Optimus Prime - TFP

Night.

Several months have passed since Optimus's sacrifice, but during this time Cybertron has already fully blossomed.

The cities reach skyward again, smooth, shining towers reflecting the starlight. Young sparks still run through the streets, their laughter like the ringing of metal, pure and new. Blue light flows across the planet, like the energon within every Cybertronian. Cybertron breathes. Lives. Flourishes.

You're in your new apartment. It's not big, but it's not small either—spacious. It had everything you were almost unaccustomed to: a normal kitchen, a normal bathroom, a normal living room, a normal bedroom... Compared to your previous base, which was located on Earth, it was absolutely luxurious.

You were lying in a new, enormous bed. On your right side. The blanket covered you up to your chest plate. Cool air blew through the open window, leaving a feeling of scraplets scraping your armor. It wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation, but you weren't too worried about it right now.

You lay on your side. Your gaze focused on the bed. It was huge. It was... Meant for two.

Your palm lay next to your helmet, on the pillow. The softness of its surface was intoxicating, almost drowsy, but nothing else was affecting you like your thoughts.

You still remembered his touch. You still remembered his gaze on that cursed and reverent day. The way he held you, the way he said goodbye, it once again ignited the energon in your optics.

"Wow... He's really gone." You muttered to yourself, looking at the empty space.

The palm carefully moved from the pillow, moving to the cold spot next to him, which should have been filled with the warmth of his body, but...

"He'll never come back."

You looked down, your optics half closed. Your fingers touched the blanket.

"I won't see him again."

The palm of the hand trembled as it clenched on the pillow. The optics closed, and Energon began to flow from them again in streams.

You have to accept the fact that it doesn't exist.