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Prowl knew that Jazz couldn’t see, at all. Jazz was blind the orn he was online; some kind of processor glitch that made his optics short circuit and unable to see through. Prowl didn’t mind that about Jazz, he made what should’ve been a tragedy into a wonderful thing filled with happiness and joy. Jazz made the most of it — and Prowl loved that about him, especially when he got ideas.
“Jazz, where are we going?” Prowl asked, blinking at his lover's back. He was almost getting dragged — he was, but he wasn’t going to admit that — behind his lover to wherever his creative processor had decided to go for their anniversary.
Prowl got nothing more than a chuckle, and so, he left it at that and let himself be dragged down the hallway.
It was only a moment later that they stopped in front of a door; Jazz entered the code quickly, as if he had memorized it effortlessly, before slipping in, beckoning Prowl to follow. Prowl saw no reason to argue and walked in after Jazz, stopping before the sight in front of him.
It was like it came out of a romantic movie, Prowl observed as he glanced around. There were lit candles everywhere around the room, emitting a soft and calming glow to the mostly darkened room. The room was mostly empty in terms of furniture, saving the couch at the one corner of the room with a table with treats in front of it. Prowls doorwings shivered as he saw a drizzled iron shaving energon cake, considered now this late in the war to be something exotic and even rare to have.
There were a few more decorations around the room, minor and unimportant details to Prowl as he looked back to his lover standing in the middle of the room.
“What is this, Jazz?” Prowl whispered and strode slowly to stand in front of Jazz, who was smiling.
“It’s our fifth anniversary, lover. Ah thought I’d make it special; do y’a like it?” Jazz whispered back, helm tilted.
Prowl relaxed with a warm smile, knowing Jazz couldn’t see it but as Jazz always said, ‘it is the thought that counts’. “I love it, Jazz, thank you.” He muttered.
Jazz chuckled, stepping back slightly as music started to play, a traditional Praxian/Polyhexian dance that younglings learned when they got their upgrades. Prowl looked down when Jazz held out his servo with a gentle smile.
Prowl looked up at Jazz’s sightless optics after pulling his gaze away from his servo, held out in invitation and a welcoming temptation to take and hold.
Prowl’s spark lurged as Jazz smiled, warm and comforting, the one that was reserved for him and him only.
“Will y’a give meh this dance, Prowler?” Jazz muttered, unseeing but able to stare right at him.
Prowl’s doorwings shivered — doorwing waggles as Jazz would call them — and reached out his servo to take Jazz’s in his own servo, grasping it.
“Yes.”