{confabulationes - casual or unconstrained conversation or reports about other people, typically involving details that are not confirmed as being true.}
y/n's pov:
My plans for the evening intended to be relaxing - mundane, even.
I wanted a glass of red wine to sip at as I scribbled down any possible clue about Dion's death, and to sit alone in the council room to stew over the information I had.
The fact I still hadn't figured out who was involved in his death was beginning to gnaw away at me; I could feel the guilt of injustice in my core, tightening slightly as every second passes.
I hadn't gotten very far into a potential theory about the night he went missing, when thumping footsteps sounded from outside.
I hadn't locked the door when I arrived, which I started to regret as Frypan burst his way into the room, huffing and yelling his way through a misordered sentence.
"Y/n, I need to talk to you-" He says, standing across the table, anxiously.
He was sweating, breathing heavily as he hunched himself over the table.
I put down my pen. "What's wrong?"
"I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise to remain calm, and not injure myself or anyone involved."
I glare at the man, already irritated. "You've already pissed me off so I'd hurry up if I were you."
He takes a deep breath in, steadying himself. "I went down to the shooting range to talk to Newt, and when I got there, I heard voices, so I hid around the corner to peer inside and..."
I never understood why people would pause before the climax of a story.
"And?"
"Daymir was there; and when Newt asked her to leave, she got angry..."
I hadn't expected to hear her name, but when he said it, I realised this story wasn't going to end well.
I sighed, feeling annoyed. "And what, Fry? Finish the fucking sentence."
"She kissed him."
It felt as if my sense of hearing disappeared in that moment, and I stood by and watched as the same thing happened to Fry as he vanished before me, and all I could see was them together.
I could see him embracing her in the ways he would me; how his hands would grip her face gently as they kissed, and sunk into each other.
How he smiled and laughed against her lips so gently you could feel the intense intimacy beem off of them, striking any onlookers with a deep sense of hatred and envy.
I thought I was going to be sick.
"Where?"
Confused, he looks at me. "Where is what, y/n?"
I stand from my chair. "Where is she?"
–
newt's pov:
It had been two hours since the incident with Daymir happened, and in that time I had brushed my teeth on three separate occasions.
The first, was after I had vomited. I was unsure whether it was the result of the action itself, or rather, the physical regurgitation of the guilt I was feeling.
The second, because I felt nothing had changed.
The third was after I threw up a second time.
Sitting down on the bathroom floor, alone, was quite sobering. I knew I needed to tell her; to just be honest, but for some reason, I hadn't yet. I left the range immediately, and came straight to my room.
