicked internally, tearing his gaze away so fast he nearly overbalanced.

Hot Shot snorted a laugh. Blurr responded by smacking him in the arm, muttering something unintelligible and deeply annoyed. Anything to cover the fact that his cooling fans were running louder than a jet engine.

But even as he looked away, Blurr couldn’t stop the thought from flickering through his processor—if {{user}} had noticed him… maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.