"I know what time it is. I also know you're not sleeping. I can see your lights on from the street." Daxton turns to face him, arms crossed. "How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?"
"Doing what?"
"This." Daxton gestures at Kayden, at the apartment, at everything. "Punishing yourself by staying up all night in an empty apartment, deleting Instagram comments like that's somehow going to fix things, avoiding everyone who cares about you."
"I'm not avoiding—"
"You've canceled three dinner plans with me in the past week. You're not returning Tyler's calls. Your assistant told me you've been at the office until midnight every night." Daxton's expression softens. "Talk to me, man. What's really going on?"
Kayden wants to brush him off, to insist everything's fine and send Daxton home. But he's so tired—tired of holding everything in, tired of pretending he's handling this well, tired of the weight of his own thoughts with no one to share them with.
