Byron sat there, still gripping the document in his shaking hands. The weight of the name Brandon F. Powell pressed down on his chest, like hands forcing him underwater. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, willing himself to push through the fog that had settled in his mind. The past had come roaring back, and now there was no stuffing it back into the dark corners where it had once been hidden.

Footsteps echoed in the motel hallway, stopping just outside his door. A knock—soft, hesitant. He tensed, waiting. Then, a voice he wasn't expecting.

"Byron?" Burdine's voice was quieter than usual, but still held that familiar sharpness. "You in there?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. "Yeah."

A pause. "You okay?"

A bitter laugh threatened to escape, but he swallowed it down. "Oh, just bloody brilliant."

The silence stretched longer this time. Then, the doorknob rattled lightly. "Can I come in?"

Byron hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted company. Especially not hers. But ignoring her would probably just make her more persistent. With a sigh, he stood up and unlocked the door, stepping back as Burdine entered. She glanced around the room—dim lighting, a mess of papers, his jacket thrown haphazardly over a chair. Her gaze flickered briefly to the document still clutched in his hand. She didn't comment.

Instead, she folded her arms, shifting her weight onto one foot. "You look like hell."

"Cheers, Maxwell. Always a pleasure." He tossed the document onto the nightstand. "That's all you came to say?"

Burdine smirked, tilting her head. "Didn't know you had feelings. Thought you were just some programmed celebrity robot."

Byron's expression darkened, his grip tightening around the chair's edge. "Not in the mood for your shite, ta very much."

She raised an eyebrow at his reaction, but after a moment, the teasing edge faded from her face. She took a step back, her arms dropping to her sides. "Sorry. That was… out of line."

He didn't respond, just exhaled through his nose, the tension still coiled tight in his shoulders.

Burdine shifted awkwardly before pulling a cheap, half-used notepad and a pen from her bag, tossing them onto the table in front of him. "Write it down. Whatever's screwing with your head. Get it out. Then maybe you can start thinking straight."

Byron stared at the blank page. He almost wanted to laugh at the idea that a few scribbled words could undo years of damage. But instead, he picked up the pen, rolling it between his fingers.

"Yeah, well. No promises."

Burdine smirked faintly. "Didn't ask for any."

She turned to leave, but hesitated. Her eyes flicked toward the paper he had discarded. Her voice was softer now, the sharpness giving way to something else—curiosity, maybe even concern. "That paper… is it about you?"

Byron tensed, his fingers twitching slightly against the pen. He should've told her to piss off, should've shut it down before she got any ideas. But something about the way she looked at him—less judgmental, more searching—made it harder to lie.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Burdine nodded slowly, then glanced at him once more before stepping toward the door. "For what it's worth... you're not as alone in this as you think."

She left without another word, leaving Byron staring at the notepad in front of him. His jaw tightened. He wasn't sure if he believed her. But for the first time in a long time, he considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Oi! Bloody hell, give that back!" Byron surged forward, trying to grab it, but Burdine was quicker, stepping back just out of his reach.

Her expression shifted as she read, amusement fading into something unreadable. Her lips parted slightly, eyes darting across the page. Diagnosis section. Medication list. Name.

"Brandon…?" she murmured before glancing up at him. "This is you?"

Byron's jaw clenched. He lunged again, fingers grazing the edge of the paper, but Burdine yanked it away, holding it close to her chest. "Give it back. Now."

She didn't move. Her eyes were locked onto his, and for the first time, there was no arrogance, no teasing, just something raw and unsettling. "You—why didn't you ever say—"

"Because it ain't your fuckin' business!" His voice cracked, fists trembling at his sides. "You think I want people pokin' about in my head? That I need you pitying me?"

Burdine swallowed, fingers tightening around the edges of the document. "I'm not—" She stopped herself. Looked at him again, really looked at him. "I just… didn't know."

Byron took a step forward, voice lower now, but no less firm. "You do now. So hand it over."

A long beat. Then, wordlessly, she extended the document toward him. He snatched it back, crumpling it slightly in his grip. The air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

Byron stood frozen for a long moment, the door softly clicking shut behind her. The room felt quieter now, the silence pressing down on him. His hands were still gripping the crumpled document, the weight of it nearly suffocating. His eyes flickered over the words—his name, his diagnoses—everything he'd buried under layers of fame, control, and distractions. But now, it was all out in the open.

His breath hitched, chest tightening as if something deep inside him was coming undone. He didn't want to feel this. He didn't want her to see this, to know this part of him. But the tears were coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

The air seemed colder now, and his vision blurred, a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head as if that could push the feelings away. The sob that escaped him was choked, muffled against his own hand as he tried to steady himself, but it didn't help. The tears just kept coming, hot and bitter.

He fell to his knees, crumpling the paper even more as he pressed it to his chest. His body trembled, his breath coming in shaky bursts. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Everything felt wrong—his own skin, his name, his life. Everything.

The sound of the door creaking open again pulled him from his spiral. Burdine's voice—hesitant, softer than before—cut through the haze. "Byron…?"

He wiped his face quickly, angry at himself for breaking down, for showing this weakness. But the tears didn't stop, and his throat tightened.

"What do you want?" he rasped, his voice thick and hoarse.

She stood in the doorway, not coming closer. "I… didn't mean to make things worse." Her voice was unsure, and for a moment, Byron couldn't decide if he wanted her to stay or leave.

"I told you, I don't need your bloody pity," he muttered, swallowing hard.

Burdine hesitated, her eyes scanning the room, avoiding his tear-streaked face. "I didn't mean to… push you too far." Her voice was almost too gentle, and it grated on him.

Byron tried to pull himself together, taking a deep breath, but it only made things worse. The anger, the frustration, the sadness—it was all mixing together, drowning him. "Just... leave me alone, Burdine."

Burdine stepped forward slightly, then paused, her expression flickering with confusion. "You're not exactly making it easy to leave you alone, you know that?"

His hands were trembling, still clutching the crumpled paper. He didn't want to look at it again. He didn't want to think about it, but it was there, mocking him, reminding him of everything he couldn't fix.

For a moment, the silence between them was heavy, like the air had thickened with everything unsaid. Burdine shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do. "You wanna talk about it? Or are you just gonna… sit there?"

Byron glanced at her, his eyes sharp despite the tears still streaming down his face. "No. There's nothing to talk about."

Burdine frowned, crossing her arms. "Well, I'm not just gonna leave you like this. You've got some serious issues, Byron. You can't just—"

"Shut up!" he snapped, his voice cracking. He had no idea why it was so hard to control the anger bubbling up, but it felt like the only thing he could hold onto. "Just—" He gritted his teeth. "You don't get it. You don't know what this is."

She frowned even deeper, clearly frustrated but not backing down. "Then explain it to me."

Byron inhaled sharply, the pressure in his chest making it feel like he couldn't breathe. The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say them. Not yet. Not like this. "I don't owe you an explanation," he muttered, eyes flicking to the paper in his hand again.

Burdine's gaze followed his eyes, but she didn't press further, sensing something in the air that she couldn't quite grasp. She looked at him for a long time, her expression softening, though still tinged with confusion. "You don't have to explain anything to me," she said quietly. "But… maybe you should explain it to yourself first. Before it kills you."

Byron flinched at her words, the harshness of them sinking deep. He didn't want to hear that. Didn't want to face what was suffocating him, creeping in from every side.

Burdine reached for the door handle, glancing at him one last time before she left. "I'm here if you change your mind," she said, her voice quiet, almost tentative.

Byron didn't respond. He couldn't. As she left, the room seemed to close in on him, the air too thick to breathe. His fingers gripped the paper harder, the words still swimming in his mind.

What did she mean by that? Did she understand? Did she even care?

But the truth was, he didn't know how to explain this part of himself—this ache, this wrongness—that he'd carried for so long. And the thought of speaking it out loud terrified him.

He closed his eyes, trying to regain control. The silence returned, and for the first time, it felt like he was drowning in it.

A few moments after the door clicked shut behind Burdine, Byron remained on the floor, his chest tight, his mind a mess of thoughts he couldn't quite string together. He didn't know how long he sat there, but when the soft murmur of voices reached his ears, he didn't react at first. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe it was the remnants of the argument, the chaos in his mind, distorting everything around him.

The door creaked open again, and this time, the voices grew louder.

"Byron? You in here?" It was Sasha's voice, tentative but filled with concern. A second later, he heard the shuffle of feet—someone else, probably Yasmin, followed by the sound of the door fully opening.

Byron didn't move, his eyes still closed, too exhausted to care if they saw him like this.

"Uh, I think this is his room…" Yasmin's voice was soft, as she spoke first, gently, sounding like she was trying not to disturb the fragile moment. "Why's it unlocked?"

"Because… I might've opened it," Sasha said, her voice still teasing but with a touch of uncertainty. "I mean, it's not like we've been knocking for ages or anything."

"Yeah, I swear we've been looking for him forever," Yasmin muttered, frustration seeping into her tone. "He can't just disappear like that."

Then, the door swung open fully, and the girls filed into the room, stopping when they saw Byron sitting there, hunched over, his back to them. For a second, there was silence. They all seemed to hesitate, unsure how to approach him.

"Byron?" Sasha called softly, her voice laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

His shoulders stiffened slightly at the sound of her voice. He didn't look up.

"We've been searching the whole damn place for you," Yasmin added, her tone more gentle now, softer than before. "What happened? We were worried."

Byron didn't respond, still clutching the crumpled document in his hands. The room was thick with unspoken tension, and he didn't know how to break it. He couldn't. Not yet.

"Isn't that… the room we were supposed to be sharing?" Sasha raised an eyebrow, taking a hesitant step toward him, glancing around the disheveled space. "Byron… what happened?"

Byron's mind buzzed with thoughts he couldn't say, a feeling of hopelessness creeping over him. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, a prisoner of his own thoughts.

It was Cameron's voice that broke through the stillness then. "I paid for a separate room," he said from the door, his tone stiff and awkward, as always, but with a layer of worry beneath it. "It just seemed easier that way, with all the… uh, tension."

Byron turned his head slightly, catching sight of Cameron standing by the doorway, his arms crossed tightly. Cameron's expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of discomfort in his eyes.

"What?" Yasmin blinked, surprised. "You paid for a separate room? Why?"

Cameron shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "I... I just couldn't. I didn't want to make things worse." His words trailed off, and he glanced briefly at Byron, then looked away, avoiding eye contact.

Yasmin took a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she stepped forward a little. "Cameron," she said, her voice soothing, "I know you didn't mean to shut us out, but we're a team. We have to be there for each other." She glanced at the others, trying to offer reassurance. "We're not trying to make things harder for you, Byron," she added softly. "We're here."

Byron didn't have the energy to argue. He didn't have the energy for anything.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like this," he finally muttered, voice breaking slightly as he stood up and walked past them, still clutching the crumpled document to his chest. "I just needed some fucking space."

The room was silent as Byron walked past the group, his face unreadable. They all stood there, unsure of what to say or do next. The heaviness of the moment lingered in the air, and no one dared break it.

Cameron stood still, eyes narrowed, his arms still crossed. Yasmin and Sasha exchanged a look, neither of them fully understanding the depth of what was happening, but they all felt it. They could feel that Byron wasn't just running away from them—he was running away from something much larger.

It was Cameron who spoke again, breaking the silence, his voice softer now. "I just… I don't know how to help you, Byron."

Byron paused, his back still to them. "Then don't." His voice was low, almost resigned. "I'll figure it out."

With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the girls in stunned silence. They stayed where they were for a long moment, unsure of what to do next.

Finally, Yasmin exhaled softly, shaking her head. "I don't think he wants to be alone. He's just…" She trailed off, her voice thoughtful. "He's pushing everyone away. But he doesn't have to. Not really."

Sasha nodded, rubbing her forehead in frustration. "I get it, but he's not gonna get any better shutting himself in. We can't just let him keep running."

The room was heavy with unspoken thoughts as the girls stood there, staring at the space Byron had just left behind. Yasmin's brow furrowed, and she shifted nervously, not quite sure how to approach what had just happened.

"I don't get it," Sasha said, her voice tinged with confusion and concern. "The way he acted... it was like there was something really deep going on. That paper he was holding..." She paused, looking at Yasmin. "That wasn't just some random document, was it?"

Yasmin glanced down at the floor, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh as she processed everything. "No. It looked like... like medical stuff. Medication, diagnoses. And... Brandon F. Powell. That was his real name, wasn't it?"

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "Brandon? That's not who he is. He's Byron. Isn't that what we've been calling him all along?"

Yasmin nodded slowly, but there was a doubt in her voice. "That's the thing… He didn't want us to see that. Whatever's written on there... I think it's more than just some 'paper.' That's the kind of thing people keep hidden when they're trying to hide something huge. He was so... on edge. Like he didn't want us to know."

Sasha crossed her arms, clearly frustrated. "But why? Why wouldn't he just tell us what's going on? He's been shutting everyone out. First Cameron, now all of us." She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "If this is all just some weird fame thing, I'll never understand him."

Yasmin sighed, rubbing her temples. "Maybe it's not about fame. Maybe it's something deeper. We can't just leave him like this, though. He's clearly not okay, but he won't let anyone in."

There was a silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in. Sasha finally broke it with a quiet sigh. "I guess… I guess all we can do is give him some space. But I don't want him to think he's alone in this."

Before Yasmin could respond, they both heard a soft sniffle from the hallway—a sound that seemed completely out of place in this quiet, tense moment.

Without warning, they both turned towards the door, and as if on cue, they made their way out of the room. They walked down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps barely audible as they approached the source of the sound.

A few doors down from where they'd just come from, they found her.

Burdine was sitting against the doorframe of her room, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs. The harsh, unmistakable sound of ugly crying filled the space, and Yasmin immediately felt a pang of sympathy.

Burdine never cried. Not in front of anyone. And yet here she was, completely broken in a way that no one had ever seen before.

Sasha was the first to approach her, a quiet, hesitant voice breaking through the silence. "Burdine...?"

The moment she said her name, Burdine froze. Slowly, she pulled her hands away from her face, revealing red, tear-streaked cheeks. Her mascara had smudged, and her eyes were raw, but there was something in her expression that Yasmin hadn't seen before—a complete lack of control.

"I—" Burdine began, her voice cracking, but she stopped herself. She didn't seem to know what to say. Instead, she just looked up at them, her chest heaving with each uneven breath. "I don't know what to do anymore, Yasmin."

Yasmin knelt beside her, reaching out tentatively. "Hey… it's okay. You don't have to explain anything."

But Burdine just shook her head, her breath hitching as she continued. "I've been... trying to hold everything together. But it's too much. I'm so... tired of pretending, Yasmin. Of being the 'strong one'—it's killing me."

Sasha stepped back, her eyes softening. She wasn't used to seeing Burdine so vulnerable, but she could tell this was more than just the typical bravado Burdine always wore.

"I thought I had to be the one with all the answers. But now..." Burdine's voice faltered again. "I can't do it. Not alone. I thought I could fix everything, but I don't even know where to start."

Yasmin's hand rested gently on Burdine's shoulder, offering quiet support. "It's okay to not have all the answers, Burdine. No one expects you to fix everything. Not alone, at least."

Burdine let out a shaky breath, finally allowing herself to lean into Yasmin's touch, her emotions bubbling over in a way that felt both new and familiar. She couldn't explain it. She wasn't sure what was even happening inside her head anymore, but she knew that she couldn't keep bottling this all up. Not when she had no one else to turn to. Not when everything was slipping through her fingers.

"Everything's falling apart," Burdine whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. "And I don't know what the hell to do anymore." She broke down again, crying harder this time, the floodgates wide open.

Yasmin didn't know what to say to make her feel better, but she was there. And sometimes, just being there was enough.

Sasha watched the scene unfold in front of her, her frustration with Byron slowly melting away in the face of Burdine's vulnerability. Maybe there was more to this—more to all of them—than they'd realized. And maybe they could find a way through this mess, together.

But for now, they were just going to sit with it.

And as Yasmin wrapped her arms around Burdine, she whispered softly, "You're not alone in this, Burdine. We'll figure it out together."

Got it! Here's the revised version with Sasha calling Burdine by her name:

Sasha stood there for a moment, still processing the scene before her. She watched as Yasmin pulled Burdine into a hug, her arms wrapped around her with the kind of comfort and support that Sasha wasn't sure she was capable of giving at the moment. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Burdine, still shaking and crying in Yasmin's arms. She wasn't sure if she bought this whole "I'm falling apart" act.

Burdine had always been so damn put-together, so controlled. Her whole world was about power—manipulating people, being the one with all the answers. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and broken, felt almost... wrong. It didn't match the Burdine that Sasha knew.

But the thing was, Sasha wasn't entirely heartless. Even if she didn't fully trust Burdine's sincerity—hell, even if she still felt a part of her that wanted to call out Burdine on all her bullshit—Sasha couldn't just stand there. Not when the tears were real, and not when Yasmin was offering the kind of warmth Sasha usually kept behind a wall.

Sasha clenched her fists, fighting with herself for a moment longer. Then, with a deep, resigned breath, she walked forward. She was fully aware that she was doing this with no small amount of reluctance, but the part of her that had always believed in the importance of sticking together—no matter how much she hated it—pushed her past her doubts.

Without saying a word, she knelt down next to Yasmin and wrapped her arms around both of them, pulling herself into the embrace. Burdine's body tensed for a brief moment, as though she wasn't sure how to react to Sasha's sudden involvement, but then she relaxed into it, her face hidden against Yasmin's shoulder. The three of them huddled together in the hallway of the motel, an odd, messy knot of human connection that didn't quite make sense but felt necessary.

"I don't trust you, Burdine," Sasha muttered under her breath, her voice low but not unkind. "You know that, right?"

Burdine's sobs stilled for a second as she turned her face to look at Sasha, her eyes still puffy and red. She didn't say anything, but there was something in her expression—something close to guilt. Maybe shame. It was hard to tell.

"Yeah, I know," Burdine whispered, her voice barely audible through the tears. "But I can't do this alone, Sasha. I really can't."

Sasha pulled back just slightly, her gaze sharp and still guarded. "I don't know what's real with you, Burdine," she said, her tone still biting. "But right now? I'm doing this because Yasmin's right. We're in this together. So don't go messing with that, okay?"

Burdine nodded, her face crumpling again as she leaned into Sasha's arms. It wasn't perfect. There was a lot of unfinished business between them, a lot of unresolved anger and bitterness. But there, in that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the motel walls and the fading weight of Byron's departure, it didn't matter.

For once, they were all just people. Not the labels they wore. Not the broken pieces of their lives.

Just people, trying to hold on.

"I won't mess this up," Burdine mumbled. "I swear."

Sasha didn't respond. She wasn't sure she fully believed that yet, but she didn't have to. The hug lasted just a little longer before Sasha pulled away, standing up slowly and offering Burdine a hand to help her to her feet.

"Let's get some rest," Yasmin said softly, standing up as well, wiping her eyes. "Tomorrow's another day."

Sasha didn't need to say anything else. There was still a long way to go. Still a lot of unresolved issues—both with Byron and with Burdine—but in that moment, as they stood there together in the quiet, she had to admit it. There was something comforting about being part of something broken, something messy, as long as they didn't let it fall apart completely.

She gave Burdine a final, guarded look, but it was softer than before. "Don't screw it up," she said, her voice quieter now.

Burdine nodded, and Sasha could've sworn she saw a flicker of gratitude in her eyes—something more real than anything she had seen from Burdine in a long while.

Sasha turned to leave, heading back to her own room, but she didn't look back.

Tomorrow would come, and they would face it. Together.

As the door closed behind her, the quiet of the motel hallway swallowed everything up.