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A few twinkling lights hung haphazardly on the walls of Starscream’s dwelling, beginning to fade as their temporary power sources diminished. Faint as they were, their glow still shone against the chill of Cybertron’s weather outside. A small green… uh, doodad brought by Wheeljack (inspired by Earth trees, apparently), dropped one of its colorful baubles with a soft clink, which disrupted an otherwise quiet atmosphere.
Starscream shut the door leading outside, having just seen off some last guests. The night sky indicated a late (or maybe early) time, and while he was tired, his fresh memories of Wheeljack’s party felt electric in his fuel lines. Starscream didn’t exactly like everyone leaving only a few hours after their promise to lavish adoration on him for the rest of the night, but the privacy did have its benefits.
The aforementioned benefit lingered close to the portable music player. A few drops of engex still remained in her glass, and she hastily tried to pretend she hadn’t been watching him.
“Is it true that humans make figures out of their frozen precipitation?” Windblade asked, her gaze fixed on the speaker.
Starscream shrugged, stopping just next to her. “You’d have to ask an Autobot. Ironhide picked the music.”
The snow-related song gently drew to a close as they listened, replaced by lovers dueting about bad weather. Straightening, she glanced in his direction.
“Did you ever see it while you were on Earth? Snow, I mean?”
“Yes,” he answered dryly, “dare I say too much, actually. What are you getting at?”
“I’m just curious.”
She crossed the room, placing her engex on the table and idly examining a festive-looking knick-knack. From this angle, the light made her golden headpieces sparkle.
“I’ll cut to the chase for you, then,” Starscream said. “Why did you stick around? Shouldn’t you be at Blurr’s little after-party with your lackey and her boyfriend?”
“Chromia isn’t my lackey,” she responded, wings twitching. “And, truthfully, I have something for you.”
“You know I don’t mind receiving gifts in the company of others,” he said with perhaps more arrogance than the situation really called for.
Windblade sighed, though he thought he could detect some fondness in the sound. “I know you don’t, but this one is private.”
“If it’s an assassination attempt, you’ll have to join the waitlist.”
“Could you not make this harder than it already is?”
“I’m not stopping you.”
Taking a deep breath, Windblade’s servos twisted. “This Chosen One Day thing is… It’s really decent of you. I mean, giving gifts to show your appreciation for others? I couldn’t believe it at first.
“Then I thought about it for a little while. It seemed just a little too suspicious, but maybe—I think I know what you were trying to get at.”
“Do you?” Starscream asked, raising an optic ridge.
“I do,” she said with a crooked smile. “You realize I wouldn’t have minded offering a kind word if you had asked, right?”
Starscream rolled his optics. “You’re too sweet, Cityspeaker, that’s your problem.”
“Shush,” she said with affectionate exasperation. “As I was saying, Chosen One Day has been a good thing regardless of your intentions, so I wanted to show my appreciation. But you’ll have to shut off your optics for it.”
“This isn’t disproving the assassin theory,” Starscream said. Still, he decided to humor her and offlined his sight. Not that he trusted her or anything. He at least knew she wasn’t dumb enough to backstab him when half the ‘Bots on Cybertron had seen them both at the party.
But a lack of trust couldn’t quite explain why the air left his vents when Windblade’s lips touched his faceplate.
Hearing her pull back quickly, his optics nearly glitched in his haste to reactivate them. Her cheeks burned bright with energon, and Starscream knew in an instant he had never seen anything more beautiful.
“Was that… okay?” she asked softly.
Starscream cleared his voicebox, digits lingering on the spot she kissed him. Her lips had been soft.
“More than okay.”
When Windblade smiled, Starscream immediately reneged on his last thought—this was more beautiful. A particularly harsh gust of wind rattled the window panels outside, but even that couldn’t dim the warmth in his spark.
Primus, how gushy. The Cityspeaker was making him go soft. Somehow, he didn’t mind at that moment.
“Merry Chosen One Day, Starscream,” she said warmly.
“Merry Chosen One Day, Windblade.”