Intrusion

A/N: This story was inspired by Milner's new "The First Time" story, which is a "bunch of one shots done for fun on the different ways Tris and Tobias could possibly meet in the modern day." Thank you very much, Milner, for the idea and for giving me permission to borrow it for this one-shot story! And yes, this is a single-chapter story, everyone; I have nothing whatsoever in mind to develop it further, but please check out Milner's story if you like the concept behind this (and read her other stories for that matter – they're wonderful!).

Thank you also to BK2U, who kindly beta-read this story for me!

Disclaimer: I do not own the "Divergent" series or the characters that came from it. Those belong to Veronica Roth.

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Intrusion

The young man is sprawled across the entirety of the couch, too tall even for its extra-long size. His brown hair is tousled despite its short length, and he seems decidedly the worse for wear from whatever he did last night – a reality evidenced by the way he groans in his sleep as he tries to shield his eyes against the morning light.

None of that matters to the young woman who occupies this apartment. She's far more concerned with the fact that he's here at all, in her home. When she's never met him before.

"Wake up!" she snarls at him, nudging him with the pistol that she's holding before backing up and aiming it steadily at him. She keeps her stance solid, ensuring her aim will be accurate if she needs to fire. It's how she learned the skill years ago, and while she can't say she ever envisioned this particular scenario, she's still glad that she's prepared for an intruder breaking into her house.

He opens his eyes groggily, mumbling something incoherent as he shifts on her sofa, turning toward the noise and the annoying poking sensation that interrupted his slumber. He freezes when he sees her – or more accurately, when he sees the barrel of the gun aimed directly at his head.

"Whoa," he says, startled, sitting up quickly before his panicked brain can decide if that's a good idea or if it's likely to get him shot. Belatedly, he raises his hands in a clear gesture of surrender. "Don't shoot me! Zeke said I could stay here."

"Zeke?" she asks, bewilderment and distrust combining in her voice.

"Yeah. He said it was fine." Increasing his volume, he yells, "Zeke, get out here and call your girlfriend off before she kills me!"

The woman tilts her head, her long, dirty-blond hair forming a messy tangle around her face as she considers the stranger before her. "Zeke said it was fine to sleep here?" Her voice is disbelieving, and she raises a skeptical eyebrow. "My neighbor, Zeke, said that?"

"Yea…." He stops mid-word as the rest of her sentence sinks in through the adrenaline that's causing his brain cells to bounce inside his skull. His voice cracks as he adds, "Your…what?"

Slowly, he looks around the apartment, taking in its neat appearance, its plain gray walls, and its small television set with no obvious gaming console. This place looks nothing like how his friend would live.

"This isn't Zeke's apartment?" he asks in a last-ditch hope that the situation is salvageable.

"No." The single, terse word kills that hope as thoroughly as if she'd fired the gun.

"But…but he had a key for it," the man stutters, still unable to wrap his mind around what's happening. "He gave me his keys and told me to crash on his couch. Second door on the right after coming up the stairs." His expression is pleading.