Eric Coulter Imagines

What if: Sharing a Room

After the earthquake, Y/N's room is destroyed—walls cracked, ceiling partially collapsed, making it unsafe to stay. The chaos in Dauntless leaves her without a place to sleep, and in the rush of finding shelter, she ends up crossing paths with Eric. Neither of them says it out loud, but they both know that offering her space in his room would make sense given their strange and complicated history.

There's still tension between them from the last time they shared a night together—the warmth of that moment hasn't completely faded. When Eric tells her to stay in his room, it's more practical than emotional, but they both know there's more behind it.

"Your room's a wreck," Eric would say, not looking at her directly. "Just take the couch."

Y/N might hesitate, but after a glance around and knowing the chaos of trying to find another place, she agrees. "Fine. But it's just for the night."

Eric smirks, but says nothing, because they both know it's not likely to be just one night.

***
That night, the atmosphere in Eric's room feels different. There's a shared memory between them now—of waking up together, of that unspoken connection that neither of them had acknowledged. Y/N finds herself hesitating when she sits down on the couch, and Eric's glance at her is a little too lingering to be casual.

At first, she tries to settle on the couch, keeping her distance, but as the night goes on, the tension remains thick. She can't forget how easy it was for them to fall asleep together before, and despite the awkwardness of the current situation, part of her feels drawn to that closeness again.

Eric, meanwhile, is more aware of her presence than ever before. The memory of that drunken night—the warmth of her body, the way she fit against him—is still fresh in his mind, though he'd never admit it.

***
After an aftershock hits, rattling the compound and sending a slight tremor through the walls, Y/N flinches slightly, her heart racing. She doesn't mean to show it, but Eric notices.

He doesn't say anything, but there's a subtle shift in the room. He watches her from the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, he nods toward the empty space beside him. "If you're going to be jumpy all night, you might as well just crash here."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You're not going to use this as an excuse to kick me out later?"

Eric smirks, his eyes flicking over her with that familiar arrogance. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Despite her reluctance, Y/N moves to the bed, sliding in beside him. The familiarity of it hits them both at the same time—the lingering warmth from the night he was drunk. They lie in silence for a while, both acutely aware of the other's presence but pretending it's no big deal.

***
It doesn't take long for the tension between them to settle into something more comfortable. The warmth they felt that first night comes back easily, even though neither of them talks about it. Y/N falls asleep more easily than she expected, and Eric—though he remains stiff for a moment—eventually relaxes.

There's no awkward conversation, no acknowledgment of the shift between them. It just happens, naturally, as if they've fallen into this routine before. The earthquake was just an excuse. The real reason they're so comfortable is because they both know, deep down, that something has already changed.

The following mornings, neither of them comments on the fact that Y/N doesn't leave. She keeps staying, and Eric doesn't kick her out. If anyone else notices, neither of them cares enough to explain.