Starscream's never felt so stupid in his life.
“Wheeljack, I have to tell you something.”
“Go for it!”
“I… I like you. A lot. Romantically.”
How could he…? What did he think…?
“....Starscream….”
“....”
They’d been drinking. That’s his only excuse.
“Starscream, I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t feel the same.”
“...No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
He must have had more than he remembers, or the stuff Wheeljack had brought had been stronger than he realized.
“No, no, don’t be sorry! I’m glad you told me. It’s just…”
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“What? Wait, can we—”
“Wheeljack. Now.”
Maybe, if he drinks enough, he can forget this whole thing. He opens another bottle on his way to the bed, falls face first into the sheets. He’d thought about going for a fly, maybe flying into a building. Maybe he’d die, maybe he’d fall into a coma. It would be so nice.
He remembers the time Megatron put him into a coma. He remembers looking down the barrel of the fusion cannon and thinking,
finally. I’m so tired.
He’d been so sure…
But he’s a narcissist, isn’t he? Always thinking more of himself than is appropriate, always imagining people like him more than they do. He’d had some court-mandated therapy sessions after the settlement of his Rehabilitation trial, and his therapist had been sure to let him know that. He’d probably seen signs where there were none, wishing Wheeljack reciprocated his feelings, and now he’s gone and made both of them uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable. As if that word could encompass the crushing loss, the stabbing sensation of a feeling that had been brutal from the start. Love has never been kind to Starscream. It’s always hurt, even reciprocated, but he’d been stupid enough to let himself fall again.
He’d just wanted…
But when has that ever mattered? It didn’t matter with Skyfire, didn’t matter with his trine, certainly didn’t matter with Megatron. Megatron. Starscream sits up enough to take another drink and wonders if this is all that bastard’s fault. Maybe he was always fucked in the helm, but at least with Skyfire, he’d had something. He’d gotten as far as a bonding proposal before it all went sideways, and even then, it was really the whole near-death-followed-by-civil-war thing that had gotten them, not Starscream’s… everything. Sure, he’d been difficult, but Skyfire had tolerated him, even loved him. Had never thrown him out of their berth, called him a failure of a trine leader, beat him until he’d had to be resuscitated on the operating table. It was good. They had something good.
Starscream had the potential in him for something good, someone to love him, but wherever and whatever it had been, Megatron had torn it out. He was good at that, tearing Starscream apart. His frame, his processor, his life.
He wonders why he even tries anymore.