The voice made Dion—who was, in fact, staring at nothing, doing nothing—turn around, a bit unsurprised to see Gally standing there with his arms crossed. She knew all of her Gladers' voice.
"Hi, Gal." She greeted with her infamous short, small, yet meaningful, smile.
Gally, making himself comfortable—as comfortable as he can be—took a seat behind Dion on the large rock whilst she sat on the grass in front of it.
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"Not to... immediately stress you out on your first day of unemployment or anything," he started, making Dion chuckle at his choice of words. "Now that you're not in command anymore, what are you going to do?"
"Blood House, probably. I have some pent-up emotions I gotta remove." She not-really-joked at her friend, who, thankfully, just laughed it off anyway.
The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, feeling the nice morning breeze and the sound of Gladers slowly waking up one by one.
Gally was first to stand up, he tapped Dion's shoulder making her look up, her eyebrow raised in question.
"C'mon, we can't have you choppin' animals with no source of energy. Let's get."
***
"WAIT. SO, YOU'RE TELLIN' ME—"
"For the millionth time: yes! Why is it so hard for people to believe me?" Chuckled Dion who then popped another bacon in her mouth.
Winston, true to form, began talking before his brain could even process the words he was about to say, "You're Dion, Dee, Donatello: King of the liars." He stated as he scooped another spoonful of Frypan's fan-favorite morning congee.
Dion's response being throwing a stray piece of green bean from Zart's plate next to her at Winston's face. "A, that is not true, and B, your loss because that is an awesome nickname."
Suddenly a voice barked from behind them, "HEY! No wasting food! I saw that Dee."
Everyone now facing the kitchen where Frypan stood, Dion grimaced and wave a hand in surrender, "Sorry, bud. Won't happen again."
After that, no one dared to goof around their food again, instead, they all finished their breakfast and went towards their separate work areas.
Just as everyone was leaving, Winston stopped in his tracks and turn around to face Dion who was still cleaning up her breakfast, "Oh, wait– Dee, said you wanted to work in the Blood House today?"
"Oh– uhm, right. Don't wait up, though. There's something I gotta do first."
Winston gave her a confirmation nod and left to do his job.
Just as he left, Dion finish cleaning up her food and made her way inside the kitchen. "Hey, Fry." She greeted her friend.
Frypan was very much still busy in his own world, it was nice for Dion to see her friend happy in these circumstances.
Turning around, a smile plastered itself on Frypan's face. He waved Dion over to where he stood, pausing on what he was doing and turned to his friend, "To what do I owe this visit?"
She smiled, "You know..." her tone held a certain dread.
He returned her smile and turned around, opening the old oven under the stove, there sat all set up beautifully on a tray, a bowl of Fry's Glade-favorite congee with two sunny side ups as eyes and a single (though, underneath it was hidden a second piece) bacon forming a smile, along with it was a piece of spoon next to the bowl. He placed the tray on top of the stove, grabbing a glass of water to go with it.
Dion quickly give him a small 'thank you' as she grabbed the tray off the stove, carefully lifting it up not to spill anything. But before she could leave, she heard her name coming out of her friend's mouth softly.
"Yeah?" she replied, only her head facing backwards like an owl.
Suddenly Frypan's smile was wiped off his face, only laid a ghost of his chirpy morning happiness like a mask, "He's okay... right?"
Dion was a great liar—depending on the situation—there was no denying that. She could easily tell him that his friend is going to be out and about the next hour but she knew that'll just be a waste, anything tying to him couldn't be hidden. Everyone knew the truth. Whether they like it or not.
She wasn't sure, so she said so.
"I'll make sure."
Giving Frypan one last smile, Dion made her way out with the tray still in hand.
***
KNOCK KNOCK.
Dion slowly opened the wooden door and peeked her head inside and tread lightly.
Ever since what happened the other day, Dion couldn't shake the feeling of guilt bubbling up inside of her. It seems to be the only feeling she's truly felt to the max ever since the boys arrived. She didn't know why or how she's in a place with constant guilt but all she knew was that, she felt it, whether she liked it or not. Though Dion never really told anyone about it, she never want to make any important situation about her. Especially in this recent turn of events, it was about Newt, her friend, someone she loves like a brother.
The room was dark and anyone who entered could've felt the lack of serotonin hanging in the air. It felt like how the heart would be if it was clouded by a mist of hot air.
The atmosphere itself concerned her, she worried that Newt—despite her warnings and reminders—could be doing something incredibly stupid in there. She worried, she always do.
Dion opted to say something to at least announce her presence but she knew that he probably already know who it was. And she also thought, maybe she'd be the last person he'd like to see as of now. If she was in his position, it would be. Couldn't explain why, she just wouldn't.
As silently as she could, Dion walked in with the tray in her hand, she carefully placed the tray down on the table beside his bed and slid the barely-touched tray that was previously sitting there too.
Dion was moved swiftly towards the door and left as quick as she had just entered.
Closing the door behind her, she sighed. The bright-haired girl looked down at the tray in her hand, disappointed to see the almost full plate of meal—though she was a tiny bit glad to see some of the missing bites out of it.
As she was walking down the stairs of Homestead she thought about how could she ever start a conversation with her friend again, when could she. Dion would never want to rush him into being his old self again—because, let's just be honest; his attempt may not have killed him completely, but a part of him was now gone forever, lost in the tangled strings of ivy somewhere in the Maze.
[🏹] the person who guesses (correctly) the reference i made gets a kiss.
