𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭]

8 | Black Tea

— DESPITE THE SUMMER SEASON, THE SUN WAS ENTIRELY GONE WHEN A KNOCKING CAME FROM THE LOUNGE. Four briefly cursed, halfway through towelling off the dog, and hastily scooping the furry creature under his arm, still wrapped in a towel and panting dumbly, looking up at him with floppy ears and a dog-smile. Bram grumbled and he couldn't help the twitch in his lip as he poked his head out the bathroom door only to find a wavy-haired blond lingering sheepishly on his balcony.

When Vega's muddy green eyes caught his he smiled brightly and waved a little. Four couldn't suppress the warmth that flooded his chest at the action — like someone had poured liquid gold down his throat. He shivered and bit back his own grin. For all that he had instigated their acquaintanceship, he felt nervous and vulnerable and a little bit sweaty every time the other's attention was fully on him; which, by default, made him deflect into bitterness. But Four tried his best, even if all of this was fuelled by selfish intentions. And something a little bit protective — maybe even selfless. The Abnegation in him screamed.

It seemed inevitable that they'd have to become closer at some point, though. Vega was strong and quick to follow orders — kind but incredibly impressionable. Four suspected that maybe it was the Amity in him that did it, that made him so certain that everyone had good intentions. So opposed to opposition. To keep the peace. And he refused to let the plots laid down by corrupt leaders erode all the goodness in him. Four hadn't quite managed to protect himself, but that didn't seem to matter as much as keeping the initiate safe did.

It was confusing and he'd stopped trying to rationalise all his feelings a long time ago, but he thought that the smile he got when he opened the door and Vega's tense shoulders fell at the inviting warmth of his apartment was worth a little confusion.

"Sorry I'm late."

His voice was always a special kind of quiet and smooth and cheerfully uncertain, almost like he was permanently giving a wholehearted apology. Four wondered what he'd sound like if he one day lost all composure and just had to lean into his skin and trace with his teeth and lips the lines where almond-coloured tan met fresh-snow pale. With the bashful way he carried himself (despite looking as if he'd been carved from marble and blessed by sacred gods) he thought that maybe Vega would be quiet then too, biting back soft groans and mewls and shuddering breath—

"It's fine. Tea?" He piled the dog unceremoniously into Vega's arms — muscle still slightly veiled under the squishiness that came with his large frame exposed by his rolled up sleeves, God, why is that so attractive?

"Uhm, yeah, thanks," the eighteen-year-old stuttered, looking beautifully confused. "Do you have any black tea?"

Four rifled through his cupboards for a second but knew he had definitely never bought that type in his life. Bram's collar jingled, indicating that Vega had resumed drying his thick fur. He cooed, then the leather of the sofa creaked as he sat down. Bram was probably flopped belly-first on his lap.