For Sam. Thanks. I ship it.
Word Count: 827
Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Those are the worst nights, and he can't help but hate himself a little. Maybe, if the factions still existed, he would have felt out of place among the Dauntless, because he knows this would appear in his fear landscape, and he would be absolutely helpless. There are some fears, some deep traumas that he cannot face.
Waking up alone is the hardest part. Tobias sits up, gasping for breath that doesn't seem to fill his lungs. He tells himself again and again that it's okay, that he's okay.
But that isn't quite true. He isn't okay. Not really. He can't remember the last time he actually felt okay.
Tobias wipes the cold sweat from his face, his hand trembling. He misses Tris so much that it hurts. The pain and guilt bleed into his dreams, haunting him, breaking him.
He drops back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep will not return tonight, but it is still too early to get up. All he can do is lie there, trying to control his breathing and not break down.
…
"You were screaming again," Christina says when Tobias makes it to the kitchen in the morning.
Strictly speaking, she has her own place on the other side of the city. Tobias doesn't know exactly when she started staying here, but he doesn't mind too much. Christina is hurting too.
"You scream a lot," Christina adds, and Tobias tries not to resent her.
She had been a Candor once upon a time, back when it still mattered, back when they were anything other than just people, back when they were still defined by one thing. Even though things have changed, she still clings to that blunt honesty; he doesn't think she's even aware that she does it.
"Zeke and Shauna are polite enough to never mention it," he says dryly, pulling the cereal from the cabinet.
Christina shrugs. "And what does that accomplish?"
"I'm not debating with you, Christina," Tobias says. His tone is sharper than he intends, but he doesn't apologize for it.
"It helps if you talk about it," she says.
And there it is again. That Candor mindset. That belief that simply talking is enough.
"Do you ever actually go home?"
She makes a face at him, but that seems to be enough to make her drop it. "We're out of milk," she tells him.
"Of course we are."
Just like that, they play pretend and fall back into their attempt at normalcy.
"You should pick some up later," she says.
"Why don't you pick some up?" he asks, eyes rolling as he settles for eating dry cereal.
"I don't live here, remember?"
…
It happens again. Tobias wakes up, screaming. He covers his face with his pillow, pressing it hard over his mouth, but he doubts it muffles the sound. Zeke and Shauna are probably awake. Christina, too, because of course she is there; she's always there.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opens. "Tobias?"
He wants to tell Christina to go away, but he can't. Panic grips him, refusing to let go. It steals his voice.
A moment later, he feels a gentle pressure on the bed. "Tobias," Christina says, her tone firmer now.
Slowly, hesitantly, he removes the pillow. The room is dark, but he can just barely make out the concerned expression on her face.
"Hey," she says softly.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"Shut up. I don't even care about that," she assures him before lying down next to him. "Your mattress is too firm."
"I like it," he says, and it's hard to hide his annoyance. He's in the middle of a crisis, and Christina wants to complain about his bed?
"More comfortable than the ones during initiation."
"Don't," he whispers.
Because initiation means a time when Tris was alive, and it hurts too much to think about that.
"You'll be ready one day," she tells him, and she says it with all her Candor-born sincerity, and Tobias maybe starts to believe.
"One day," he echoes, though he lacks her conviction.
"Goodnight."
She doesn't leave. Maybe he should protest that. He's only ever shared a bed with Tris, and this should feel wrong. Somehow, it doesn't. Maybe it doesn't feel right, but it's comfortable and familiar, and he minds it even less than he thought he would.
Maybe he can heal. Christina seems to think so, and that should be enough.
As Christina's soft snores fill the room, he finds himself smiling. It feels like a betrayal somehow, like he has no right to be happy in a world without Tris. But he feels the first hint of hope beat its tiny wings against the inside of his chest.
Christina snuggles into his side, and he doesn't mind at all.
Maybe this is his first step. Tris would want him to be happy. Isn't it time that he tries?