Drift feels a small surge of crackling warmth pass from Ratchet's hands to his when Ratchet tightens his fingers around his, but it doesn't compare to the way the bottom drops out of his tanks when Ratchet calls him a friend.

It's really the sort of thing Drift never expected to happen with Ratchet, let alone hear him say it. Drift's optics widen slightly for just a moment and he tightens his grip on Ratchet's hands as much as he can, even with his wrists still healing, his spark flaring unbidden in his chest.

That's enough for me.