"But it has happened." Drift's optics are intent on Rodimus' face, as if he can entreat his best friend to look at his face by sheer will alone. He wants Rodimus to look at him, not to stare him down but so that he'll understand where Drift's coming from, what he's feeling. "Even if I don't remember it, that doesn't change the fact that it happened. If you hadn't told me -- if Ratchet hadn't -- someone would have, sooner than later. And I'd rather have heard it from you."

Drift doesn't want Rodimus to feel guilty -- he really doesn't, because more guilt is the last thing Rodimus needs, he knows. He knows how much time and energy Rodimus pours into trying to prove himself in other people's eyes. But Rodimus doesn't need to prove himself to Drift, not anymore, and Drift doesn't ever want him to feel like he needs to hold back.

He pries the hand on his arm away, wrapping his own around it instead. His grip is firm but not unyielding, fingers curling over the back of Rodimus' hand.

"You're not going to lose me," he says quietly, and there's a fierceness to those words at odds with the soft tone of his voice. "Rodimus, look at me -- that's not going to happen. I'm not going anywhere."