Fragile Hearts

☆ Empty Plates

3rd person 

Dinner was buffet-style.

It usually was on Fridays—laid out across the long kitchen bench like a half-hearted celebration. Pasta, salad, bread rolls, roasted vegetables, grilled chicken. The kind of meal that felt warm if you let it.

Some of the boys joked as they passed around plates, Kai calling dibs on the biggest bread roll, Finn already eating cherry tomatoes straight off the serving spoon. It should've felt normal.

But it didn't.

Not really.

Because Ezra and Jace weren't speaking.

And everyone noticed.

Ezra stood in line behind Dylan, plate loose in his hands, eyes glued to the floor. Jace was across the room, by the salad, moving like someone who wasn't quite there. Neither of them said a word. They hadn't spoken to each other since that shared bite at breakfast.

And now they stood worlds apart.

Finn noticed it first.

The way Jace hesitated in front of the food.

He picked up the tongs, stared at the tray of pasta, then slowly moved down the line without serving himself a single thing.

He didn't even grab a plate.

Just... walked past it all like it wasn't there.

Finn's brow creased, but he didn't say anything.

Mason noticed it too.

Jace sat down at the far end of the table, hands folded in front of him like he was waiting for permission to vanish.

On the opposite end, Ezra finally put a single scoop of green beans on his plate.

Literally—two beans.

That was it.

He sat down with them like it was normal.

Like no one would notice.

But they did.

The table felt uneven. Off balance. Every clink of a fork against a plate felt too loud in the space where their voices weren't.

Kai glanced between them, then at Mason, like do we say something?

Mason just shook his head slightly. Not yet.

Dylan set his fork down more forcefully than intended. "You guys know we can see you, right?"

Ezra didn't look up.

Neither did Jace.

Kai leaned forward, trying to keep it light. "You're both acting like we're feeding you poison. It's literally roasted potatoes."

Still nothing.

Ezra poked at one of the beans with his fork.

Jace just sat there. Plate empty. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked on the wood grain of the table like it had answers.

Daniel watched from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, unreadable expression on his face. He didn't step in. Not yet.

But something in his posture said he would if this kept going.

Eventually, Mason broke the silence. Calm. Firm.

"I don't know what's going on in your heads," he said, voice steady but not unkind. "But whatever it is, it's not going to win tonight."

Ezra's grip on his fork tightened.

Jace didn't even blink.

"You don't have to eat everything," Mason added. "But nothing? That's not trying. That's giving up."

The room held its breath.

Ezra's throat moved like he was going to say something—but didn't.

He just sat there.

Two beans on his plate.

Untouched.

Jace didn't move.

Didn't even pretend to.

The air felt thin again.

Daniel finally stepped forward, not speaking—just collecting a plate and gently placing it in front of Jace.

No words.

Just the plate.

Just food.

But Jace didn't reach for it.

Ezra still hadn't eaten.

And the silence between them said everything:

They were not okay.

Not tonight.

And everyone at the table knew it.