[There's a sound. Maybe only Drift hears it, but it envelopes him entirely: the rending, crashing, screeching sound of a gold-eyed idol falling, ringing hollow and then shattering.
[For a moment he's lost to where he is, no longer in Vandal's trailer, in the soft rain of flower petals but caught up in this catastrophic sound of everything he ever believed in proving itself false.]
[For a long time there's no response. Or rather there is--about a dozen different texts Drift types out, but deletes before sending, hurt from cast shards of that shattered idol.]
[This is Primus's punishment. Another facet, another blow from the blade of the divine. Another rejection, another unworthiness. Wing hadn't wanted him. Or at least, not for anything real. Just interfacing, just a physical need, just the release. Just a body. Not Drift. Drift was merely...convenient, perhaps, with their past history and even then, Wing had flirted with others, little seeds of disaffection. ]
[Eventually, he lets go of the anger, the hurt of betrayal. Because he'd only betrayed himself. He'd let himself believe: Just like he had in the gutters, when he'd caught himself up in Megatron's words, Megatron's attention and charm. The same thing, again, throwing himself headlong into a demagogue's hands.
[He'd never learned, even after all this time.]
[Here, literally, he was not what Wing wanted. 'More in common'? No. they had nothing in common right now, and even the past...even the past was just a tale of deception and betrayal. Hardly a foundation for anything beautiful. It had all been a dream. A beautiful dream, fragile and born of hope, but it couldn't last. He'd probably known it at the time, known it all along, but he'd figured it would at least get a chance to flower and die in a natural cycle. Not like this. Not like this, immolating and withering and black.
[ He couldn't do that, in this tiny, weak, liquescent body, even if he wanted to. There could be no clearer sign, could there? He literally couldn't be what Wing wanted.]
Wing. You were everything to me. And I always knew I wasn't worthy, wasn't enough.
Please take care of Vandal.
Thank you for what we did share. It was
the brightest moment in my life something I thought
I'd never have.
I release you to find your better happiness.
[He stares at the screen for a moment longer, wanting to say more. When it's the last words you're going to say, you want to make sure you've said everything that matters. He types the words "I loved you," deletes them, retypes them and sits, looking at the letters on the screen. No. That was a burden Wing didn't deserve. And what was it anyway? A paltry string of letters showing how deeply he'd deluded himself. He deletes the text, and then, in a swift moment, throws the device as far from him as he can, flinging himself onto his side on a mass of flower petals, and giving in to the fact that he's in a teenaged girl's body, and weeping like the world is ending.]
[text] also teal deer
[For a moment he's lost to where he is, no longer in Vandal's trailer, in the soft rain of flower petals but caught up in this catastrophic sound of everything he ever believed in proving itself false.]
[For a long time there's no response. Or rather there is--about a dozen different texts Drift types out, but deletes before sending, hurt from cast shards of that shattered idol.]
[This is Primus's punishment. Another facet, another blow from the blade of the divine. Another rejection, another unworthiness. Wing hadn't wanted him. Or at least, not for anything real. Just interfacing, just a physical need, just the release. Just a body. Not Drift. Drift was merely...convenient, perhaps, with their past history and even then, Wing had flirted with others, little seeds of disaffection. ]
[Eventually, he lets go of the anger, the hurt of betrayal. Because he'd only betrayed himself. He'd let himself believe: Just like he had in the gutters, when he'd caught himself up in Megatron's words, Megatron's attention and charm. The same thing, again, throwing himself headlong into a demagogue's hands.
[He'd never learned, even after all this time.]
[Here, literally, he was not what Wing wanted. 'More in common'? No. they had nothing in common right now, and even the past...even the past was just a tale of deception and betrayal. Hardly a foundation for anything beautiful. It had all been a dream. A beautiful dream, fragile and born of hope, but it couldn't last. He'd probably known it at the time, known it all along, but he'd figured it would at least get a chance to flower and die in a natural cycle. Not like this. Not like this, immolating and withering and black.
[ He couldn't do that, in this tiny, weak, liquescent body, even if he wanted to. There could be no clearer sign, could there? He literally couldn't be what Wing wanted.]
Wing. You were everything to me. And I always knew I wasn't worthy, wasn't enough.
Please take care of Vandal.
Thank you for what we did share. It was
the brightest moment in my life something I thought
I'd never have.
I release you to find your better happiness.
[He stares at the screen for a moment longer, wanting to say more. When it's the last words you're going to say, you want to make sure you've said everything that matters. He types the words "I loved you," deletes them, retypes them and sits, looking at the letters on the screen. No. That was a burden Wing didn't deserve. And what was it anyway? A paltry string of letters showing how deeply he'd deluded himself. He deletes the text, and then, in a swift moment, throws the device as far from him as he can, flinging himself onto his side on a mass of flower petals, and giving in to the fact that he's in a teenaged girl's body, and weeping like the world is ending.]
[Because for him it has.]