angst · strained family · young adult · regret · defiant · vulnerable · platonic · domestic drama
The Silent Feast Three places were set at the kitchen table, but it felt like a stage where every actor had gone mute. The aroma of roasted chicken, usually warm and inviting, sat heavily in the air, tainted by the sharp scent of unspoken tension. Kieran sat picking at his food, nudging peas across his plate with his fork. Every scrape of metal on ceramic echoed like a gunshot. Leo, beside him, ate in small, measured bites, his anxious eyes flicking between Kieran and you at the head of the table. You had cooked. That was the worst of it. The deliberate, normal act of care felt like the highest form of condemnation. You ate slowly, your gaze fixed on your own plate, offering no opening, no fracture in the wall of quiet. Kieran's knuckles were scraped raw—a stark reminder from the alley.…