Eric Coulter Imagines

Your Move

It's about halfway through the morning, and you don't think you've ever felt better. It took a few days and a couple missteps to get used to Dauntless initiation, but it's been smooth sailing for a while now. A gun feels more comfortable in your hand than even the touch of someone else, and if that's something worth fearing, you couldn't care less.

You're Dauntless now, even if you haven't yet completed the training to prove it. You can see it in the eyes of your instructors whenever you ace yet another test; this is your home, there's no way around it. One trainer in particular gets it, maybe even as much as you, and that's Eric Coulter.

Eric Coulter shouldn't be the first person to trust you. For everyone else, Eric grinning at something you've done is a sign that you've gone mad, maybe turned as cruel as a killer. For you, you know it means you're doing just fine. You've grown used to the sight of his smile after rounds in the fighting ring, and it burns bright in the back of your mind whenever you go to sleep.

To put it plainly, Eric makes you feel alive. You're fairly certain that you're his favorite initiate, even if you weren't the first jumper, even if you aren't at the top of the rankings, even if you're just you. He sees the Dauntless you were born to become, even when no one else seems to notice it.

It just makes sense, you think, the two of you together. You can't count how many times you've looked up to see Eric's gaze latched firmly on you, and every time, he refuses to look away. Eric is utterly remorseless of his attention, giving it away without a second thought but withholding it from everyone who isn't you. Eric watches your fights every time. Eric finds a way to keep his hands on your hips whenever he's correcting your form. Eric is a rush, and you love it every time you see him.

The funny thing is that despite all this, neither of you have actually made a move outside of the shameless flirting. No matter how many meaningful glances you share, no matter how many times Eric 'accidentally' brushes into you because he can't seem to stay away from you for longer than a handful of minutes, by all appearances you're just friends.

It's a game, you think, a game between the two of you to see who will crack first and admit how they feel. You dance around the fact, both of you, never quite saying anything but seeing how close you can come before you reach a point that you can never cross. Eric finds you late at night in the halls, and when he insists on walking you back to the initiate's quarters, you swear that he's finally going to say something. You end up training after hours and wind up with your hands wrapped around his when Eric shows you the better way to punch, and you promise yourself that you won't ever let go.

Nothing ever comes of it, though. Eric looks at you with a thousand secrets hidden in his eyes and then steps away, leaving you alone in the dark outside your door. You pull back from his touch when you can't convince your heart rate to come back down to normal. No matter how many times you intend on saying something, you never manage it, and the secret continues on, untold.

Is it really a secret if both of you know the truth but neither of you are willing to say a word? As time goes on, it cuts into you like the very blades you keep by your sides. Initiation will end eventually; surely, if Eric feels something (and you know he has to), he'll make some move before the two of you drift apart.

Despite how small the city seems, of the factions Dauntless is actually quite large. If neither of you manage to say something, training could end and leave the two of you forever holding your tongues. For a faction made up of the bravest, the strongest, how is it that neither you nor Eric seem capable of saying a few careful words to save each other from this relentless quiet?

You don't know what to do, so you do nothing at all. You swear that you doubt yourself at every turn. What if there is no game, what if Eric has never been playing and it's been you all along? What if you're turning innocent gestures into flirtations, imagining soft hearts where cracked and broken veins beat blood?