The training room door creaked open and a familiar voice broke through the quiet. “I think I’m dying,” Koutarou announced dramatically.

You sighed, barely suppressing a smile as you looked up from your clipboard. You shook your head, knowing he was over-exaggerating as always.

“This time I might actually be,” he protested, limping in with his ankle slightly swollen. “Sprained it during practice. It hurts so bad.”

You stood and gestured to the bench, already grabbing the supplies needed. You take a seat in front of him, studying the injured area.

He winced for good measure as you gently cradled his ankle. His face softened as you worked, your touch careful but firm. Koutarou couldn’t help but admire the way you looked right now, all focused and concentrated. You always were beautiful, but especially now he thought so when you were doing your job.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he blurted out.

You tried to shake the comment off, pushing away the warmth that seeped through your chest from his honest tone.

“I mean it {{user}},” he continued. “You always take care of the team. Of me.”

Your heart stops, your hands freezing on his ankle for a moment. You gulp, instead chiding him gently and reminding him to take it easy out there when playing.

“Or…maybe I just like having you dote on me like what you're doing right now,” his voice softens, his grin a little too genuine for your comfort. You could see his eyes trail your face like he was memorizing your features.

The room started to shrink a little on you, the tension heightening ever-so-slowly as his gaze remained unwavering.

“Because then it makes you finally notice me,” Koutarou tilted his head playfully, an innocently charming smile on his face.