𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟏𝟏

"𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩. 𝙄'𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩.
𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙄 𝙙𝙤?
𝘾𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡𝙩𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙨.
𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣-𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 - 𝘛𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

The scoreboard glowed bright on a transparent screen in the middle of the training compound. You stood directly below it, studying the order of names as everyone in your group filed silently out of the room.

There was a distinct cut off halfway down the board, the top and bottom. White and red. Strong and weak. In and out. Of all six of you, Tris was the only one still in the cut-off zone. But you weren't too far behind. 16th place was only five ranks above the red, and at the rate things were going right now, you were barely clinging to that.

As you stood watching the board, the names shifted. You blinked in awe as your 16th place jumped up one row, shifting the rest of the board as the other names struggled to fit into their new slots. 

13th. You were now in 13th. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stepped even closer to inspect what must've been a huge mistake. Someone in the data department was definitely getting fired tonight. 

"Three points for bravery."

Eric sauntered across the training hall, a transparent plexiglass tablet resting open in his hands. "But your recklessness won't always be rewarded. We train soldiers here, not rebels."

You really didn't feel like talking to Eric right now. Not after what he just put you and Al through. Shrugging, your gaze flitted back up to the board. You certainly didn't do him any favors either; your little jump had him falling into 28th, teetering dangerously close to the bottom of the board.

"A selfless Amity," Eric observed with the click of his tongue. "Maybe you would have done better in Abnegation."

"Maybe," you agree passively, knowing that it was just a shallow dig. Out of the corner of your eye, you observed him as he studied you from top to bottom.

Another twinge of pain echoed in your ear and you hissed, reaching up to cup it with your hand. Eric's smirk fell and he grabbed you by your chin. "Let me see."

"It's nothing, sir," you lied, blinking away the tears beading in your waterline.

His expression hardened. Just two weeks ago he would have killed to hear you say anything to him. Anything at all. But the vulnerability in your voice made his heart ache. "Don't call me that," he snapped, voice low and steady. "Only the weakest trainees call me that out of fear. And you're not afraid of me, are you?" He meant it rhetorically, but there was genuine curiosity swimming in his gaze.

"Besides," he rolled his eyes when you didn't reply. "It wasn't a question."

You were hesitant, but nothing on earth could have persuaded you to resist the wrath of Eric Coulter twice in one day. The worn leather of his fingerless gloves smoothed over the side of your face as he tenderly brushed your hair back behind your injured ear. A shudder rolled down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.

"Told him not to mark you," Eric tutted in what sounded an awful lot like disappointment. His breath fanned your cheek — hot spearmint. "You were already afraid."

"Isn't that the whole problem?" you asked, barely hiding your wince as he dragged the pad of his thumb over the fresh cut. "I thought Dauntless were supposed to be fearless."

Eric's shoulders visibly tensed as he assessed your injury. You could easily imagine him studying this exact scenario through some dusty medical textbook back in Erudite. How much of his teachings did he leave behind in those expansive libraries? How much of it still weighed heavy on his shoulders?

"It's phase one of initiation. You really think you're the only one who's scared?"

"Were you?" You asked. The question must've struck a nerve, because Eric's eyes immediately darkened. "Scared, I mean?"

There was a long moment where all you could hear was the faraway clatter of the dinner crowd forming in the mess hall. You two were completely alone. Isolated. And he was stalling for time.

"No," he admitted after a second, finally pulling away from you after finding nothing too wrong with the cut. Something you learned pretty quickly was that if you weren't actively dying, no one could care less about a bruised knee or a scraped elbow. Or a stab wound, apparently. "But I couldn't afford to be."

You were suddenly reminded of what Will told you about Eric on your very first night – how he was second only to Four in his class. How he was the youngest leader in all of faction history. He had a reputation to uphold even before he stepped foot onto Dauntless territory.

A second, shorter beat of silence passed between you. For once there was nothing standing in the way of you actually looking at him. No ice pack melting in your hands. No throwing knives or crowds of initiates ogling your every move. It was just you, Eric, and the scoreboard blinking over your heads.

He scanned your face with eyes strikingly unguarded. The invisible string that ran between you constricted into a tight ball. The air was palpable even before Eric opened his mouth. All of the fear that he denied himself in training was resurfacing now. He was deeply, profoundly afraid of what you would do when he finally asked what he'd been wanting to ask since he saw you on that rooftop — a golden sunflower hiding amongst the gravel.

"You remember me, don't you, Amity?"

You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. Should you be honest? It felt wrong to lie to one of your superiors.

"Yes," you nearly whispered, but it was all he truly needed. Eric's jaw tightened and you couldn't tell if the news excited him or made him even more standoffish than he already was. Sensing that he had nothing else planned to say, you licked your lips and continued. "I remember your ceremony. You're different now."

Eric chuckled humorlessly, tugging on the straps of his gloves before tucking them behind his back. It was a discipline he'd never been able to shake. "The strongest must adapt to survive."

The words felt rehearsed on his tongue. There was so much more that he wanted to say to you, but even he could see that this wasn't the time or place. While you unknowingly existed in his mind for years as a source of hope and reassurance, he was only a face in your distant memory. And he would just have to live with that for now.

A single drop of blood trailed down the length of your throat, effectively breaking whatever spell you had put him under. "Get to the infirmary," Eric snapped, clearing his throat and taking a cautious step back. "After that you can come back here and sharpen knives until curfew."

Sure he was infatuated with you, but he was still your leader.

You nodded obediently and turned to leave, prompting Eric to release the breath he'd been holding since you first stepped in front of that target.

Right as you were about to duck out of the training center, something made you stop and turn around. "Eric?"

His name sounded candied on your lips. Sticky sweet and saccharine. He'd never heard it sound that way before and quickly discovered that he liked it a little too much.

"Yes, initiate?"

You smiled that careless, infectious smile that made Eric bite down hard on his lip just so he wouldn't mirror it.

"Thanks," you squeaked, shifting your weight nervously between your feet. "You know, for pushing me."

(A/N: This is my FAVORITE CHAPTER OF ALL TIME. Like there's some really fluffy and spicy ones coming up but THIS?????? CHEFS KISS FOR SURE. I'm fixating on this rn so sorry if I heavily neglect my other books this week. Enjoy! Please call me out on any mistakes. Hugs and kisses!)