Chapter Text
[Excerpt from a half-filled notebook, labeled Theology 421:] Aestus, god of the sun: often depicted as a young man in red, crowned and ornamented with gold, Aestus is the patron of warmth, light, fire, and the sunlight that cradles everything that lives. Supposedly, he originated as the patron god of Nyon, with his role and mythology expanding over years of Nyonite domination of the area. With the advent of the Primal religion, belief in Aestus was quickly folded into…
“Get back here,” Rodimus grumbles, clamping onto his back like a barnacle. “Where are you going, old man, don’t they know you have more important things to do?”
“What important things?” Megatron answers, pulling himself upright with some effort. It is terribly comfortable to lie on the couch with Rodimus flopped next to him; the younger man practically radiates warmth. It’s been getting colder and colder as winter sets in, but he never needs to use a blanket for as long as Rodimus decides to stay in the apartment. He stands up, reluctantly, and Rodimus yelps as he’s pulled off of the couch and into the air. “You showing up in my house again is not an emergency, Rodimus, as much as you seem to think it is–”
“I didn’t want to spend time with you anyway,” Rodimus declares, poking Megatron decisively in the back of the head. The statement would have hit harder if he wasn’t still dangling from the man’s shoulders. “Just go and leave me alone in your house, I see how it is.”
“I have class. That I pay for,” Megatron retorts, leaning backwards over the couch in an attempt to shake Roddy off. It’s not really working. “You showed up while I was sleeping because, and I quote, ‘Ratchet told me that humans need twelve hugs a day and I got worried about your health.’ Pardon me if I’m prioritizing one of those things over the other.”
“Fine,” Rodimus says, crossing his arms in the most dignified way that a man who’d just fallen off his friend’s back onto a couch cushion and was still twisted in the same position he was when he fell could. Megatron turns around and raises an eyebrow at him.
“How did you even get inside?”
Rodimus instantly looks sheepish, uncrossing his arms to nervously scratch his neck.
“Back door was unlocked?” he tries, with only a slight hesitation. Megatron pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.
“Rodimus, this is a third floor apartment. It doesn’t have a back door.”
“Window…” Rodimus mutters, looking at his knees. Megatron looks incredulously at the kitchen window, winter sunlight streaming brightly through the panes onto his wooden floors. He sighs again.
“Just knock next time,” he says. “If you’re going to make it a habit.”
“I knew you loved me,” Rodimus cheers, instantly flipping from self-conscious to touched, eyes glittering.
“Shut up,” Megatron mutters, and isn’t touched when Rodimus wraps his arms around him again, smushing his cheek into Megatron’s back.
“Mmm,” Roddy hums, and Megatron can feel the warmth of him through his clothes, burning through the chill like a fireplace in winter. It’s… nice. He pulls gently on Rodimus’s hands, pulling himself free just long enough to turn the two of them until he can pull Rodimus into his chest, folding him up in his arms. It feels fragile, somehow, like a tiny miracle. He holds back the urge to push back Rodimus’s bangs and press a kiss to his forehead; instead he squeezes tighter, just for a moment, and gently steps back, pushing Rodimus away.
“My class is only an hour,” he says, hesitantly. “If you want, we could catch up after? The professor I’m working as a research assistant for has some fascinating new perspectives on theological history and–” Megatron looks aside, self-consciously, and coughs. “We could get dinner?”
“Ugh, whatever,” Rodimus says, and grins brightly up at him. It’s very bright. Megatron has to squint just a little. “C’mere.”
He pulls Megatron down, and Megatron leans into the touch, too confused to protest. Rodimus presses their foreheads together and murmurs something that Megatron can almost place. Nyonite? It sounds like something he’d hear at a service, back when he was young and still went to the temples. He almost asks about it, but his watch beeps, and he curses under his breath.
“Damn it, Rodimus, I’m going to be late,” he grumbles, and Rodimus finally lets him out of arm's reach, looking worryingly pleased with himself. “Dinner at six, the usual place?”
“The usual place,” Rodimus answers. “Stay warm out there, old man!” he calls as Megatron throws his bag over his shoulder. Megatron shoots him a suspicious look, but doesn’t have the time to parse that statement before he’s out into the hallway and the door is already closing behind him.
He forgets his coat in the apartment. Strangely, he doesn’t really feel the cold on his way out.
—
(Rodimus stands in the small pool of sunlight spilling in from the kitchen window. He glances at the door, once, smiles, and closes his eyes. One second, there is a young man in the kitchen, small and ordinary, hands in his red sweatshirt pockets and hair tucked into his yellow sweatband. The next second, there’s nothing but the window, and the sun, and a strange little shimmer amid the dust motes.)
—
“How on earth are you not freezing your ass off right now?” Impactor challenges him after class, squinting at his chest. Megatron stares at him, blankly.
“Hey, leave the guy alone,” Roller says, “Impactor has a point though – I really didn’t take you for that kind of guy. You know, short sleeves, short shorts, below freezing kind of guy.” He throws an arm around Megatron’s shoulder as they walk, and recoils. “Dude, you’re warm as hell?” Impactor reaches over to feel, and Megatron makes direct eye-contact with him until he retracts his arm, scoffing.
“Alright, alright, be like that,” he says, and strikes up a conversation with Roller about something equally inane and pointless.
Megatron frowns to himself, looking down at his clothes. He was dressed sensibly enough for the weather, in his opinion, although certainly he wasn’t as bundled up as the other two students who insisted on walking with him. It was foolish of him, but he half-imagined that he still could feel Rodimus’s warmth where he’d wrapped his arms around Megatron this afternoon, like he had ever since he’d left his apartment that afternoon. It was nice.
“So, Megatron,” Impactor says, interrupting his thoughts.“You’re coming to the bar with us tonight, yeah?”
“I’ve got plans,” Megatron says, not particularly sorry about it. He smiles slightly, and quickly sets his face into a neutral frown as soon as he catches himself at it. Luckily, neither of the two people with him seem to notice.
“Aw, c’mon dude,” Impactor grumbles, rolling his eyes, and Roller hits his shoulder. They’ve arrived at the next street corner, which is dark and poorly-lit; one of the streetlights died a week ago, and no one seems to have replaced it in the meantime.
“I’m heading this way,” he says without ceremony.
“Ha, see you next week then,” Roller says, shooting a pair of finger guns in his direction, and does a double take as he turns away. “Hey, Megatron…” he says, slowly, and Impactor turns back as well, raising an eyebrow at the hold-up.
“What,” Megatron says, flatly, already texting Rodimus to meet him at the restaurant.
“Dude,” Roller says, and Impactor clearly sees whatever’s caught Roller’s attention because his face is suddenly just as deeply confused and incredulous. “Are you glowing?”
—
“I think they’ve started coming to class drunk,” Megatron announces into Rodimus’s hair.
“You should join ‘em,” Roddy says absently, rubbing his thumb along the back of Megatron’s hand, which he’d claimed some time ago. He’d insisted on tagging along with Megatron when he’d headed back to his apartment; Megatron had protested that surely Drift and Ratchet would miss him, but Rodimus waved away his concern with a vague hand gesture. Don’t worry, he’d said, the three of us have all the time in the world.
“Absolutely not,” Megatron says firmly, and Rodimus laughs at him, smacking their combined hands against his leg.
“Party killer,” he says, fondly, and Megatron just basks in the warmth for a minute, tucking his feet under Rodimus’s legs and feeling the heat seep all the way through his body.
“Hey,” he says, and Rodimus wiggles in his arms until he can see Megatron’s face. “What was that, this morning? The–” he stops, at a loss, and then presses their foreheads together for a second.
“Oh, that?” Rodimus says, just a hint of tension in his voice. “It’s… it’s a blessing from Nyon. May the sun walk with you.” He says the words slowly enough that Megatron can understand them, having picked up enough Nyonite dialect to read through some of the older texts on Aestus for his research. “It’s, um. It’s a family thing.”
His family must have originated in Nyon, long ago, Megatron thinks, and bites down the immediate urge to ask him for every possible detail. Aestus’s followers are terribly insular now; there are few Nyonites left in the world, and scholarship on him is rare and poorly translated. Later, he thinks, looking down at Rodimus with another tiny smile. For some reason, he can’t seem to get this one to go away.
“I didn’t think you were religious,” he says instead, leaving the statement open for Rodimus to answer, or not, if he wants. Rodimus starts laughing at that, for some reason, hard enough that he shakes against Megatron with the effort he’s making to hold it in.
“Primus, Megatron,” he wheezes, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Megatron doesn’t really get the joke, he rarely does, but Rodimus shines even brighter like this and it warms something new and strange in his chest. Before Rodimus, he’d thought the phrase “bright with joy” was just a turn of phrase, but when Rodimus gets like this, he understands. “No,” Rodimus says, still chuckling a little, “not really.”
“I see,” Megatron says, tucking his head into Rodimus’s neck, and he closes his eyes against the light, so bright he can hardly stand it.