𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟐𝟏

"𝙇𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩,
𝘽𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨
𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙨.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙨."

𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 - 𝘐𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘴

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

Despite bargaining for a shortened bedrest, you ended up spending the rest of the week in the infirmary and effectively using up the very last of your excused absences from training. You didn't have the guts to face anyone after Peter's accusation. Not even your closest friends, although they continued to visit you regularly.

You sat on your cot, holding your baggy grey shirt up around your middle so that one of the nurses could unwind the massive white bandage from around your torso. It had been weighing down on you for ages now and your first breath without it felt like a stack of bricks had been lifted off of your lungs.

Your nurse inspected you briefly before typing something into the tablet in her opposite hand. "The bruising along your ribs and sternum healed nicely," she said, offering you a wink. "So long as you don't get into any altercations in the next 48 hours, I'd say you're good to go."

"Are you that eager to get rid of me?"

She snorted and began preparing her tools to conduct the rest of your scheduled tests. Two quick knocks on the door prompted her to hum without lifting her head — her own way of saying 'come in' that was only known by those who'd been trapped there in her presence for days on end.

You glanced up as the door opened and felt the smile on your face immediately go slack. "Eric?"

"Initiate," he replied, eyeing you strangely. He looked just as stiff as ever dressed in his formal uniform — a sleek grey jacket with Dauntless military honors stacked on the lapel. Perhaps he had a meeting with some Erudite executives that you weren't supposed to know about. 

After a beat of tense silence, your eyes grew wide and you dropped your shirt, having completely forgotten that you were holding it up in the first place. Clearing his throat, Eric slowly turned from you to your nurse and folded his hands behind his back. "Mind if I steal your patient for a few minutes?"

"Oh, by all means, sir. She's wearing on my nerves."

She's smiling as she says it, but you still stick your tongue out at her as you hop down from the table and grab your jacket before following your instructor out of the room. He pretended not to notice your subtle limp, though he still slowed his step so that he fell into perfect pace with you as you staggered down the main corridor toward the cafeteria.

You were doing everything in your power not to look him in the eye. Just when you were starting to think that the frightened little girl in yellow skirts had been beaten out of you, there she was in all of her golden glory, making you cower in the presence of Eric Coulter.

As fellow instructors crossed your path, Eric would nod stiffly and straighten his posture. There was obviously someone lingering around these halls that he didn't want to be caught slacking in front of. 

Once he'd marched you about halfway across the compound and he was sure that the two of you were completely alone, Eric swallowed thickly and stared dead ahead with zero indication that he was even addressing you at all. "Four has informed me of some discourse amongst your initiate class."

"Discourse?" you asked, looking up at him. Of course there was going to be discourse. You were all competing for your lives for the chance to live inside a massive cinderblock where you'd spend the rest of your lives fighting to survive day to day.

He jerked his chin, the veins in his neck bulging as he ground his teeth together. "Rumors," he clarified, cautiously.

"Oh?" You'd been somewhat left out of the drama loop ever since you were admitted. It didn't make sense to you how this issue concerned you in the slightest. But then you remembered Peter and his stupid tablet and all of the stupid lies that someone had fed into it. Lies regarding a certain stoney-faced instructor and Amity student duo. "Oh."

"So," Eric exhaled, glad that he didn't have to explain what he already knew of the tabloid article. He could only hope it never reached Max's desk. He didn't exactly have the best defense for himself. "I politely informed him that I have a solution."

A solution.

A solution is what the Amity council found for Sawyer Pritchett after he was caught red-handed stealing hens right out of one of the faction representative's barn. A solution was a midnight train to the factionless colony on the outskirts of Abnegation territory. A solution was a departure with no goodbyes and an unspoken rule that your name could never come up in conversation again without consequence.

"I..." you gulped, ignoring the way your ankle wobbled as you turned the corner. "I understand."

"Do you?"

You could only bite down hard on your bottom lip and nod. With a heavy sigh, he planted his feet in front of the wide-open entrance of the training pavilion, gesturing with his leather-gloved hand for you to enter in front of him.

Gaping, you took slow and careful steps into the dark warehouse. Your entire class was there. Their faces looked gaunt and pale underneath the single spotlight pointed at the sparring mat in the very center of the room where an obscured figure was chalking his hands — broad shoulders flexing with his back angled toward you.

You caught Four's eye and for the first time since you met him, he didn't look vaguely disappointed in you. Behind you, Eric cleared his throat and nodded. Four returned the gesture and pushed his back off of the cement pillar he was leaning up against. Everyone immediately devoted their attention to him as he spoke.

"Last fight of the day," he bellowed, arms still crossed in an attempt to sound unphased. "Peter and (Y/N)."

A few concerned murmurs arose as you processed what he just said. "Wh-What?" You sputtered, whipping your head around just to be met with Eric's impassible presence. "Me? Fight? I can't fight."

"Yes, you can."

"Since when?" It felt like your heart was beating right up against your ribcage, trying to break free. You pointed to the faded bruise on your jaw, frustratedly. "Good fighters don't end up like this."

Eric squared his shoulders, glowering down at you. "This isn't about scores. I'm giving you a chance to beat the bullshit out of the guy who made you look inferior. Don't make me do it myself, because I will."

Like a bullet in the chamber, the reality of your situation finally clicked into place. You weren't getting kicked out of Dauntless, but the alternative had the potential to be so much worse. 

Upon hearing your name, Peter stiffened under the single swinging bulb and turned to seek you out in the crowd. His eyes were round and heavy with what you could only assume was guilt. You knew he must've regretted what he said to you immediately after he opened his mouth, but the damage was done. And it couldn't be undone.

Eyeing him down, you clenched your fists at your sides. Eric shuffled closer and leaned down to whisper lowly. "Watch his feet," he said, hot breath fanning the shell of your ear. "Hayes always steps before he punches. He's been distracted all day, It's an easy win."

Eric paused and you could feel the smirk growing on his lips. "Even for you."

Ouch. Okay.

You shrugged off your jacket and dropped it into Eric's awaiting hand. It looked so small bunched up in his fist. You made a show of struggling up onto the platform, wincing as you strained your healed injuries and got into the ready position. Even if he won, Peter wouldn't be able to brag about beating the injured Amity girl.

No one called for a start, but you started circling him nonetheless. Peter snickered, matching your pace and cocking his head to the side in his usual joking manner. "Are you crying, sunshine?"

You almost didn't reply — too focused on finding a pattern in his footwork. "Being used as a human punching bag will do that to you," you mumbled, finally meeting his eye just in time to watch his fist come barrelling toward your face.

You ducked underneath his swing, recovering instantly and reaching out to jab him roughly in the throat. Choking, Peter scrambled backward clutching his neck. You allowed him a moment to catch his breath, knowing he never would have given you the same luxury. "That was totally illegal," he sputtered, glancing around for the support of an instructor. But Four and Eric had both stepped away.

You were probably just as worried about legitimacy as Edward was when he tried to kill you. Just like Eric said, this wasn't about scores. This was about getting even.

"That's the thing about Amity," you said, making him look up at your advancing figure. While he regained his stance, you swing-kicked his left shoulder and knocked him down onto his side. "Growing up around all that mud...we're not afraid of playing dirty."

You circled each other for another minute or two without striking. Peter must've realized what you were trying to do and switched up his steps every so often. So much for your brilliant plan.

"Quit playing with each other," Eric barked in his usual bored drawl from somewhere in the shadows. His indifference was a huge boost to your self-conviction. Eric was confident above all else that you could win and because of that, so were you.

The fact of the matter was that you were never peaceful. Maybe that's the truth that guided your hand during the Choosing Ceremony. You were never peaceful — you were passive. You never started fights, but it wasn't because you didn't want to. It was because you were too afraid of confrontation. But that's the part of you that Dauntless carved out right away.

Peter kicked you in the side, striking a match that lit the burning flames of your barely-healed bruises. You whimpered and doubled over, not caring that you were giving him ample opportunity to hit you again. The searing sensation made lighting bolts of pain appear behind your eyelids and through the earth-shattering waves, you could make out Peter falling out of his fighting stance to appear by your side. "Oh shit, (Y/N), I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to—"

You don't even allow him to finish his sentence before making a fist at your side and ramming it upwards into his chin as hard as you possibly could. He fell backward, cussing loudly, and you dropped your foot right onto his groin.

An entire class-worth of guys all hissed in unison as Peter curled in on himself on the padded floor. A single strand of hair had fallen from your updo and you blew it out of your face. "How's that for peace and love?"

With Four's help, you were lowered from the platform and immediately sought out your friends in the crowd. They all stood blinking at you, even Tris, who you thought of all people might have expected that.

"What?"

"(Y/N)," Christina laughed in disbelief, smiling and crossing her arms over her chest. "That was literally incredible."

"Was it?" you furrowed your eyebrows and looked back at the sparring mat. Peter was barely sitting up and a few of his guy friends were trying to coax him to stand.

Al stepped forward, looking like he was about to say something when you heard heavy footsteps approach from behind.

"It was," said Eric, holding out your jacket for you to take. You turned around to face him, taking it from his open hand and slowly sliding it back over your bare shoulders. "More or less," he added, shooting you a private nod. You were the only one of your friends able to look him in the eye and he was taking full advantage of it.

"Thanks," you smiled, "I have a really good teacher."

"Show's over, initiates! Fall back!"

Your moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of Four's voice bouncing off of the warehouse ceiling. He ushered away the cluster of boys trying to help Peter before jogging over to where you all stood in the very outskirts of light.

"That was a good fight," Four said. If he didn't look permanently pissed off about everything, you would have thought he was actually proud of you. "Not exactly a clean one, but still good. You feel okay?"

"He got one of my bruised ribs," you explained, shamelessly lifting the side of your shirt for him to see. Four stepped closer and ghosted his thumb over the irritated patch of skin while Eric looked on, teeth clenched firmly as if he were struggling just to stand there and let his co-instructor touch you. "I'm probably fine, though," you added, afraid of being known as the girl who couldn't pull herself together long enough for one sparring match. "Doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"You should swing by the medical-wing just in case," Four said, voice low and even. He drew his hand back and flexed it down at his side. Turning to the rest of the room, he bellowed. "As for the rest of you, I want you running laps around the compound until you hear the lunch bell!"

A few people groaned and even Christina made a disappointed whine before she was pulled away by Will and the others. You waved them off, watching them disappear with the rest of your class into the obstacle course of rubble that circled the entire compound like a protective moat. 

You must've been crazy for staring after them with that longing look in your eye, and even crazier for letting Four catch it on your face. "You can join them as soon you get back," he said, and you nodded as stoically as you could manage as if the idea of rejoining your friends didn't send a rush of excitement straight to your heart.

When another instructor appeared and whisked Four away to take care of some other business, you expected Eric to be standing off to the side somewhere behind him but he must've disappeared at one point without you noticing — which was a feat in of itself. You were about to do the same when you remembered the boy sitting hunched over on the very edge of the sparring platform, inspecting his wounds with a sense of self-disappointment that hurt you to watch, even if from a distance.

And then there were two.

Your steps echoed off of the tall walls, making Peter glance up cautiously as you approached. A single drop of blood fell from his nose and he sniffled, turning away from you as he brushed it away with the back of his taped fist. You stopped a foot or two in front of him, arms crossed.

"You coulda kept going," he rasped, voice still strained from when you jabbed him in the throat. You winced at the sound of it. Picturing yourself attacking your friends, no matter if they deserved it or not, wasn't something you really enjoyed doing. "No conceding. Do you get what that means?"

"Are you seriously asking for round two?" you scoffed. "I didn't think you'd be so eager to get your ass handed to you again."

Peter looked up from his hands and finally made eye contact with you. The place near his temple where you struck him the hardest was starting to fester into what would be a nasty bruise. He was too pretty for his own good. Someone needed to knock him down a few pegs.

Silently, he patted the spot on the mat next to him and you hoisted yourself up so that the two of you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You could barely see the rest of the training room from the shadows that spilled out from the corners. You and Peter were completely isolated underneath that burning white light shining down above you.

"Hey, I'm..." Peter started, words dying off on his tongue as he debated how to move forward. "I'm really sorry for showing that article to everyone. I was just—I've been working my ass off since I landed here and I know I'm not where I should be. But it was stupid to think you weren't working just as hard." He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the mat with something akin to disdain. "And you just proved it."

"Apology accepted," you beamed, kicking your legs back and forth. "Assuming there was an apology hidden in there somewhere."

A smile tugged on the corners of Peter's lips and he knocked his shoulder against yours. "Oh, there was."

"Really?" You feigned shock. "I couldn't find it under all that self-loathing."

Peter chuckled and you followed suit. When the comfortable silence ran out, you lowered yourself back onto the concrete and looked back up at him. "I'm headed to the infirmary to get my rib looked at. Did you need to come with?"

"Nah," he hissed, struggling to do the same. "I'm as healthy as a horse. But if you beg me I might just tag along."

You couldn't help your smile as Peter hobbled toward you, allowing him to use your shoulder as a crutch as you both made your way out of the training room. "Alright, tough guy. Let's go."

"You know," he groaned, biting down hard on his lip to avoid crying out in pain. "It was kinda hot how you kicked my ass just now."

There it was — the famous Peter humor you've been missing out on.

"Mhm. Keep walking."

(A/N: This is 3000 words lmao. I love winter break <3 I get to work on so many of my fave stories. I can't believe that I pre-drafted 40 chapters for this book and I've only gotten around to finishing 21. This might last me awhile lol. Anyway, happy reading. I'm gonna go make a bagel).