𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟐𝟓

"𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤𝙬,
𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣.
𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚,
𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙮."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘻𝘦 - 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘦

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You waited near the exit while the last of the adrenaline ran its course through your bloodstream. You could hold your head up high as your rivals limped past you on their way to the train and tighten your fist around the glowing flag in your hand, but it was obvious that no one was more surprised about the game's outcome than you.

Tris had told you to wait for her near the train, but as the last of your peers shuffled by, you had still yet to see any sign of her. Just when you were about to give up and check in with the rest of your friends, a solid hand clapped down on your shoulder and sent a frightened jolt through your body.

"There you are," Eric said. As the sun peaked out over the horizon, you could make out the traces of soot on his jawline from one of the many scuffles he'd gotten himself into tonight. Even though he was still wearing his battered combat gloves, you felt the heat of his palm sear into your shoulder like a cattle prod all the same. His tone sounded fiery in the cool early morning air when he asked; "So, how does it feel, Amity?"

"How does what feel?"

He stopped pretending to conduct a head count of the rest of the initiates and finally glanced down at you from the corner of his eye. "Winning your first game," he said, clearing his throat. "That just might be the most impressive case of beginner's luck I've ever seen."

You hummed, pretending to contemplate his subtle burn while trailing your eyes down his torso to inspect the tear in his pants where you tore a neurostim dart out of his leg. Considering that Eric had only been in Dauntless two years before you arrived (paired with the fact that he was a massive bullshitter) made his weak attempt at a jab practically harmless. "Does it hurt?" you asked without really giving him an answer.

He snickered at your question, leaning his elbow against you to tug his shirt free from the waistband of his black cargos. Right where his torso dipped into a sharp V and disappeared past his tactical belt, a nasty bruise was festering in a perfect halo around a tiny red pinprick. If you hadn't pulled out that dart when you had, that bruise would have been covering his entire abdomen. "What, this?" he laughed, though you could tell that it pained him. "I'm used to it, don't worry."

"No, I meant losing to an Amity initiate."

The semi-permanent cocky sneer fled Eric's face for a split second and you felt a ball of regret fester in the pit of your stomach. A half-baked apology started bubbling to the tip of your tongue when instead of a punishment, you were met with a surprised chuckle and the warm reunion of his hand over your right shoulder. "You're funny," he said, scanning the square for anyone who could overhear him. "But save that humor for me. Max won't find you half as amusing as I do." 

He used his arm to guide you toward the rapidly filling train car as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It could have been, in another life maybe. "Sir yes sir," you joked for the very first time without worrying about the consequences. Who knew, maybe one day Eric would be the one cracking jokes.

Up ahead, you spotted Al limping toward the train while doing his best to hide the fact that he was limping at all. He threw his air rifle down into a nearby pile alongside all of the others, not noticing you until you were only a few yards away. "Al!" you beamed, waving for him to come over. He did so cautiously, a careful eye trained on Eric and the arm he had cast over your shoulder.