Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.
Summary: He needs to stop thinking of her like she matters. He needs to stop treating her in any particular way at all. She needs to be nothing. However, the question remains: Is such a thing even possible? PeterTris, set during Insurgent, oneshot
Wow, I haven't written anything in so long, but I am going to try to do better. Okay. This is my second Divergent fanfic and my first Petris. They are my favorite couple in this fandom and I think that there really should be more stories about the two of them and their odd relationship of sorts. So, yeah, I hope everyone enjoys this. I'm kind of nervous writing Peter because he's such a hard character to grasp. Thanks so much for reading!
Oblivion
Amity does not suit her.
Peter has never been so certain of a fact. It is like saying the sky is blue or the sun is bright or the grass is green. There is nothing Amity-like about Tris Prior, and it shows in the set of her shoulders as they slump underneath the garishly-colored garb of the aforementioned faction. Heavy and bright and cumbersome, nothing like the sleek black dress of Dauntless.
Nothing like her.
He grits his teeth as he watches her sit underneath the branches of one of the larger trees on the compound. The sun beams down on her and she closes her eyes, inhaling lightly as a breeze comes and just slightly ruffles her short hair. The sight makes him feel unnerved - if it's because of the faction they are inhabiting or the fact that he is paying her more attention than he should, he doesn't know.
And, really, that last part has been true for the longest time. Peter has always been slightly entranced by the Stiff, for reasons unbeknownst to him. From the first day seeing her at the Choosing ceremony, to the first night in Dauntless, to fighting with her to beating her to losing to her to losing her...
Peter feels a growl rumble deep within his chest.
There is nothing about Tris Prior that makes sense.
There is nothing about his feelings for Tris Prior that make sense.
And Peter hates things that don't make sense.
He likes logic. He likes reason. He likes the truth but hates it at the same time, especially now.
The sun above is bright. Too bright, almost like it is revealing all the truths he'd like to keep secret, tucked away in his mind, no one ever knowing the extent of how far gone he really and truly is. He picks up an apple from a nearby Amity's cart, ignoring the polite inquiry of what he is doing, and takes a bite from it, teeth sinking into the tough skin of the sour green fruit. His eyes dart over to her for the briefest of moments and the next bite is a bite more violent. The Amity girl is still staring, flabbergasted by his passive aggressive chewing.
He glares at her and she looks away, fiddling with the rest of her fruit on her cart. Peter eyes a few grapes and swipes those as well, eyeing the exits around this place. He needs to get away from this area, away from her. He needs to stop thinking of her like she matters. He needs to stop treating her in any particular way at all. She needs to be nothing.
The question remains, ringing in his head like a ghost's whisper: Can Tris Prior be nothing?
He knows the answer, knows the answer like he knows his own name.
As if proving this, he turns around once more to stare at this infuriating girl. The sunlight makes her hair shine, makes her eyes gleam like gemstones. He inhales, exhales, inhales, takes a bite of the apple, and then finds she has focused her gaze on him.
The very sight of it makes him pause mid-chew, the apple below his chin, clenched in tight fingers.
There is nothing about her stare that gives anything away. It's cold. Contemplative. Curious. He can see those emotions even from his place far away from her. He has never been one to draw out her smiles, rare as they are. He's always been the one to earn her ire, common as it is. Somehow, he prefers it that way. Somehow, if she had ever smiled at him the way she sometimes smiles at Four, Peter thinks his head might explode - for what reason in particular, he does not know.
An Amity boy comes up to her then, smiling, friendly, too comfortable with her. It makes her tense, fingers winding in the bright, alien fabric that engulfs her. He can see her knuckles turn white even from this distance.
Peter gives her credit, though. She doesn't smile at him to egg him on, she doesn't give him any false hope that their conversation might lead to anything else. She is curt with him, brusque, eyes as sharp as a knife's point. The Amity doesn't get this, so she abruptly raises herself from her seated position and walks away from him. Peter hears the faint intonation of, "Thanks. See you later."
And, of course, the Amity boy takes this, smiling.
It's another indication to Peter that this faction may as well be a cult.
Apparently, Peter has been too entranced by what was going on with the boy that he didn't even notice the Stiff heading straight for him, a strange glint in her eyes as she sees the half-eaten apple in his had.
As she passes the same Amity girl's apple cart, she sneaks an apple, the girl never noticing her slender fingers as they sneak around the piece of fruit. Peter watches this, awed, and hears the crisp sound of her teeth piercing the red flesh.
Tris Prior just stares at him, eyes issuing a challenge as she passes him, the strange sureness of her gait just as intriguing as the rest of her. She says nothing, betrays nothing outwardly on her face, and leaves him, just like she always has.
Don't be so obvious, her gaze had said. The double meaning of her words and actions was not lost on him.
Don't be so obvious.
Peter scoffs. "If only that were the real problem here."
The Amity girl looks at him, brows wrinkling in confusion. He had forgotten about her. Peter scowls at her, hating himself, and pulls out a few quarters and flings them at her.
"For the apple," he snaps, and leaves.
If only other conflicts were so easily resolved, he thinks, gritting his teeth, pushing away the image of Tris Prior's eyes - full of contempt and dislike and mischief.
If only.
End.