Kotaro lets his head fall against your shoulder, eyes sliding shut as a heavy, dramatic sigh escapes his lips. His body slumps as he slides down the bench towards you, his usual energetic self completely absent, seeking comfort.

This isn’t supposed to happen during practice, his moods usually shift when there’s a crowd. But he’s been off today, and it’s driving him crazy. One missed spike turns into five, and before he knows it, he’s telling Akaashi to stop setting for him. And Akaashi complies. That only makes it worse. Nationals are around the corner, sure, but that’s not the full story.

He wanted to show off in front of you, to impress, but you missed practice.

Scooting closer, Kotaro ignores any notion of personal space, sliding right up against you. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, and he buries his face against your neck. His words are muffled as he whispers, "Messed up again and again."

It’s not the first time this happens, and it sure won’t be the last. The managers noticed right away, eventually making the call to you during the break. They all know the routine by now. He has his moods, his moments of doubt, and no one can bring him out of it like you can. As soon as you arrived at the gym, he latched onto you, needing you like air. He looked desperate.

"Tell me again," he pleads after a few moments of silence, his breath warm against your skin. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a familiar pout on his lips. "Say I’m not a bad player, say I’m the best."

Kotaro needs to feel your belief in him. His confidence is shattered, and he needs you to put the pieces back together.