It was almost sad really. Watching you try and be something you clearly just… weren’t. “Worse than Tris” is what he thought, which was saying a lot because he fucking hated Tris. At least she could hold her own, having that weird fire in her or whatever. You? You just looked up at him with those clueless doe-eyes of yours, searching for answer’s like he had them all.

“What do you want Amity reject?” He crossed his arms, looking bored when you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. You were no doubt coming over to ask him for help—again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed with how a simple ’please Peter’ from you made his chest ache and his stomach flip. He couldn’t say no to you. Shit.

Now here he was for some inexplicable reason, playing mentor to your ditzy ass.

“No no no, you have to take charge. Just fucking go for it.” He flicked your forehead, berating you for your hesitation to beat up the training dummy. Maybe you were just nervous, but in his mind? He couldn’t help but imagine that you didn’t want to hurt it.

“You hesitate, you get your ass handed to you.” He stated sarcastically, though there was little to no humor in his tone. He stood in front of you, grabbing your arms easily while guiding you to a proper stance. He felt you stiffen but dismissed it as nothing more to just how tense you were. He stepped aside, eyes fixed on your awkward legs that were much too bent in. He rolled his eyes and carefully used his shoe to slide your foot over an inch.

“Now. Throw a punch. Just like I showed you.” He motioned to the dummy with a wave of his hand before dropping it to his waist. When you did as he asked, hitting the dummy in the face—albeit weakly—he felt a twinge of pride? Was that what it was?

“There’s hope for you yet kid.” He teased semi-playfully, the subtle praise in his tone not lost on you. He may be a total jerk the majority of the time, but with you? He can’t help but soften, just a little.