Chapter Text
TIME IN AMITY passes by much differently than it does in Dauntless. The minutes turn to hours, the hours to days, the days to weeks. Life is simple here, it is easy to forget time altogether.
I remember feeling like each day in Dauntless had to have been longer than twenty-four hours, so little time left to myself after training with Four or enduring the fear simulations; it passed me by so quickly, yet I remember it all so clearly still. Every minute had purpose there.
Here, we work different jobs every few days, varying in who we work with and how much time we spend working. It is often fulfilling, and certainly never goes without thanks, but it lacks the passion and adventure that I would have gotten from life in Dauntless.
It is hard not to compare everything to Dauntless here. There is a familiarity in Amity for me – I’ve spent more time in the orchards than I ever did in the cavernous abyss of my chosen faction – but that’s just it: I chose to leave Amity for a reason, and it doesn’t feel right for me to have ended up here anyway. It’s like all my choices, all of what I have been through and endured, have been for naught. I am right where I had been in the beginning, just with added trauma.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how all of us initiates would have settled into our new jobs by now — whichever we had ended up picking. I still don’t know where exactly I would have wound up but I’d take just about anything at this point, even patrolling the fences. I just want normalcy again… the normalcy I chose , that is. Whatever my life is now, it feels like a dream… a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any given moment.
These are the thoughts that I ponder on while getting ready for my day, a private monologue for my own sanity, knowing I will likely spend the rest of the day enduring overly-polite conversation instead of anything that matters.
Before leaving, I spare a final glance at my reflection in the mirror next to my bed, my lips quirking upwards with dissatisfaction. Another difference between Amity and Dauntless is that here I now have more time for vanity – which I’ve realized was something I had been happy to let fall to the wayside in Dauntless.
I wear a pair of large denim overalls and a shirt that was once red, but has now faded to something resembling pink. It shouldn’t matter to me that the overalls make me look frumpy or that the pink fabric of my shirt accentuates the redness of my skin… but it does. Unfortunately it’s all I have left, so I make a mental note to stop by the launderers later today.
On the bright side, the bruises around my neck have also faded to a pale yellow colour, so I no longer have to come up with creative ways of hiding them from everyone. Peter has remained my only confidante in that regard, a topic that hasn’t properly been brought up again since he first questioned me on them, but I can tell it still lingers on his mind from time to time. Sometimes while I’m speaking at dinner, I’ll catch him glancing at my throat and growing very quiet all of a sudden. I don’t ask him about what he’s thinking, but it worries me still.
After one final look around the room, I gather my things for the day and exit out into the hallway, surprised to find Peter doing the very same. A small smile tugs at my lips as I greet him. “Long time no see,” I call down towards him, gaining his attention. He’s been stuck working in the kitchens for the last week, so I haven’t been able to see him during mealtimes. “Where have you been assigned?”
“Fields,” he calls back, moving away from his door and making his way towards me. His arm is relatively healed by now — or at least he doesn’t need to wear the sling anymore — but I’ve noticed a few times when he’s had twinges of pain, spotting the mere few seconds that he allows his features to spasm with irritation before he hides it away from everyone else again.
My smile widens. “Me too.”
He pauses and lets out something caught between a sigh and a groan, tilting his head back to face the ceiling. “ Finally ,” he says, exasperation dripping from his tone. “I’ve been paired off with stiffs two weeks in a row.”
I shake my head at him, but the smile doesn’t diminish. “You poor thing.”
He shifts his head down and stares at me blankly, his arms moving forward to cross in front of his chest. “On second thought, at least they don’t follow me around and insult me all day.” He huffs dramatically, making his way towards me again.
“That wasn’t even an insult!” I insist, falling into step with him as we continue down the hallway. “And I do not follow you around.”
“You do,” he says casually, in that infuriating way where I know he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. It almost always works.
“No I don’t, it’s more like you follow me around.”
“You are following me right now , Emmi.”
“I was already going this way!”
He lets out a laugh under his breath, reaching out to push the door open and let me walk through the frame first. We fall back into step with each other as we round another hallway, each of us so used to taking this route every morning that we could probably do it in our sleep by now.
As we enter the dining hall and get in line, my eyes do an automatic sweep of the room. Caleb is up and sitting in his usual spot, reading some book about hydroponics (I got suckered into hearing about it last night at dinner) while he munches on a piece of toast — plain, no butter or jam or anything . I don’t see Tris or Four yet, though I think they’ve gotten into the habit of grabbing breakfast and eating it elsewhere before their shifts.
Despite what happened on our first day in Amity, our group has remained seated together during mealtimes – which has mostly been enforced by Four, because Tris just ignores me and Peter the whole time. But even though it can be awkward, I don’t mind it. It beats having to endure the Amity’s unyielding chatter after a long day.
“We don’t have time to sit down, do we?” Peter asks, turning to look at me.
I shake my head. “Probably not. Just grab whatever’s easy to eat on the go.” At that, I reach towards a container of green juice, which prompts Peter to make an unattractive sound in the back of his throat.
“Gross, you really do eat grass for breakfast?”
“It’s not grass,” I say, laughing. “It’s probably apple, and maybe celery.”
He frowns, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Do you not realize how disgusting that sounds?”
I give him an exasperated look. “Keep your eyes on your own breakfast.”
Together, we gather up as many granola bars, containers of fruit, and anything else we can fit in our packs for the day. We won’t be returning to the compound for lunch, so I make sure I have enough to keep me going until dinner.
It’s a short walk to the farmhouse from the dining hall, but we must have spent more time getting food than I thought because the others in our work placement are already gathered and have loaded everything into the truck.
“Are we late?” I ask the project manager.
He flips his forearm to get a look at the watch on his wrist, smiling kindly. “Right on time, actually. You two can hop in the truck bed, we’ve already got a full cab.”
Peter hops up first, pushing crates of supplies aside to make room for us, before he turns back around and extends a hand towards me. I stare at it for a moment too long before reaching out and wrapping my palm around his, my stomach twisting in knots as he hoists me up. When he drops my hand and moves to sit down, I feel disappointed. And then I feel embarrassed.
I turn my head slightly as I situate myself next to him, shrugging my pack off and settling it in my lap, so that he won’t be able to see my cheeks flushing. It’s distressing enough to have to feel it, I can’t imagine the shame that would follow if he happened to notice.
This has been a game I’ve been playing for weeks now, hiding my affection towards Peter and pretending that his presence doesn’t have any particular effect on me. Another side effect of Amity: without the threat of my life ending at any moment, it has become significantly harder to deny the fact that my feelings for him have drastically changed since the moment we met.
I didn’t grow up having crushes on other people – no one in Amity ever caught my eye, and it was generally frowned upon to enter into a relationship with someone who wasn’t in your faction, lest you both end up in different ones come your choosing day – but this doesn’t feel like a crush anyway. I’m not doodling hearts around Peter’s name in my journal or anything. Whatever my feelings are, they feel much stronger and much more serious than a crush . He is safety, and normalcy, and someone I can depend on in these times of uncertainty. He holds parts of me that no one else in the world knows about.
And he cares about me, a sentiment that makes my cheeks warm and my heart skip a beat anytime I think of it… but not far behind those thoughts are often ones of doubt and shame.
Peter’s proved his words to be true time and time again (maybe in strange and sometimes convoluted ways) though memories of my fear landscape still sometimes come to me in the middle of the night, taunting me with what the simulated version of him had said: I’m just the first guy that bothered to take an interest in you.
Could it be true that all Peter and I have ever had between us is the desire to gain each other’s attention? Is that all we’ve ever wanted, or is there truly more to this? What happens when the thrill of the chase is gone and all that’s left is two people standing across from each other? Will there really be something there? Am I willing to take that risk?
“Aren’t you going to eat your grass?”
His voice startles me out of my thoughts, my eyes wide as I turn to face him. He’s already munching on a piece of jerky, staring at me with an amused look. The sheer amount of smugness present on his features is almost enough to make me wonder if he’s read my thoughts just now, but I think the reality of it is that he just really loves teasing me any chance he can get. That seems to be the basis of our whole relationship, after all.
“Why?” I ask, reaching into my pack to grab the juice. “Do you want some of my grass?”
He raises one of his brows comically-fast. “And ruin this perfect meal of…” He turns to stare down at the amalgamation of snack foods he’s collected, “jerky and oat bars? Not a chance.”
I grin at him, twisting the cap off of my juice. Even if I don’t know what my exact feelings towards Peter are, I at least know he is a friend. The way we joke around with each other now sometimes reminds me of Uriah and the easy camaraderie we shared… though I try not to think about him too much. It just makes me sad.
“Hold on tight, you two. It’s a bumpy ride,” says the project manager.
The truck starts up a moment later, purring loudly as it starts rolling along the dirt roads within the community. As I stare from the back of the truck, I watch absentmindedly as the Amity Compound grows smaller and smaller, meaning we are getting all the closer to the wall. As I see the train chugging along in the distance, I am suddenly reminded of when Four took us out here during initiation, which feels like it was years ago now.
“Why are the fields outside the city?” Peter asks, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Most citizens aren’t permitted outside of the walls, for our own safety. I was only allowed to go out with my father a few times to help out, though it’s usually a job reserved for those who are past their Choosing Day.
“More fertile land, I suppose. Most of the orchards are in Amity, as you’ve seen, but a lot of the bigger crops are outside,” I tell him, mimicking what I’ve heard my dad say countless times in the past. “Most greenhouses are out there too.”
He shifts slightly, his shoulder suddenly pressing into mine and making it impossible to ignore how close we are.
I clear my throat. “It’s safe, don’t worry,” I assure him.
He scoffs, turning slightly to look at me better. Our shoulders part, and I try not to miss the warmth.
“I’m not scared of some plants ,” he insists. “Or anything out there. Wanna know why? Cause there’s nothing .”
I hold my hands up in defense, trying not to smile. “Alright, alright. If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “What? You actually believe there’s something beyond the wall?”
“Sure,” I reply easily.
He stares at me, blinking a few times, seemingly waiting for me to elaborate.
But I do not.
A few beats pass before he responds in frustration. “Well why the hell do you think that?!”
“You really believe we’re the only people to exist in the world? C’mon Peter, you said you liked History class. How could we go from a heavily populated Earth to just this ? I know the war was bad, but we can’t be the only survivors.”
He doesn’t seem to like my answer, shifting his gaze away from me and towards the hulking walls instead. He stays silent for a while, contemplating something, before turning back to me and leaning in close. His tone is much softer as he speaks, like he doesn’t want to risk anyone hearing.
“Ask yourself why we’re all alone, then.” He watches me carefully. “What have we done that’s so bad that no one else on the planet wants to interact with us?”
Suddenly I’m the one that’s scared. I’d never thought about that before… I’d considered the idea of there being more cities like ours, but never wondered why we aren’t connected. My first thought is for safety reasons… but what if Peter’s right? What if it’s punishment instead?
The truck suddenly hits a pothole and I find myself lifted in a very brief freefall, the action not enough to pull a shriek from me but still prompting my hands to reach out for purchase against the force.
“Sorry ‘bout that!” Someone shouts from the cab of the truck, in an irritatingly-easygoing tone.
I try not to show my annoyance in my response, but it is evident in the tension radiating through my body. I’m so stiff that I almost forget myself completely, not realizing that one of my palms has settled onto Peter’s thigh until he shifts ever so slightly under my touch.
Almost like I’ve been burned, I snatch my hand back and hold it to my chest. “Sorry,” I say sharply but quietly, almost under my breath, like the more hushed my tone is the less likely this situation will turn out to be real.
His gaze moves back and forth between my eyes, staring at me through his eyelashes, before the corner of his lips start twitching into a smirk of amusement. His tone is just as quiet as he says, “for what?”
I swallow hard. My neck is twisting at an angle that will give me cramps for the rest of the day if I don’t let up now, but I can’t bring myself to look away from him. He’s staring at me so intently, like he’s genuinely searching for an answer. Or maybe daring me to name it.
I wonder if he can see it in my eyes, if it’s as obvious as I think it is. I hope he can, because I don’t think I can get the words out now. I don’t think I can even find the words that I would want to say, nothing sounding right now that I’m here in this moment. “ Peter ,” I respond, still so quietly, bordering on a plea.
He watches me for a moment or two longer before nodding his head, turning to look back at the scenery passing us by. I feel my shoulders deflate as I look off in the other direction, bringing my knees up to my chest as I fold in on myself. We remain in silence for the rest of the ride, as I contemplate on how much of a coward I am.
*
The first half of the day is spent with my father, touring around the various crops and greenhouses, stopping occasionally to learn what tasks need to be done to maintain them and how to do it.
I’m a little surprised by just how quickly Peter catches on to everything that he is taught, taking it all in his stride in a way that (if I didn’t know better) would make me think he had come from Erudite instead of Candor.
It makes my mind wander to an even stranger place, contemplating on what it really means to be Divergent. There is a part of me that’s different, that’s wrong, that makes it impossible to place me in a specific box. But is it not true that we, as humans, all have inconsistencies to us? Is that not the very reason we are still given a choice of where we end up? How can it be possible for someone from Abnegation to transfer to Erudite if they did not already possess those traits? Are they learned or are they a part of us?
I realize that I don’t think I will ever truly be satisfied with my life if I don’t find out the answers to these questions. I am not so much of a fool to wish to be back in the chaos, to be ungrateful for my time spent here, but I can’t keep going on like this.
Whether I like it or not, I don’t think I can run from Jeanine forever… I think she may be the only one who can actually give me some closure… and that thought scares me. Perhaps even scares me enough to push it aside, at least for now.
The sun beats down against my back, warming the nape of my neck until it becomes more irritating than soothing. With a great big heave, I pull the last of the carrots in my section out of the ground, releasing a long sigh as I toss them into the basket by my side.
As I get up off my knees and stand back up again, I try to avoid getting dirt all over my face as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. It’s been a long day already, and there’s still a couple of hours left before the work day is over.
I resist the urge to let out another sigh, not wanting to indulge my overdramatic complaints, and grab the handle of my basket, slowly making my way across the field and towards the closest greenhouse. My eyes absentmindedly scan over the dirt plains, searching for a face that I won’t find until I push past the glass doors of my destination.
I haven’t seen Peter in a few hours now, and truthfully I’ve been a little glad for it. My fumble in the truck was embarrassing, but it’s a welcome feeling over the anxiety I’ve instilled in myself after being left to my own devices.
He stands at the back of the greenhouse, washing the vegetables that he’s been assigned to pick for the day. We’re in the midst of the harvest now, gathering all of our output for the season so we can tuck it away and save it for the colder months when they arrive.
I sidle up next to him, placing my carrots in the sink next to his. He doesn’t seem to notice me at first, so focused on the task in front of him. I don’t realize just how lost in his own thoughts he is until I clear my throat to get his attention, startling him so much that he ends up spraying me with the hose.
I let out a shocked shriek, the cold water sinking into my overalls and chilling my skin.
“ Shit ,” he says, tossing the hose to the ground and quickly moving to shut it off. He turns back at me, almost looking apologetic, before his gaze moves to the large wet stain at the front of my abdomen. He doesn’t even have the decency to try and hide his smug smile.
“You’re an asshole ,” I say incredulously, though I also can’t help the way my lips try to twitch upwards too. “You’re not even going to say sorry ?”
He’s really trying not to laugh now, his words coming out breathy and forced. “You scared me–”
“ How ?” I ask, placing one hand on my hip while the other gestures to the baskets of fruits and vegetables and herbs around us. “What am I going to do? Beat you with a carrot?” I snort. “Maybe you’re more afraid of plants than you think.”
Peter releases a short, amused breath, starting to respond, “That’s right, I’m terrified of your fearsome carrot—”
But before he can finish, I seize a handful of dirt from a nearby potted plant and hurl it at him with a grin. The clump lands squarely on his shoulder, and he looks at me with a mix of surprise and playful defiance. “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be?” he says, a twinkle of challenge in his eyes.
Without missing a beat, Peter scoops up his own handful of dirt, his grin widening. He sends it flying in my direction, and the clump splatters across my chest. I burst out laughing. “You’ll never take me alive!” I declare playfully, grabbing a fresh handful of dirt and hurling it back at him.
The battle escalates quickly. We’re both laughing, dodging, and retaliating with increasing enthusiasm. Dirt flies through the air, landing in our hair and clothes, and soon enough, we’re both covered in grime. Peter’s aim is impressively accurate, and he manages to score a direct hit on my face. I retaliate by launching a handful aimed at the side of his head, but he ducks and weaves with surprising agility.
Our laughter fills the greenhouse as we turn it into a chaotic battlefield. The once-orderly space is transformed into a mess of overturned pots, spilled dirt, and muddy puddles. Peter’s aim seems to grow even more precise as he hits me with dirt from different angles, each hit followed by a triumphant laugh. I counter with equal fervour, determined not to let him win.
We’re both in our element, laughing uncontrollably as we continue our dirt-throwing antics. The fight becomes a whirlwind of motion and mirth, our earlier tension forgotten amidst the playful chaos. Just as I’m about to grab another handful of dirt, the door to the greenhouse creaks open.
I freeze mid-throw, my heart skipping a beat as I turn to see my father stepping into the greenhouse. His eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in the scene: Peter, covered in dirt from head to toe, and me, looking like I’ve been through a mud bath. The once-pristine greenhouse is now a messy testament to our impromptu battle. His expression quickly shifts from surprise to that familiar, authoritative look.
“Ember...” he begins, his tone taking on the warning edge it used to when I was younger. It’s the kind of tone that makes me feel like a child caught in a shameful act. Despite that, he surprisingly does not scold me or Peter. “I need you to clean up and then take these herbs to Flint in the healer’s center.”
I glance at the basket of herbs he’s holding out, then back at the chaos around us. “Got it, Dad,” I say, trying to sound as composed as I can despite the dirt smudged across my face. I move to grab the basket and watch as a clump of mud slides off my wrist and unceremoniously plops onto the ground in front of him.
Peter, who’s been trying to stifle his laughter, looks ready to follow me out of the greenhouse. But just as he moves to leave, my father claps a hand down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
“Not so fast, Peter,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I still need people in the fields. You’re not off the hook just yet.”
Peter’s eyes widen ever so slightly, looking back at me for a moment before turning to my father again and nodding his head obediently.
I resist the urge to smirk.
Without another glance, Peter heads out of the greenhouse and leaves me behind.
As he leaves, my father’s expression softens slightly. “You two really know how to turn a simple task into a complete disaster.” His gaze moves around the greenhouse slowly, letting out a long sigh. “Then again, there’s a reason the Dauntless aren’t our farmers…”
For some reason that brings a smile to my face. Maybe because it’s an acknowledgement that this isn’t the life I was meant to live. Even my father who raised me to be Amity can see that.
He shifts his eyes to me again, managing the smallest of smiles. “Get a move on, kid.”
I move to leave the same way Peter had, but yet again my father reaches out an arm to put a stop to that.
“I expect you and Peter to clean this up during your next shift.”
“We will, I promise,” I tell him honestly.
He smiles again, pulling his arm back. “There’s a truck heading back to the compound out front. I’m sure they’ll offer you a ride… even with the state you’re in now.”
I have the decency to look embarrassed. I hadn’t thought about the walk of shame I would be subject to when returning to the compound looking like this… I give him a grateful nod in response before finally moving to leave the greenhouse.
As soon as I step into the sunlight, the dry, intense heat of the day hits me like a wall. My already-dirt-caked face feels the immediate sting of the sun, and the mud on my clothes starts to dry and harden, making my movements feel even more cumbersome. I make a point of twisting my mouth and wrinkling my nose every few moments to keep my face from hardening into one expression.
I squint through the glare, scanning the area for the truck. Amidst the haze of midday light, I spot the red truck parked a short distance away. Its chrome parts sparkle in the harsh sunlight, though I can see someone is already sitting in the cab. I make my way toward it, each step causing the dried mud on my clothes to crack and flake off, leaving small traces of debris on the ground.
As I approach, I notice it is Milo looking up from the driver’s seat, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “Huh… don’t think I’ve seen you this muddy since you went through that phase of wanting to live with the pigs,” he says with a smirk.
“Clearly, it wasn’t a phase,” I respond sarcastically.
“ Clearly .”
“Any chance you can give me a ride back to the compound?” I ask.
He pretends to think about it, keen on making me squirm I’m sure, but I’ve known him long enough to know he had his answer ready the moment I asked. “I suppose so. But you keep your muddy little hands to yourself. I don’t need to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning this truck out.”
I roll my eyes, but reach up to give him a little salute. “Yes sir.”
He rolls his eyes back. “That’s cute. Is that something Four taught you to do?”
I don’t bother answering as I hear Milo laugh to himself, and instead make my way around the front of the truck to the passenger side. As I sink into the worn leather seat, I try not to think about how my skin sticks to the already-flaky material.
Once Milo starts it up, the truck jostles gently over the uneven terrain, and I find comfort in the rhythmic hum of the engine beneath me as he guides us away from the dusty fields and towards the Amity compound.
I glance over at Milo, who seems very focused on the road despite there being no other obstacles around for miles. “Where have you been lately?” I ask suddenly, realizing it’s been quite a while since I last saw him. That morning after the Amity’s deliberation might have been it, actually.
Milo looks over, his eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the road. “Mostly out in the fields,” he replies, his voice casual. “Your dad’s been adamant about increasing our food production this year.”
I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Why’s that?”
Milo hesitates for a moment, his lips parting as if he’s about to say something, then closes them again. He seems to struggle with his words before finally speaking up. “Uh, well, it was meant to address some tension between Erudite and Abnegation.”
My frown deepens. “What tension, specifically?” Had Amity been more aware of all this than I thought?
Milo shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “The Erudite were complaining that too much food was being given to the factionless by the Abnegation. So, your dad thought increasing our production would be a way to appease them both.”
I nod slowly, taking in his explanation. The truck bumps over a small pothole, and I adjust my position in the seat, pondering the implications. I am reminded of Caleb saying something about the factionless being a drain on our resources. “But… do you really think more food would have made a difference?”
Milo glances at me, sensing my skepticism. “Well, I guess it’s complicated. It wasn’t just about the food itself but more about the perception and the politics behind it.”
I nod again, though my thoughts are elsewhere. I think about Jeanine Matthews and her relentless pursuit for power. The idea of increasing food supplies seems like a superficial fix to me. Jeanine’s ambitions were about more than just resources; she wanted control, specifically the control that the Abnegation had, and she would stop at nothing to get it. A few extra baskets of produce was never going to alter her plans or quell her drive for power… I suppose my father’s solution shows just how naive his faction can be.
We lapse into a quiet silence, the steady hum of the truck and the changing landscape offering a calm contrast to my turbulent thoughts. I watch as the fields fade into the distance, replaced by the lush, orderly greenery of the Amity compound.
When Milo finally pulls up in front of the initiates’ dorms, I turn to him with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride, Milo.”
He returns the smile, his expression gentle. “Anytime, Em. Say hi to Flint for me.”
There’s something in his tone that piques my curiosity, but I let it pass with a nod. “I will.”
With that, I hop out of the truck and make quick work of rounding the building, trying to avoid the eyes of any wandering Amity. It wasn’t like any of them would tease me or scold me, but I certainly didn’t want it to open up any conversations. The Amity loved to talk, and I wasn’t in the mood to endure that kind of torture right now.
I’m so focused on getting the door open and seeking out the safety of my room that I don’t notice the person on the other side of the door, stumbling right into them. I immediately open my mouth to apologize, but all words fall from my tongue when I see Tris standing there. We haven’t spoken since we arrived in Amity.
She looks me up and down, her expression hardening as she takes it all in. “Must be nice to be back in Amity,” she says, as if being covered in mud is my one true passion in life.
I’m not in the mood for this. I try to move past her, but Tris steps directly in front of me, blocking my way, her jaw clenched in irritation.
I turn to face her slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral, even as my heart starts to pound. “Is there something you want—”
But before I can finish, she cuts me off, her voice laced with bitterness. “Things really fell into place for you, didn’t they? You’ve got the status of Dauntless, but you still get to see your parents every day.” She’s staring into my eyes, searching for something — maybe guilt, maybe regret. “I guess the fall of Abnegation worked out pretty well for you.”
Her words land like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I feel a tightness in my chest, the familiar sting of guilt creeping in, and I struggle to keep my voice steady. “Don’t, Tris.”
She takes a step closer, her eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine, relentless. “What? You don’t want to talk about it? Maybe you should. Playing pretend here in Amity and hiding behind their feeble form of peace won’t last forever. Maybe feeling some guilt would be good for you.”
The accusation cuts deep, and I can feel the defensiveness bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill over. My voice wavers, despite my best efforts to stay composed. “You think I don’t feel guilty?”
A bitter smile tugs at her lips as she releases a sharp breath. “I think you’re a traitor. And still you’ve got everything you could ever want.”
The word traitor cuts through the air like a knife, and I can almost feel it slice through my chest. My breath catches, and for a moment, I can’t find the words. The accusation hangs between us, heavy and suffocating, and I see the hardness in Tris' eyes — eyes that once held trust and friendship but now glare with a disdain that burns.
I swallow, trying to force down the lump in my throat. “Tris, that’s not—”
But she doesn’t let me finish. “Not what? Not true ? You chose to follow Jeanine, and now you get to walk around like nothing happened. Like you didn’t betray your own faction’s beliefs.” Her voice trembles with a mix of anger and something else, something deeper, maybe hurt.
But I feel the words she doesn’t say hanging there between us: You betrayed me .
“ We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. ” She keeps her hardened stare on me as she recites the Dauntless manifesto, seemingly from memory alone. “ We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves .”
Tris does not let up, even as I cower against the wall before her. She only takes a step closer, getting in my face. “Do you think the Abnegation were capable of defending themselves? Do you think Jeanine was acting with courage? Do you think you were?”
Before the tension can escalate any further, Four appears without my noticing him. “ Hey !” he says sharply, stepping between us as if to defuse the situation before it spirals even more out of control and leads to us being kicked out of Amity. “That’s enough. This isn’t helping anyone,” he says, pointedly looking at Tris.
Tris looks away, her jaw clenched, but she doesn’t argue. I can see the conflict in her, the war between anger and something else — something she’s trying hard to bury. Whatever it is, it must be something she herself isn’t ready to deal with yet, because a moment later she holds her hands up to Four with seemingly all anger once present on her face completely gone. “I’m done,” she says simply, then turns on her heel to walk away.
I barely recognize her as the girl who gave me strength in the early days of Dauntless initiation. Now, she is something else entirely. And maybe I am too.
“I don’t know how to fix things, I don’t know how to get her to stop hating me,” I tell Four after a few moments, once Tris is gone.
“She doesn’t hate you,” he says with a sigh.
“Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
He turns to give me a serious look, like he did when he was my instructor. “Trauma does terrible things to our mind, Emmi. It’s why Dauntless puts their initiates through the fear simulations,” he explains, “so we can learn to cope with horrible, terrifying things. What the Dauntless failed to see, is that it’s much different experiencing it in real life than your landscape.”
When I don’t respond, he releases another sigh, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “She went through a lot during the attack on Abnegation—”
“We all did, Four,” I interrupt him. “And maybe I made a lot of mistakes but I did it to survive. Like you told me.”
“ I know ,” he replies affirmingly. “I’m not faulting you for what you did, Emmi. Under different circumstances, I might have done the same… but Tris doesn’t see things the way you and I do. It’s all black and white, right and wrong, heroics and cowardice. No inbetween.”
It’s my turn to let out a sigh. “So there’s nothing I can do? I’ll forever be a villain in her eyes?”
“Not forever,” Four says, “but for a while. She needs to place her anger and frustration from the injustice she’s seen somewhere, and that somewhere is you right now.”
“That’s not fair,” I scoff.
“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “One day she’ll wake up and realize that, and then it’ll be your choice whether you forgive her or not.”
Four’s words settle in the air between us, heavy but truthful. I lean back, resting against the wall behind me. “So what am I supposed to do until then? Just wait for her to wake up on the right side of the bed for once?”
A faint, almost rueful smile tugs at his lips. “No. You live your life. You find a way to be okay with who you are, despite what she thinks. Tris may need time to sort through her feelings, but that doesn’t mean you put your life on hold for her.”
I swallow hard, his words making sense but still difficult to embrace; I thought that was what I had been doing, but it only made Tris believe I was being arrogant.
“I’ll try,” I say, finally.
He nods in response. A silence falls between us for a moment or two as we gather our thoughts, before I notice him looking me up and down. That’s when I remember I’m still covered in mud.
“If this is what you were like here, I can see now why you left,” he says bluntly. “You’re a terrible Amity.”
“I am not!” I reply defensively, though I can't help laughing under my breath in disbelief. “Besides, I can’t imagine you were a perfect Abnegation, Four.”
Four stiffens ever so slightly, but then nods his head lightly. “Maybe not,” he concedes, shifting his eyes to meet mine. “Why do you still call me that? I know you know my real name.”
I frown. “ You didn’t tell me your real name.” It had been Jeanine who called him Tobias in the Abnegation headquarters when he and Tris had been captured. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll continue to call you Four until you tell me not to.”
His lips twitch into the weakest of smiles, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “Deal,” is all he says.
I walk away from my conversation with Four feeling a little better, but still have Tris’ words heavy on my mind as I go to clean myself up. Standing under the shower and watching the mud slowly wash away from my body doesn’t act like the renewal I hoped it would.
With a heavy sigh, I turn off the water and step out of the shower. The steam fogs the mirror, and for a brief moment, I don’t have to face myself. I don’t think I’m ready to. Not with the word traitor still floating around inside my head.
As I go to get changed, pulling on fresh clothes, I try to shake the feeling, to remind myself of Four’s reassurances. He told me Tris is hurting, that she needs someone to blame. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. I pause for a moment, staring at the neat folds of Amity red and yellow. The bright, cheerful colors feel out of place against the storm brewing inside me. I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension that’s building.
Maybe feeling some guilt would be good for you.
Tris’ voice comes back again, sharp and relentless. I clench my fists. I do feel guilt. Every day. But nothing I say will ever be enough for her, and that realization hits harder than I expect. The weight of it makes my chest tight, and for a moment, I’m not sure if I’ll ever find peace — not here, not anywhere.
I take a deep breath, running my hands through my damp hair. Get it together, Emmi, I tell myself. Find a way to be okay with who you are.
But as I step out of the small bathroom, the pressure doesn’t ease. I feel like I’m carrying something with me, something heavier than just the mud from the fields. And no matter how many showers I take, I’m not sure it’ll ever really wash away.
*
That night, I end up sitting with my family for our evening meal instead of the others like I usually do. After, I make the short trek back to my room alone, walking the familiar halls with a slowed laziness brought on by my full belly.
I’m much more tired today than I would have been had I been assigned to laundry — I make a mental note to never complain about doing the washing now that I know how gruelling the work out in the fields are — but despite my desire to fall straight into bed, I take a moment to pause at the corner prior to the hallway where the initiates’ dorms are.
After my encounter with Tris earlier, I’d like to avoid running into her again. Clearly the mere sight of me is enough to set her off, so it’s probably best I make myself scarce around her for a while to avoid any more spiralling on my part.
When I hear no sign of another presence in the hall, I continue on my way and head straight to my door, fumbling with the stiff door knob for a moment before shoving it open with the force of my shoulder. I stumble through the doorway, and am mildly embarrassed to find someone standing in the middle of my room.
Bellamy stares at me with a confused look in his eye, prompting me to laugh under my breath.
“Bit of a disaster, aren’t I?” I say, shutting the door behind me.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but doesn’t crack a smile like I expect him to. “I can get someone to take a look at it.”
“Oh…” I suddenly feel strange, uneasy. “That’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”
He nods his head, and an awkward silence settles between us. I can feel him watching me as I move towards my bed, shrugging my coat off and laying it at the end. I expect him to say something by the time I look back towards him, but he’s as silent as ever.
“Is there a reason you’re here, Bellamy?” I ask him directly, too tired to keep this going any longer. It’s been too long of a day to play this game.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly looking as uncomfortable as I feel. “You know I’m mentoring under Johanna?”
I nod my head, raising a brow.
“Which means I’m… privy to some information that the rest of the faction is not…”
This causes me to frown. Johanna is not a true leader like all the other faction leaders are, she does not hold the same power or privilege to secrecy. Amity makes decisions as a whole, so it would not make sense for information to be held from the faction unless it affected one of the Amity’s rulings. And that makes me nervous.
“Okay…” I prompt him to continue.
He stares at me for a moment, a look of uncertainty passing in his gaze, before he wipes it away in the blink of an eye. “We aren’t allowed to speak about the conflict happening,” he states clearly, “but… worrying news has come from the city.”
I feel my blood run cold. “What news?” I ask quickly, maybe too quickly. When he doesn’t immediately answer, I take a step towards him and persist. “Bellamy, what news? Just tell me.”
He seems shocked by my tone, but wastes no more time in responding. “They’re calling you fugitives, Ember,” he says, his tone dropping to barely above a whisper. “ Terrorists .”
“ What ?” I counter in shock. “Who? Who is saying that?”
“The government.”
I feel shame and guilt coursing through me. “The Abnegation think we’re terrorists?”
Bellamy frowns. “The Abnegation aren’t our governing faction anymore, Ember. All their council members were executed.”
My throat aches, willing the image of the dead Abnegation out of my mind.
“The Erudite are our interim-government now,” Bellamy continues, “until the fugitives are no longer at large — that’s what Jeanine told the leaders this morning.”
So Jeanine has made us her scapegoats… I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. How long has she been cooking up this story? Did she always plan on laying the blame elsewhere? Would it have been Dauntless if not us? Or would she have manipulated the city into believing the Abnegation deserved it?
“They’re saying you’re apart of some rebel group trying to dismantle the factions—”
“It’s not true!” I insist, taking another step closer. “Please, you have to tell Johanna—”
“I already told her it sounded ridiculous,” he assures me, and I feel a weight come off my shoulders. “I don’t think she believed it much either, but… there’s so much confusion around what happened, Ember, I think people will start latching onto this if it’s the only story being told.”
I scoff. “Well how am I supposed to tell the truth if we’re not allowed to talk about the conflict here?”
He sighs, seeming equally as frustrated as I am about the matter. “I don’t know…” he trails off, getting lost in his thoughts for a moment, before suddenly his gaze turns to me again, that hesitant look returning. “What… did happen?”
I pause for a moment, thinking over what I want to say. The mere fact that he is asking me about this is an act of defiance against his faction — he does not ask it lightly, and I don’t know if I can lie to him because of that.
But telling him the truth terrifies me. I’ve already lost one friend because of the role I played in the attack on Abnegation, what if I lose another? I already know I’m not the same person that Bellamy once knew me as, but I’ve found some comfort in acting like I still am the girl I was before all this…
What was it that Tris said? That I’m playing pretend? Maybe she’s right.
“It’s complicated, Bellamy,” I finally say, in a dejected tone.
He takes a step forward. “I can keep up.”
And I know he can. I know he doesn’t see things so black and white to believe me a horrible person for the choices I made, but I think he will be horrified nonetheless. I think he will look at me the same way he did after those factionless kids attacked us… like he doesn’t understand why I can’t keep myself out of trouble… like he is disappointed in me .
“Jeanine and the Dauntless leaders… they wanted this . They wanted to be in a position of power over the city and they knew the only way to do that is to take out the Abnegation.” I almost can’t believe it’s worked out for them; when Jeanine was telling me about her plans I thought that surely they wouldn’t get away with this… it was foolish of me to think that. “They put everyone in Dauntless under simulation and made them attack.”
Bellamy looks truly shocked. I wonder what Jeanine’s story was, exactly. Is the Dauntless army public knowledge or has she somehow convinced everyone that us fugitives somehow killed the Abnegation?
“How do you know this?” he asks suddenly.
That’s the question I didn’t want to answer. But I must. With Tris already making accusations towards me, it’s bound to get out eventually.
“Jeanine told me,” I confess. “I was recruited by the Dauntless leaders to help them, and… and I didn’t know what they were planning, but I was too scared to find out. I had been fighting for so long to stay and I didn’t want to give them another reason to make me factionless, but…” I trail off. Thinking on it now, I might take being factionless over the truth. I was already factionless in everything but name; I don’t belong anywhere anymore.
I can see pain in Bellamy’s gaze but he has the decency to not call me a coward. Or a traitor, like Tris. Instead he just stands there in silence for a few moments, thinking it over, before hiding his face in his hands and releasing a long sigh. He is disappointed .
“I wish you had never joined Dauntless,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I’ve heard this before, or some form of it, from so many people. It feels like a script everyone’s reading from, and it hits the same raw nerve every time. Frustration rises in me, hot and sharp. “Do you think I wanted this?” I snap, surprising myself with the edge in my tone. “All I wanted was to be somewhere I belonged but instead I’m stuck between two worlds, and I don’t belong in either!”
His frown deepens, but he stays quiet, letting me continue. “I don’t want to be here, Bellamy, but it’s a necessity. I’ve outgrown Amity.”
There’s a new pain behind his eyes now, one that has nothing to do with the conflict in our city but instead a betrayal I didn’t know I had committed. “How could you just turn your back on me?" His voice trembles slightly, the hurt breaking through. “On everyone here?”
My heart twists. That wasn’t my intention. It never was. “I didn’t turn my back on you. I just didn’t belong here anymore," I say, softer now, hoping he’ll understand.
“But why didn’t you tell me? Did you not trust me?" His question cuts deeper than I expected, and I realize that part of him is still waiting for an explanation that I can’t quite give.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, looking away. It’s the truth, but it sounds hollow even to me.
“You think it didn’t hurt to see you run off with the Dauntless?” His voice cracks with emotion. “If I had known, I could’ve joined with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Bell.”
His face darkens, his brows pulling together in confusion and offense. “What does that mean?”
I sigh, my chest heavy with words I don’t want to say but know I have to. “You would’ve failed, Bellamy. You’re too gentle, too soft. You never would’ve made it.” The words hang in the air between us, harsher than I intended, but the truth of them is undeniable.
Still, the instant they leave my mouth, I regret them.
His expression crumbles, hurt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t callous enough for you,” he responds, bitterness edging his voice.
“That’s not what I meant,” I rush to explain, guilt flooding me. "I just—" I falter, my thoughts drifting to Al, to how Dauntless twisted him into someone unrecognizable, how the pressure, the violence, broke him. To think of Bellamy going through the same thing… it makes my heart ache.
I move to take a step closer to him but he holds a hand up to stop me.
“I understand what you meant.” There is no warmth in his tone, I’ve hurt him.
“Bellamy, please—”
“I’ve heard enough,” he says bluntly, looking me up and down. “You and your friends are safe in Amity for now, but I would suggest making plans for the future. With the way history is being written, I don’t think you’ll have many people on your side.”
Bellamy’s words cut through me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. I stand there, stunned, as he walks out of the room, his final advice a bitter reminder of the precariousness of my situation.
The silence that follows is suffocating, filled with the echoes of his final words: “You won’t have many people on your side.” I feel the sting of his hurt, and my own guilt spirals out of control. The thoughts of Tris’ accusations, Bellamy’s wounded expression, and the crushing weight of my own failures swirl together, making it hard to breathe.
I try to steady my breathing, but the guilt and confusion are overwhelming. My heart pounds in my chest as I think about how I’ve hurt him, how my choices have left a trail of broken connections.
Without thinking, I find myself heading towards Peter’s room.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Peter is familiar. Maybe it’s because he’s been a constant, someone I’ve tried to push away in the past but can’t seem to lose. Or maybe I just want to feel something other than guilt for a while. I don’t stop to think it through. All I know is that I can’t stay in this spiral.
I reach his door before I’ve fully realized what I’m doing, my hand trembling as I knock on the door. The sound echoes through the hallway, a stark contrast to the heavy silence I’ve been trapped in. I can hear Peter moving inside, and then the door swings open.
Without waiting for an invitation, I step inside, my emotions spilling over in a torrent. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words coming out in a rush. “I didn’t know where else to go. I just…”
I look back at him briefly. He watches me, a flicker of something — maybe concern or curiosity — crossing his face. Whatever it is, he doesn’t look angry that I’ve barged into his room at least.
“I just keep messing up, Peter. I keep pushing people away, and I don’t even mean to. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix anything,” I continue, my voice trembling with the panic building inside me.
“Emmi—”
“I’m serious, Peter!”
I think of all the friends I’ve lost in such a short amount of time, all the relationships that have crumbled before my very eyes. With the common denominator in all of them being me, it was hard not to consider myself the problem.
“Emmi, take a breath,” he says calmly. It almost shocks me how calm he sounds.
But I can’t stop. “It feels like everyone’s against me now—” The words spill out of me, but they catch in my throat, as if saying them aloud solidifies the fear I’ve been trying to avoid. My chest tightens, and I’m on the brink of crumbling, when suddenly, I feel Peter’s hand on my arm. His grip is firm but gentle, a steady anchor in the storm of my spiralling thoughts.
Before I can fully process what’s happening, he pulls me close, his movements tentative, almost hesitant. His arms wrap around my back, and I can sense the uncertainty in the way he holds me, like he’s not entirely sure how to do this, how to offer comfort. It’s awkward, the way he’s trying to navigate something so unfamiliar, and for a second, I feel a strange disconnect between us.
But then, something shifts. His hold softens, the tension in his arms easing as he slowly relaxes into the embrace. It’s as if he’s found his footing, his grip becoming more certain, more confident. The awkwardness melts away, replaced by a warmth that begins to seep into me, thawing the cold fear that’s been gripping my heart.
For a moment, I’m utterly confused, my mind struggling to reconcile the panic that was consuming me with the unexpected comfort of his touch. I’m not used to this, to being held like this.
Then, I hear him speak. His breath is warm against my ear, his voice a low, soothing murmur that cuts through the chaos in my mind. “Not everyone,” he says firmly, but with a gentle undertone. He pulls back for a moment, his gaze moving back and forth between my own, like he is searching for something in my eyes. Could he be searching for what I denied him earlier this morning? His brows furrow together, seemingly deep in thought, and all I can do is watch him, waiting for his next move. “You have me.”
His voice lingers in the air between us, and finally I’m able to breathe again. The weight of his words sinks in, wrapping around my heart like a protective shield. In that moment, with his arms around me and his voice in my ear, I know I’m not as alone as I thought. He’ll be on my side, even if no one else is .
His hand slowly trails up my spine, each touch deliberate and gentle, like he’s afraid of startling me. The warmth of his fingers lingers on my skin, sending a shiver through me that I’m sure he must feel. Before I can think, I instinctively wrap my arms around his torso, pulling him closer. The heat of his embrace surrounds me, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a sense of peace washes over me — a peace I didn’t even realize I was searching for.
His touch is tender, but there’s an underlying strength in the way he holds me, a reassurance that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. It’s like he’s a lifeline I never knew I was grasping for this whole time, a steady presence in a world that’s been crumbling around me.
I feel him shift slightly, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear, and my entire body tenses, anticipation winding tight in my chest. “You’ll always have me,” he whispers, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he’s not sure it’s what I want to hear. But it is.
“Do you promise?” My voice also comes out as a whisper, barely audible, and I can feel my heart pounding in the silence that follows. His words hang there, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. I start to worry that I’ve overstepped, that I’ve said too much.
But then he shifts again, and all those doubts fade away. His nose brushes against the edge of my ear, tracing a slow, deliberate path down my cheekbone until it nudges gently against mine. The intimate gesture sends a thrill through me, the warmth of his skin against mine, the closeness of his breath — it’s almost too much, and yet, I can’t pull away.
“I promise,” he breathes out, his words so close to my lips that I can practically feel them. But he doesn’t move any closer. I can see the hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that makes my breath catch. He’s waiting, giving me a chance to pull away, but I don’t want to. I want this, more than anything.
“Peter,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a soft plea that lingers in the air. He doesn’t speak, but he gently nudges my nose in response, a silent acknowledgment. “Please.” It’s all I can manage, but it’s enough.
In that instant, he closes the distance. His lips meet mine in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, as if he’s savouring every second. The softness of his lips against mine sends a rush of warmth through me, and I can feel the careful restraint in the way he moves, like he’s holding back, afraid of overwhelming me.
There’s a gentleness to the way he kisses me, a tenderness that makes my heart ache. His lips move with a careful rhythm, exploring, learning, as if he’s memorizing the feel of me. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a connection, a silent conversation filled with all the things we haven’t said aloud. The tension that had been building between us doesn’t dissipate — it shifts, deepening into something more profound, more intimate.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair, and the kiss deepens. There’s a newfound confidence in the way he kisses me now, a hunger that simmers just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. I can feel it in the way his lips press more firmly against mine, in the way his body leans closer, enveloping me in his warmth.
I respond instinctively, my arms tightening around him, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us.
His lips are warm, and I can taste the faint hint of spearmint on his breath, a detail that makes me smile against his lips. Never did I think I’d be close enough to Peter Hayes that I could taste his toothpaste.
And just when I start to come to terms with that fact, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming in soft, uneven bursts. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, we just stay like that, lost in each other, the tension still thrumming between us. It’s a moment of perfect stillness, a fragile bubble that I never want to burst.
“I promise,” he whispers again, his voice barely more than a breath, the words a repeated vow that settles over me with warmth. His thumb brushes gently against my cheek, and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the silent question of whether this is enough, whether he’s enough.
But as I look at him, at the way he’s holding me with such care, I know the answer is yes. Without a word, I lean in, capturing his lips in another kiss, this one softer, sweeter. It’s a kiss that seals the promise he just made, a kiss that says everything we’re not ready to put into words yet.
This time, I’m the one to pull back, forcing myself to step away before the urge to kiss him again overtakes me. My heart is racing, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as the reality of what just happened starts to sink in.
“I… didn’t think that would happen,” I admit, tentatively meeting his gaze.
I don’t expect the smug expression already spreading across his face, but knowing Peter, I probably should have.
“I did,” he replies with a smirk. “I didn’t think it would happen like that , exactly…”
“ What? ”
He rolls his eyes, leaning back slightly. “I’m not blind, Emmi. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”
My face flushes even hotter, and I suddenly feel self-conscious from his observation. “How have I been looking at you?” I ask, my voice defensive.
He tilts his head, his smirk softening into something that feels almost teasing but a little more sincere. “Like you’ve been trying not to.”
I bite my lip, torn between embarrassment and wanting to argue, but the truth in his words keeps me silent.
Peter watches me, clearly enjoying my flustered silence. His smirk widens, and I can tell he’s about to say something else just to get under my skin. I brace myself for the inevitable teasing.
“You don’t have to pretend, you know,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly as he steps closer. “It’s okay to admit that you like me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but there’s a playful smile on my lips. “I never said that.”
“No, but you kissed me,” he points out, raising an eyebrow. “That says plenty.”
“If we’re being technical, you’re the one that kissed me .”
His smirk widens as he takes another step towards me. “It’s no secret that I like you , Emmi.” He leans down slightly so that his face is closer to mine. “I told you that the day we met.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t mean it that way.”
He laughs under his breath. “Didn’t I?”
My breath catches in my throat. The air between us feels charged, thick with unspoken feelings that have been building for so long. I never expected him to say something like this — to be so open about it. It’s throwing me off balance, making it hard to think straight.
Peter seems to sense my hesitation because he pulls back slightly, giving me space. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But that’s how I feel.” His eyes look back and forth between my own again, searching. “I like you, more than I should. More than I’ve liked anyone else before—”
“ I do ,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I do like you.”
He lets out a small sigh, his inner brows turning up. “But..?”
“There’s no but,” I say with a small smile. “I just like you.”
Peter’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between us. The room feels charged with the weight of unspoken words, and for a heartbeat, everything else fades away.
The sudden flickering of the overhead lights catches us both off guard, each flash growing faster until the room plunges into darkness. Only a moment later does the dim orange glow of Peter’s bedside lamp flicker on, casting deep shadows across the room. The faint hum of the lamp feels almost too loud in the stillness that follows.
Amity has an unofficial curfew, at least when it comes to electricity consumption. Dauntless had something similar, though their lights stayed on a little while longer considering the compound was underground.
I shift slightly, suddenly aware of how the darkness has changed the atmosphere. I can barely make out Peter’s expression, but I can sense a slight tension as he clears his throat. "I guess we should get some rest."
“You’re right,” I say softly, but I make no move to leave. The thought of returning to my room, with the argument I had with Bellamy still fresh in my mind, fills me with a gnawing dread. I don’t want to let those thoughts creep back in, not when this moment with Peter feels like a temporary reprieve from everything weighing me down.
Peter notices, of course. “You could stay,” he offers casually, though there’s a hint of something softer in his tone. “I can lay some blankets and pillows down, sleep on the ground…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I huff. “I’m not afraid to share a bed with you.”
“ Emmi .” He says my name in a scandalized tone, smirking back at me. “I did not take you for that kind of girl—”
I realize my mistake quickly. “Stop it right there, Hayes.” I shake my head at him warningly. “ Do not finish that sentence.”
He laughs. “I’m just teasing,” he assures me.
Grateful for the enveloping darkness, I’m relieved that Peter can’t see how flushed my cheeks are. To distract myself, I focus on the bed, pulling back the sheets and climbing in. I even fluff the pillows, letting out a small sigh of relief as I finally settle into place.
Peter’s eyes follow my every move, a smirk tugging at his lips. When I’m comfortably nestled, he joins me, stretching out on his back. I turn onto my side to face him, observing him in the dim, soft glow of the room.
As I study the profile of his face, I notice the way his hair falls across his forehead and the gentle curve of his jaw. There's a quiet ease in his demeanor now, a contrast to the playful teasing from a moment earlier. The slight curve of his lips suggests he's still amused, but there’s a softness in the way his eyelashes dip closer and closer to his cheeks as he fights off the urge to shut his eyes completely.
He must sense me watching him, as he turns his head to face me instead of staring up at the ceiling. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.
I nod my head with a small smile.
“Are you sure?” he asks again.
“Are you not comfortable?” I counter suspiciously.
“I am perfectly comfortable.”
I lift my head to watch him, amused. I see his arm that’s between us twitching nervously, like he wants to move it. Does he want permission?
“You can put your arm around me if you want,” I say, though I make the mistake of giggling under my breath.
“ What? ” He immediately responds defensively.
This makes me laugh even harder. “You’re impossible, Peter.”
“No I’m not, you just caught me off guard.”
“Did I?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure you’re not just afraid ?” I respond tauntingly. I should not be taunting him.
“What’s there to be afraid of?” He scoffs, staring at the ceiling again.
“ Okay .” I make a point of turning over so that my back faces him instead.
A few moments of quiet linger in the stillness of his room, and I almost believe he’s fallen asleep. But then I feel him shift, and his arm wraps around me, drawing me closer. I start to laugh again.
“Shut up,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he buries his face in my hair.
His words, though sleepy, only deepen my affection for him. I adjust my position, resting my head against his chest, and listen to the steady beat of his heart.
This is where I belong , if nowhere else.
At that thought, I close my eyes, waiting for his beating lullaby to send me to sleep. “Goodnight, Peter.”