I can't sleep.
The deep breathing of everyone else in the room keeps me awake, although I'm sure at least half of the others aren't resting either.
I can still smell the soft scent of Abnegation on my grey clothes - a natural aroma, of cleanliness and unperfumed soap. It reminds me of Chuck, of our father, preparing meals and taking care of others, with no thought of myself.
In this room are sets of black clothing that the Dauntless have provided for me, clothes that will soon carry the scent of sweat and exercise and power. I will dress in them tomorrow, and look the part of a Dauntless initiate.
I am, to put it simply, terrified.
My hands move towards my face and brush a lock of hair away from my eyes, but it falls out of place just a few seconds later. My fingers run over the rough lining of the sheets, but nothing offers any comfort. I sit up in bed and cross my legs over the blankets, hands resting in my lap. All I want right now is to be at home with my brother, with his curly hair and red cheeks that stand out in Abnegation, washing dishes and packing up the house with him.
But along with the desire to see my family again, I know that I will never truly belong there, ever again. Not that I ever did truly belong there, with the people whose feet stamp in a steady rhythm, whose monotone life never differs. I suppose the Aptitude Test proved what I knew all along.
Maybe I can make a new family here. With Teresa and Brenda and Thomas and Minho and Frypan. And Newt.
My eyes close.
•••
"What's the time?" A masculine voice asks, and I can imagine the owner's dark eyes darting around curiously, like always.
"Seven thirty." A feminine voice answers him clearly.
"We're gonna be late to training on the very first day-" another feminine voice complains, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes scornfully.
"We should wait until she gets ready." A deep voice says.
"All of us still have to get dressed, Fry-" The first voice argues.
"Well, who wants to wake her up?" An arrogant male voice says.
"I ain't doin' it, Minho." I hear a thick, accented voice say sleepily. I can imagine the owner yawning, stretching his arms up above his blond head.
"Yes, you are." Minho replies. I can hear someone, probably Minho, give another transfer a shove into something hard - the bedframe attached to my bed. I squint one eye open inconspicuously, and see Newt bending over my bed, holding the side of his face - he probably hit it on the bedframe when Minho pushed him.
Not knowing I'm awake, he lightly taps my shoulder. "(y/n)?" he asks, his voice husky and raw with lack of sleep. A shiver of energy rushes down my spine.
I close my eyes fully again. This could be amusing.
He reaches his palms further out to shake my shoulders. I can smell his morning breath on my face.
"Love?" he asks, louder this time, so the whole room can hear. Minho starts laughing, and Thomas joins in, followed by the others.
"Love, huh?" Minho chuckles, in a terrible impersonation of Newt's accent.
"Is that really what you think I sound like?" Newt scoffs, but his accent only becomes more pronounced in his annoyance.
I scrunch up my face to keep myself from laughing, and I feel heat rush to my cheeks. Newt must notice, because I can feel him back away from my face and shake my shoulders a final time.
"(y/n)?" he asks, retracting his hands from my arms.
My eyes flicker open to Newt's chocolate eyes staring down at me, his body at my side. His intimate presence makes my face burn red before I jerk away. "I'm awake," I reply, propping myself up on one elbow, pushing the sheets away from my body with my other hand.
Newt looks at me, relieved but somewhat embarrassed, his hand scratching the back of his neck. He looks almost as self-conscious as I feel as he jumps down from the bed, gripping the sides of the ladder for support. I follow him down to the floor, my grey clothes still hanging off my body. The others are either in their old faction's clothes or in the plain black attire the Dauntless provided for sleeping. My feet slap against the cold floor towards a set of drawers, where my clothes should be.
"This one's yours," Minho drawls as he pulls out one of the drawers for me to reveal bundles of black clothing - the same outfits that were on my bed last night. I raise my eyebrow questioningly at the formerly Candor boy, who sniggers.
"Newt put those clothes in there after he found them on the floor this morning. That shuckface figured you'd want the help," Minho answers, tilting his head behind him in Newt's direction.
"Oh," I say, then turn to Newt, my fingers fumbling with the sleeve of the grey shirt still on my body. "Thanks."
The blond boy smiles back. "Anytime, love."
I fumble around in the drawer until I find a suitable outfit for Dauntless training - black pants, tank top and jacket. I take my hair from the grey band I've had in my hair since yesterday, and instead take a black one from the drawer. Bundling the clothes up in my arms, I exit the room and into the bathroom, where I see that Teresa and Brenda already stand, dressed in Dauntless black.
"The Stiff finally decided to get up," Brenda puts in, running her fingers through her hair messily. But she smiles.
"Yep," I retort, swinging the door to the bathroom open and pulling on my outfit quickly. The black clothes stick to my skin, and I squirm. They couldn't be more different from the grey fabrics of Abnegation.
Exiting the cubicle to see Brenda and Teresa still there, I tighten the black band in my hair so it's in a tight, Abnegation-style bun. I'm smoothing my hair back with my fingers when Teresa gives me a strange look.
"What?" I ask indignantly as her eyes don't turn away from my hair.
The former Erudite sighs. "How many Dauntless have you seen with their hair like that?" she asks.
"Uh, none?" I reply. For some reason, it's phrased as a question, not an answer. "Why?"
"Because you look like an Abnegation," she says.
"I am an Abneg-" I start, then stop abruptly.
"Not anymore," she finishes my thought aloud, and gestures for me to move towards her. "Come here, (y/n)."
I tentatively walk over to her, and she takes the band from my hair and brushes my hair out with her fingertips. I wince, but don't complain. Teresa tightens my hair into a loose ponytail and brushes the free strands away from my forehead.
"You could almost pass as a Dauntless initiate, Stiff, if it weren't for the rest of you," Brenda puts in, and I sigh. I guess, coming from her, that's a compliment.
"Thanks, I guess, Brenda," I say, and she raises her eyebrows in response.
"No problem, Stiff," she nods her head at me, once, very quickly, before turning to face the doorway. "Now, hurry up. The guys will already be at breakfast." With that, the transfer tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and jogs out of the room.
•••
When Teresa and I run out to follow Brenda into the dining hall, we discover that she's right - the others are already inside, at the same table all seven of us sat at yesterday. Metal trays of breakfast are laid out in front of everyone.
Teresa sits between Thomas and Frypan, and Brenda at the head of the table. As I try to sit next to Newt, we both attempt to pull the chair out at the same time, which results in the chair falling to the floor and me accidentally crashing into the table.
Luckily, I don't think anyone notices as I pick the chair off the floor and take my seat. Except Newt, who grins, his chocolate eyes lighting up for a second.
"Table," Newt announces. "Watch out for tables."
I groan and shake my head, and he smiles again. "Coffee?" he asks, and I nod, grateful for the change of subject. He hands me a cup of steaming liquid, which I raise to my nose to smell.
My mind involuntarily flashes back to home. Nights spent with my father taking small sips of hot coffee that Chuck made, or when I was younger, my mother giving me the first taste of her morning coffee.
Of course, we never had coffee often, and Chuck and I weren't supposed to drink it at all. Our parents only drank it if they had to work late, or if they needed it for the day.
Still, the flashback of Abnegation pierces me as I take a sip of the hot liquid, and I find I can't drink any more than a couple of sips. It hurts too much. Pushing the cup away, Newt notices.
"Don't like it?" he asks, and I shrug.
"No, it's not that," I answer truthfully. "It's more.... more that it's too much like home, you know?"
He nods gravely. "Yeah, I get it." He's silent for a moment, until his face lights up again. "Wait here just a second."
As he gets up, I engage for a moment in conversation with Brenda and Minho, who were previously arguing violently - a Candor trait, I suppose, which is nice, but slightly tedious. In some ways, I'm relieved when Newt sits back down, another mug of steaming liquid in his hands.
He passes it to me, and this time I don't have to raise the cup to smell the strong scent of mint wafting from it.
"Mint tea," he says, "we had it back at home. My sister always used to make it. I tried, but it was never as bloody good." His expression turns wistful for a moment before his facial features harden and he turns back to me. "Try it."
The sweet-smelling cup meets my lips and scorches my throat, but I don't stop drinking until nearly half of the tea is gone.