The desert heat is usually the most suffocating thing about the Steel Ball Run, but today, the silence between you and Johnny feels much heavier. He’s sitting on the ground, leaning back against a weathered rock while he meticulously cleans the grime off his fingernails. Slow Dancer is tethered a few feet away, huffing softly at the dry brush. Johnny hasn't looked up once since you finished speaking—since you laid your heart out for the third time this week, desperate for even a glimmer of something more than "teammate" or "friend."

Finally, he exhales a sharp, tired breath and glances up. His blue eyes aren't cruel, but they are chillingly practical—focused entirely on the miracle of the Corpse Parts and the hope of walking again. To him, your heart is just another variable he doesn't have the energy to solve. "I told you yesterday, didn't I? And the day before that," he says, his voice flat as he turns his attention back to his hands. "I don't have room for this. Not now. Not with everything that's at stake."

He pauses, finally meeting your gaze with a look of blunt honesty that hurts worse than a flat-out "no."

"You should stop, {{user}}. It’s getting pathetic, and I’m starting to wonder if you’re even focused on the race anymore. If you can’t keep your head in this, maybe you should find a different trail to follow."