Fragile Hearts

☆ Running on empty

I don't remember waking up.

Not really.

The light outside was already filtering soft and grey through the curtains when I blinked into the silence of my room. My mouth was dry. My arms felt like they belonged to someone else.

I sat up too fast. My vision narrowed.

I ignored it.

There was a knock at the door. Daniel's voice.

"Ezra? Shake's on the counter."

"Yeah," I called back, already pulling on a hoodie. "Got it."

I didn't get it.

I walked past the kitchen like I had a destination. A plan. Like I was already late to something important.

No one questioned it.

By mid-morning, the buzz in my ears was steady. My limbs were slow. I kept my head down.

The others were in and out of the main room, hanging over the backs of couches, dropping one-liners, throwing stuff at each other, like they always did. I couldn't focus enough to follow.

Someone asked if I wanted to watch something.

I said no.

Lunch came.

I scooped the smallest serving I could get away with onto my tray. Sat at the end of the table again. Tried to chew.

It stuck in my throat.

Daniel wasn't around—probably talking to a parent on the phone, or prepping meds. I didn't know. Didn't care.

No one said anything. Maybe they thought I was having a "low" day. Whatever that meant.

But Dylan... he kept glancing at me. Nothing harsh. Nothing loud.

Just a twitch of his brow. A crease between his eyes.

I pushed food around my plate.

Eventually, I dumped the rest in the bin.

I don't remember the conversation that followed.

It was Kai or Finn talking to Dylan. Or maybe Jace. Something about tomorrow's group session. Something about the garden needing cleanup.

I stood up. I smiled at someone.

I think I said I was going to get water.

And then the floor tilted.

I heard someone say my name—sharp, alarmed—but it was too late.

Everything went white.

Hands caught me.

I wasn't sure whose at first—just pressure under my ribs, one arm around my back, the other cradling my wrist.

Then a voice. Low and rough, but steady.

"Ezra—hey. Hey. Breathe."

Dylan.

My eyes opened to shapes, blurs, light through windows, the couch at a weird angle.

And Dylan, crouched beside me on the floor, his jaw tight.

"What the hell—" he exhaled. "How long have you been running on empty?"

I blinked at him. Tried to sit up.

He pressed a hand gently but firmly to my shoulder. "No. Stay down a sec."

The room was spinning.

"I'm fine," I whispered.