Fragile Hearts

☆ Group Session

Daniel had been back for two days.

The warmth in the house returned with him—quiet, steady, like a space heater humming in a cold room. Mark was gone. No more side glances, no more forced smiles. Just Daniel again. The real caretaker. The one who saw things.

Unfortunately, that also meant group sessions were back.

Every Wednesday night, one hour, non-negotiable.

I tried to slip upstairs after dinner.

It didn't work.

Daniel didn't say anything dramatic—he just caught my eye as I passed the kitchen and gave me a simple, "We're starting in five, Ezra."

Five words. No room to argue.

So I showed up.

We sat in a circle in the common room—no lights except for a floor lamp in the corner and the moonlight bleeding in through the window.

Jace took his usual spot next to the window. Kai had a blanket draped over his legs and was eating from a bag of pretzels like we weren't about to bare our souls. Mason looked mildly irritated to be here, which was how he looked in 80% of situations.

Finn and Dylan sat across from me, both quiet tonight.

And I sat stiffly in the chair nearest the exit, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands.

Daniel sat in the last open seat, clipboard in his lap, pen tucked behind his ear.

"Alright," he said, easy and calm. "We're here to check in. No pressure. No judgment. Just thoughts, if you feel like sharing them."

He looked around the room, giving space.

A pause.

Then, Kai—of course—jumped in.

"I had a weird week," he said. "Dreams were kind of nuts. I think my meds are making me lucid dream, which is both dope and terrifying. I had one where I was floating above the house and Finn was a tree. I don't even know what that means."

That pulled a small laugh from a couple of the guys, including me.

Kai grinned and threw a pretzel at Finn. "You were a good-looking tree, don't worry."

Finn rolled his eyes. "You need help."

"Getting it. Right now. That's what this is."

Daniel smiled faintly. "Thank you for sharing, Kai."

Mason went next, reluctantly, talking about a phone call with his mom that made him feel ten again—in the worst way. His hands clenched the whole time. He didn't look at anyone. But he still spoke.

Even Dylan said something small about progress—how he got through the whole week without a panic attack for the first time in months.

And then it was me.

Daniel looked over gently. "Ezra?"

I shifted. "Pass."

He didn't push.

But the silence that followed was heavy.

So I kept talking. My own voice surprised me.

"I don't really get the point of this," I said, not looking at anyone. "Sitting around and... dumping feelings like this, I mean its not like its helpful or anything."

My voice came out flatter than I meant it to. Hollow. Defensive.

Daniel tilted his head a little. "What about it doesn't feel helpful?"