Divergent FBI

Chapter Forty-Three

I wash myself thoroughly, making sure not to leave a trace of cake batter anywhere, and by the time I get out, I smell like a man, due to Four's soap. I step out and wrap a towel around myself, suddenly realizing that I have no clothes. Shit. Well, I can put my bra back on. I tell myself as I survey the clothes. The underwear can also go back on, as gross as that is. But the spanks and shirt are un salvageable and covered in chocolate.

I put my undergarments back on and wrap the towel back a round myself, fully intending to walk out and up the stair to my apartment, but when I open the bathroom door, I see a black shirt folded neatly on Four's bed.

That's for me, right? I hear myself question. Whether it is or not it's there! Put it on, unless you wanna walk out mostly naked.

Case closed.

I pull the shirt over my head, inhaling his smell. That's all it can be described as is him. 

The shirt goes even further down on my legs, so far down that it doesn't even bother me that I'm not wearing spanks.

I tip toe back out into the living room and see Four doing the dishes. His back is to me, but I think he knows I'm here, because he turns the faucet off and looks at me. He's still covered in flour and batter, it's even in his hair, probably from when I was running my fingers through it. A shiver runs across my skin just thinking about what we were doing a mere twenty minutes ago.

"Okay, I was hoping you'd know that I put that out for you." He tells me, referring to the shirt with a smile on his face. Weird.

"Yeah, um, thank you for that, by the way." I rub up and down my arms, trying to get rid of the gooseflesh on my arms. He sees my movement and strides to me, trailing a finger up my arm as he asks, "You cold?"

He's so close I can feel the warmth radiating off his body and the breath is sucked out of my lungs, so I just nod, my eyes closing in comfort. Then, the warmth is swept away and I open my eyes to see him disappearing down the hallway.

"Fou-" I start, about to tell him that he doesn't need to worry about it, but decide not to. I wouldn't mind another piece of his clothing wrapped around my cold body- as creepy as that sounds.

He returns quickly, holding out a thick black sweater with two, two-inch thick, grey stripes about halfway up both arms. I take it as he offers it and inhale the scent before raising my arms to pull it over my head. I feel the shirt rise a little and I don't know if it's paranoia or something, but I feel as though I can sense Four's eyes trailing up and down my body. I'm overwhelmed with his smell again when the sweater passes across my face and I inhale deeply and finish pulling it down. It ends right where the shirt does and when I look, Four's eyes are in fact, trained on my legs.

"Do I look alright?" I ask playfully, shifting on my feet and flipping my hair over with my hand.

"Yeah." He states, his voice dangerously low. He clears his throat. "Yeah, you do." He makes eye contact and after several moments I bite my lip, made nervous by his intensity. This seems to jog both of us out of our trance though because he tells me he's going to take a shower and disappears once again.

I stand helplessly for several moments, staring in the direction he went before deciding to finish what was left of the dishes. I hear the shower turn on.

It takes a couple minutes to load the dishwasher, and when I do, I squirt the soap in the designated compartment before starting it. Within seconds you can hear the 'warsh warsh warsh' sound of churning water and bubbles. I wander into the actual living room and stumble across the remote that controls the window blinds. Deciding that Four wouldn't care if I opened them, I do exactly that.

The heavy, white, stretched curtain begin scrolling upwards before finally exposing the breathtaking view. Our apartment complex isn't in the heart of the city, therefore if your on the right side, you can see the tall skyscrapers made of glass and the busy traffic of certain intersections- and while I'd definitely seen all of it in the daylight from my own apartment, I'd never paid attention to it at night.

Big mistake.

The city seems to glow. Everything is lit up, and you can see planes streaking across the sky while just below them, cars do the same thing, leaving a trail of light in their places. The semi-drowned-out racket of the city is still hearable, but it seems like a symphony when you can see the light show that goes with it. Dark, shadowy figures wander along the streets, other people, but they seem to be the only thing not lit in this sleepless city. It's so breathtaking.

Eventually, I realize that I can't hear the shower anymore, so I walk back to his room quietly. I knock, but after a couple seconds I walk in. While he's not in there, the door to the bathroom is cracked so I check that next.

He is far from the door, close enough that I can feel the hairs on my neck stand in anticipation. He's shirtless but he does have shorts on, and for one moment, I allow myself to enjoy his seemingly perfect physique. It's when he turns completely away from the door that the air is sucked from my lungs. His beautiful broad back is not only covered on a tattoo, but also scars. There are a few left uncovered by the blank ink that are a pinkish color, and before I even know what I'm doing, my finger is tracing one. It's soft and inflamed and now that I'm even closer than before, I can see the tiny ones that litter his back also.

"Tris!" He roars, swinging around and slipping a shirt over his head in record time. My fingertips are still burning from the contact. "What the hell?" He turns to me, the look on his face deadly- making me want to curl into a ball on the floor, but I stand my ground. "What are you doing in here?" He growls, grabbing my wrists and pushing me into his room.

"I want to see what your hiding, and I want to know why." I tell him, looking him square in the eye as I wrench my wrists from his grip. "People don't just shut down like that," I tell him, waving my hand in the direction of the kitchen to emphasize my point. "Not unless there's something that they are hiding, and from what I just saw, you're definitely hiding something."

We stare at each other for a long time, his hard eyes searching mine, probably wondering if he can trust me. Eventually though, I can see him soften, it's evident not only in his eyes, but also on his body. I can see him loosen his muscles as he resigns to my request. He steps much closer and takes my hand, tracing a pattern on it with his thumb.

"You really want to know?" He whispers, timid, almost. His eyes are broken, a broken jumble of blue glasses, all a different shade.

"Would I have asked if I didn't?" I respond, reaching up and running my other hand through his still-wet hair. He takes a step back and for a moment I'm hurt, but then I see why.

He takes his shirt off and folds it neatly. I try not to focus too hard on his abs or the black ink that infiltrates his ribcage. He turns the other way and I step forward, studying his skin. Up close I can see the puckered skin through his tattoo, but the ink looks almost like an extension of the scars, and from a couple feet away, you'd never see the bumps and ridges.

I lift a hand, placing it between his shoulder blades and feeling his muscle as he stiffens. When he speaks his voice seems cracked, broken.

"It started when my mom died."