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"Lose the attitude," he said when I got up to vertical.

"Stop hovering," I said before swinging down into the dismount.

When I landed, pain shot up my spine, and I winced, gritting my teeth.

"Again," he said, ignoring my salty comment as I headed back to the low bar.

We bickered like this because he refused to back off, and all I wanted was to be healthy enough to do it on my own. I knew he meant well, and I knew deep down that I needed the spotting, but I didn't want to accept it.

Vanta could tell something was off. It was impossible to hide from him. He could tell I was slower than I had been a few weeks ago when I'd been on top of the world. He was back to that disappointed look on his face, shaking his head after I did my passes, and I found myself just waiting for him to kick me out and tell me I wasn't worth it anymore.

Hana was also back to correcting my dance like I had just arrived at Vanta yesterday, and if I had a dollar for every time she pursed her lips in disappointment at one of my leaps, I'd probably have a thousand bucks.

The nutritionist had me start taking more vitamins, hoping to help with the inflammation. I had to bite my tongue not to tell Lennon that his vitamins weren't going to touch the stabbing pain in my lower back and to shove them where the sun didn't shine.

Pain made me snappy like a wounded animal, and I had to use all my self-control not to lash out. I took the vitamins despite them probably doing nothing and waited for my stupid hormones to stop acting up so I could get back to work like normal.

The AT kept recommending ice baths, and Rove made sure I took them.

Afterward, we'd walk across the street to the café. He'd order his sugary coffee, then mine with just cream.

Lately, though, we barely talked.

The silence had settled between us without either of us acknowledging it.

Two days before Nationals Camp, Rove finally seemed unable to ignore it anymore.

"It's getting worse," he said suddenly.

I’d gotten lost in thought, staring out the coffee shop window, absently watching cars pass by.

I turned toward him.

"What?"

"Your condition. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," I said, my tone completely flat. I took another sip of my coffee.

“Camp is in two days. And then Nationals is only a few days after that.”

"You don't think I know that?" I glared at him, but he wasn't fazed by my tone.

"You haven't done a full-out routine in weeks⁠—"

"I know, okay? I know." I cut him off. "Everything you're about to say, I already know.”

A few heads turned our way.

Heat crept up my neck, and I wished we could go back to sitting in silence. Every reminder felt like someone pressing on an open wound.

He sighed, and I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, urging me to look at him, but I stubbornly continued to stare out the window.

"Red."

"Don't."

He let out another slow sigh.