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What can be better than this?
The new school year has started. A new mech transferred to the school, same year with you. He is funny, open-minded, kind and friendly, just everything you would like for a friend. To top it off, he shares your enjoyment of music, and has both taste and skill for it. If you begin to think this is too much, too good to be true, then listen to this: Obviously he likes you too, on first sight. Almost in a klik, you two have become friends, hanging out every other cycle, playing music together, and have come to the point of discussing forming a band.
Indeed, what can be better than this? Your high school life is perfect.
If you’re Jazz, the one who’s befriended the new mech, not Jazz’s best friend.
Former best friend, probably. Prowl corrects himself in mind, bitterly.
He’s not jealous! Of course not. It’s not like Jazz doesn’t hang out with Prowl anymore, or that their time together has reduced. No, they still comms a lot every cycle, sharing gossips and discussing homework. Two cycles an orn, Jazz waits for Prowl to finish his late afternoon maths class so that they can drive home together under Cybertron’s twin moons. They still have their ornly movie night, and Jazz seems to enjoy the movies Prowl picks, and his dry comments whenever the plot is just too absurd to keep quiet. Jazz laughs at those remarks, which is good. Prowl likes hearing him laugh, likes the way his cerulean visor flickers with laughter in the dim room, likes how he understands and appreciates Prowl’s humours and replies with his own comments, sometimes makes Prowl smile as well. He feels relaxed and like himself around Jazz, a feeling he had hardly known before they grew so close.
He hopes — he had almost believed, actually, before Blaster, the new mech showed up — the feeling is mutual, that maybe someday, when he overcomes his insecurity and shyness, he would let Jazz know his feelings, and they could be more than friends. Prowl has never dated anyone before, and his spark flutters whenever he thinks of maybe his first date would be with Jazz, that he would share and explore this uncharted world with his best friend who he’s loved for so long. Even now Blaster is growing closer to Jazz, the little desperate hope is still there. Yes, Jazz mentions Blaster from time to time in their comm. messages; Jazz rehearses music of the band-to-be with Blaster while waiting for Prowl, the time that he would have spent on some sports or school assignments before. But he’s never neglected Prowl for even once because of his new friend, so it must be okay. It has to be. And Prowl is not jealous.
Prowl is jealous. He bitterly admits, finally, while passing a school hallway, Jazz and Blaster laughing and jostling each other ahead of him, not realising his existence. The two are enthusiastically talking about Soundwave’s New Stellar-Cycle party next quartex. In fact, that’s all of what everybody can talk about for a whole orn. Even Prowl knows that Soundwave, a silent mech a year above them, surprisingly holds the best party in the whole school.
Jazz is going to the party with Blaster. The role had been Prowl’s, for once and once only. Jazz almost begged him to try to enjoy party for at least one time, and after seeing him purge the punch energon that barely wetted his lips on the lawn because of overstimulation induced by the blasting music, he’s never pushed him again. By spark, Prowl knows, roaring music or not, party is not his thing. Although the experience that night is humiliating, he’s internally relieved that Jazz would not try to drag him into another party that he obviously enjoys so much. But now, in the noisy hallway after school, with Jazz enthusiastically telling Blaster he will set his visor into rainbow-coloured (silly, but also a bit adorable, Prowl thinks) at the party, and Blaster agreeing with even more enthusiasm that he would do something to match Jazz, Prowl suddenly feels that blasting music, crowded rooms, blinding mirror balls, and a hundred illegally overcharged minor mechs might actually not be so intolerable that he has to forgo the entertainment known as party for good. If anyone is entitled to “match” Jazz, that shall be him, Prowl of Praxus!
He is the one who came first.
On impulse, he almost calls out for Jazz, ready to let him know that he’s actually not so averse to the idea of attending a party again, before another two mechs show up and fist-bump with Jazz and Blaster. They are the other two members of the band-to-be, have always been friendly to Jazz for their shared love of music (and honestly, even without that, Jazz is so personable that Prowl can’t imagine anyone on Cybertron being lowbrow enough not to like him), and now with the future band in mind, the four of them are much closer, clearly, if the jokes and chuckles they are exchanging are anything to go by. Jazz still doesn’t see him.
Prowl does not wither, he does not. He just doesn’t find it in him to interrupt their harmonious chatting. He’s always been the funless maths nerd, a party pooper (he knows some of Jazz’s friends call him that after the purging incident), and he knows as a fact that he can’t bear the klik of silence that is bound to follow once he steps up to the group at this moment.
So he leaves, doorwings dipping a fraction lower than usual. Today is not their drive-home-together day, so it must be fine to drive all the way back alone. It’s a cold and gloomy day, with the sky lead grey, just like his mood. Isn’t it perfect? Makes him feel like a miserable protagonist of those high school romance novels that he secretly enjoys, (only Jazz knows the little secret and he never tells it to anyone, though teasing him a bit whenever the topic comes up) and this is SILLY. Pitying himself because his best friend has other friends. He has no intention to interfere with Jazz’s social life, but the mere thought of Jazz may find Blaster, compared to Prowl, is so much more compatible with him makes Prowl feel —
Jazz may find Blaster is much more compatible than Prowl.
Prowl’s tank sinks, as if the heavy fact which he’s been escaping from drops into his stomach. He feels threatened by Blaster, not because he’s Jazz’s friend, but for the fact that he’s so… perfect a match for Jazz. So compatible. They are both outgoing mechs, both enjoy parties and music, a stark contrary to the introverted Praxian, and there is nothing he can do to reverse it. He can’t, and has no intention to pretend to be another person. Jazz seems to enjoy Prowl’s company, yet he enjoys Blaster’s… even more? Prowl can’t tell, only knows that logically Jazz should be — they have so much in common, after all. Jazz does not neglect Prowl, does not reduce their time together, for now. Prowl dreads to think that maybe it’s just Jazz being kind, not wanting to hurt him. Naturally, Jazz can’t do this forever, their time together WILL be reduced bit by bit, and Prowl will lose his best friend and secret first love eventually —
He can’t think about it anymore. It really begins to make him feel miserable.
A Praxian house sits in the exuberance of cobalt woods, that is Prowl’s home. His mentor has not come back from work yet, but the warmth and coziness of home alleviate Prowl’s morose mood. He starts to make himself a cube of warm energon, deliberately making it slow and elaborate, hoping to distract himself some. He knows he can’t focus on schoolwork now, let alone preparing for the maths competition, and he can’t be like this forever. Logically speaking, he should stop brooding on it alone, and talk with Jazz. Unfortunately, this will inevitably involve telling Jazz his feelings, for which he is so, so, so not ready.
The doorbell chimes.
Prowl is startled from contemplation. They rarely have visitors at this time of the orn, and his mentor has the key. So the only possibility left is J —
No. Prowl stops himself from wishing. Jazz is with Blaster, which he saw with his own optics earlier.
“Hey ya, Prowler!”
But it is Jazz, boisterous and vibrant against the chilly night outside, plating heating from the driving, a big grin on his face. Prowl stutters. He is caught off guard.
“J-Jazz, why are you here?”
“What do you mean?” Jazz is amused. “Should I be somewhere else?”
Yes, with Blaster.
“It’s just, it’s not our drive-home-together day.”
“Since when did I need a specific day to hang out with my best buddy?” Jazz crosses his arms in fake indignation.
Even with that funny expression, Jazz is still — He and Prowl are both a grade away from their final upgrade, which will be completed after their graduation. Technically, they are still younglings, lanky and slim, compared to adult mechs. This does not change the fact that Jazz is — Okay fine, just let him get over with this — Prowl thinks Jazz is very handsome.
The thought both embarrasses Prowl and makes his spark hurt a bit. He has tried to bite back his next words, he swears. “…So, I’m still your best friend?”
Jazz gapes. “Of course you’re my —” He pauses, gaping some more, before something suddenly dawns on him. “Wait, this is about Blaster, is it? That’s why you left us at school, ignoring me!”
“It was — I most certainly did not.” He did. He just didn’t realise that Jazz had seen him back in the hallway — Wait. “Even if I did, in that case, it was you ignored me first, too busy engaging in the conversation with your bandmates.”
“Nooooo! I didn’t see you at first, then I saw you leave alone, ignoring my call.”
“I didn’t hear that.” This is true. “I was, uh, thinking about some proof problems.”
“No, your doorwings are happy and high when you think about those mumbo jumbos, not low to the ground as I saw. I knew something had to be wrong.”
That’s why Jazz came to check on him, instead of hanging out with bandmates as he had clearly planned to. Prowl realises and feels a bit guilty. “I’m sorry. It was not my intention to concern or ignore you. It was just… Well, you’re right.” He vents. Well, there is no way to skirt around it. “I may. Not be in the apotheosis of a state of mind.” Or there is.
“Apo-pos —”
Prowl bites down a smile, somehow relaxed a bit. “Would you like to come in first? I’m making some energon.”
Jazz huffs and shakes his helm. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather take a walk. Care to join me?”
Who is Prowl to deny him?
The woods are serene and beautiful. Trees with rich, cobalt-blue leaves shiver under the silver moonlight. The air is chilly, but in a refreshing way. Or maybe what’s refreshed Prowl’s spirits is the simple fact that Jazz is by his side. He can’t tell. He can’t look Jazz in the visor. Still, strangely, he is not nervous anymore. The glimmers of moonlight shed through branches are soothing, just like the cerulean of Jazz’s visor. Jazz has set it to a softer hue, matching the view around. It’s endearing.
“So… you gonna tell me why you’re not in the… Alpha Trion’s state of mind?” Jazz breaks the silence.
“Apotheosis.”
“Yes, that. I’d rather you have that, whatever it means. Blaster is a very cool mech, but it’s not the same. You’re my best friend and you will always be.”
“You don’t know that,” Prowl points out quietly. “People grow apart.”
“Not you and me. Not now.” Jazz is appalled. “C’mon, Prowler, you can’t possibly mean that. What’s really bothering you? Is it the band? You feel excluded or something?”
“No,” Prowl denies reflexively, before he decides to be more honest with himself. “Maybe a little.”
“Playing in a band is my dream, I can’t give it up.”
“What? No.” Prowl jerks his helm up, horrified. “I’m by no means indicating you should give up the band. I’d like to see you play on stage with people you like, having your dream come true. I-I want to see you happy.” His voice drops as the heat of emotion ebbs. “And you are so happy with them, with Blaster, as you are at parties. I cannot say I’m an avid party enjoyer, and I don’t know much about music. As a friend,” or more, “I’m not sure I’m compatible with you. I don’t want to hold you back.” The last few words are almost a breeze of whisper.
“Aww Prowler,” Jazz croons, voice so soft that it makes Prowl’s spark ache with pain. He can’t imagine losing this mech in that worst way, his optics warm by the mere thought of it.
Jazz steps up closer. “You are not holding back slag.” His voice is even softer. “I like being with you, truly I do. I like our movie nights, and drive-home-together days, and that super smart processor of you. And you’re sweet, enjoying romance novels and everything — don’t give me that look!” He laughs, the very laugh Prowl adores so much. “You’re perfect as you are, Prowler. It’s okay to hate parties. Lots of people do. As for the music, yeah, I guess you’re a bit ignorant about it — Ah-ah, that look again — but you’ve gotta live with it. Even Prowl the Genius has to be ignorant about something, that’s the rule of Primus. And hey, don’t you think it’s kinda neat that I gotta teach you stuff as well? For a change?”
Prowl smiles. He can’t help it. “You’ve always been showing me things I’d not been acquainted with,” he whispers. “You’re everything I’m not.”
“And I don’t see a problem with that. Do you?”
“Maybe not, if we’re just friends.” Prowl’s spark spins.
Jazz’s visor flickers. “W-what do you mean?” It appears that it’s his turn to stutter.
Prowl urges himself not to read too much into the sudden nervousness of the visor mech, though Jazz’s comforting words have lit a glimmer of hope in his spark.
“You know what I mean,” he says quietly, before he decides not to dodge it anymore. If Jazz wouldn’t return his feelings, then his spark is bound to be broken one day or another, might as well be today. “I like us being friends, but I want — I hope there can be more. A-a date, maybe, for a start?” He can’t help but babble, as if it helps to delay the inevitable. “You said we should try everything at least once. If it doesn’t feel right to you, we can always step back —”
“Prowl.”
“— Oh, that must be part of the reason I started to feel insecure when you and Blaster had grown closer. He seems to be so right with you.” He can’t believe he’s actually saying it, though he has to admit, it’s relieving to finally speak it out. “Of course, that’s not Blaster or anyone’s fault. It was me being —”
“Prowler.” Jazz grabs his wrists, startling him to a stop. The Polyhexian’s visor twinkles with moonlight, and Prowl loses all his words in an instant. Jazz looks… happy. That must be what the smile is implying. It is 17.3% broader than his usual average and the number is growing. There is still a 10.5% possibility that he’s delighted by the adorable cyberfox that is peeking from behind a bush, and a 6.1% possibility that he’s suddenly caught by the inspiration of a brilliant new song, however, given the circumstances of everything, the most likely reason for that radiate beam (indicating pure happiness) has to be nothing else but… Prowl.
“You’re perfect, I just said so, but clearly I didn’t say that enough, if the idea of you not being right for me had ever crossed your mind.” Jazz can’t help chuckling, field warm and happy like a miniature sun full of joy, melting Prowl’s spark.
“You mean —”
“Fancied you for a while.” Jazz grins.
Prowl flushes, happiness filling his spark chamber like an inflating balloon. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he blurts. It’s not fair and he knows that. It’s not like he had gathered enough courage to confess himself.
Somehow the question makes Jazz fidget sheepishly. “Uh,” he replies, eloquently, “I-I had plans.”
“What plans?”
“You know, uh, the band, and everything.”
“I may need a little more detail, Jazz.”
“Well, nothing fancy, just —” Jazz’s gaze wanders, although his servos still hold Prowl’s wrists, not willing to let them go. “I probably imagined something like… playing on stage and being cool and catching your optics and spark before telling you how I feel —” He rattles off, voice dropping and dropping before turning into a sigh. “Yeah I know it was silly —”
His words are cut off by the inching warmth. Something touches his lips, warm and soft, like glowing moonlight lighting up grass tips. It is a kiss, tender and sweet, just like the Praxian who’s kissing him.
“No, it is adorable, and makes me so happy.” Prowl moves back and smiles, if still a bit flushed.
For a moment, Jazz seems to be struck dumb, before he blurts, “you kissed me.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Someone’s brooded on the non-existent for three quartexes and all of a sudden did all the courting!”
“Well,” Prowl deadpans, pretending not to be self-conscious, “in case you have another three-quartex big plan to be carried out before you deem it safe enough to take next move.”
Jazz grins and drawls, “yeah — we definitely can’t have that.”
With that, he pulls Prowl by the wrists, and kisses him.
Prowl’s spark flares, and then melts into the warmth that he has been craving for so long. It is a chaste kiss, as sweet as his earlier one, yet far more possessive than tender, as if the visor mech has waited for too long and thus cannot bother to suppress the passion anymore. His right servo slides down, locking Prowl’s digits with his own, the other cups his chin and lifts it up, deepening the kiss. Prowl moans softly and wraps his free servo around Jazz’s waist subconsciously, losing himself in the sweet sensations from where his lips are rubbed and sucked. He’s being kissed by the mech he loves, devotedly. His legs buckle and his abdomen heats with strange feelings. This is something he has not prepared for.
“T-that is for today.” He pulls himself away, almost whining for the loss of the contact.
“Sure,” Jazz smiles, still holding his servo though. “Anytime you feel it’s too much, just say the word. I can always step back to the three-quartex-big-plan mode.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Jazz does not dare, though the big plan still stands. The band’s debut is a big hit at school. When Jazz devotes his last encore song to “Prowl, the mech who’s so very special to me”, his bandmates whoops and cheers, obviously have been privy to the plan from the start. They had all turned out to be very friendly younglings, especially Blaster, who’s also become Prowl’s friend now.
Prowl does not go to the New Stellar-Cycle party. It’s not his thing, after all, and he knows Jazz would not mind. Jazz does not, if the enthusiasm he showers Prowl with, after he sneaks into the Praxian’s berthroom that very night, is anything to go by.