" I watched you because I like you. And…don’t call me ‘Four,’ okay? It’s…nice. To hear my name again.”
She looks momentarily bewildered.
“But you’re older than I am…Tobias.”
It sounds so good when she says it. Like it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
“Yes, that whopping two-year gap really is insurmountable, isn’t it?”
“I’m not trying to be self-deprecating,” she says stubbornly. “I just don’t get it. I’m younger. I’m not pretty. I--”
I laugh, and kiss her temple.
“Don’t pretend,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “You know I’m not. I’m not ugly, but I am certainly not pretty.”
The word “pretty,” and all that it represents, seems so completely useless right now that I have no patience for it.
“Fine. You’re not pretty. So?” I move my lips to her cheek, trying to work up some courage. “I like how you look.” I pull back. “You’re deadly smart. You’re brave. And even though you found out about Marcus…you aren’t giving me that look. Like I’m…a kicked puppy, or something.”
“Well,” she says factually. “You’re not. "

― Veronica Roth , Four: A Divergent Story Collection (Divergent, #0.1-0.4)