#〈This is half to relieve my dismay over missing an opportunity to make a binomial data transfer joke in stream〉

[cerebrosurgeon]

“I miss Nebulos,” he stated, watching Fort Max pull out half a cabinet of cubes. Sat on his shoulder and comfortably curled against the side of his helm, their schedules aligned enough for Cerebros to rise early with him, accompanying him as he prepared half the moon’s morning fuel. “I miss Nebulans.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Max set the containers down and recounted them. He wasn’t surprised by his bond’s yearning. They shared it, of course, but Cerebros always waxed nostalgic when socialising with other Cybertronians alone enough. Meeting alternates of familiar mechs must not be making him feel any less out of place - Even among their own universe, Cerebros would argue he was only a proper Cybertronian by proxy. 

“You still talk to Stylor frequently,” Max pointed out, flicking cubes to the side as he searched for one of Incisor’s. She had them specially designed to accommodate her frame, but she never placed them back in any consistent pattern after washing. Cerebros huffed, earning a gentle nudge from his finial. “We’ll visit.”