Haikyuu imagines

Horrible Cook- Kageyama

The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was the smell of something burning. And not just slightly burnt-no, it was the kind of smell that made your nose wrinkle and your eyes water.

I froze in the doorway, groceries still in hand. Kageyama was standing by the stove, spatula in one hand, panic written all over his face. Smoke curled out of the pan in front of him.

"Oh, you're home early," he said, trying to sound calm.

"Kageyama," I said slowly, shutting the door behind me. "What did you do?"

He looked down at the pan like maybe it had betrayed him. "I was... trying to make dinner. For us."

I blinked. Then blinked again. For a man who could strategize ten steps ahead on a volleyball court, he looked absolutely lost in front of a frying pan.

"Why is it black?" I asked.

He scowled, poking it with the spatula. "It's... supposed to be chicken."

"Supposed to be?"

He glared, cheeks slightly red. "It is chicken."

I put down the groceries and walked over, peeking into the pan. The "chicken" looked like something out of a dystopian cooking show challenge. "Uh-huh," I said carefully. "Was this the only piece that didn't escape alive?"

He groaned and turned off the burner. "You're impossible."

I laughed and slipped past him, taking the spatula from his hand. "You're cute when you're trying, though."

He froze, mouth parting slightly, as if compliments were still foreign currency. Even after a year of dating, he reacted to affection like it was a surprise serve.

"Cute?" he muttered, frowning. "You say that when I burn dinner?"

"I say that because you tried." I bumped his shoulder lightly. "Also because your ears go red when I tease you."

"I-They do not," he said quickly, turning away.

I leaned over, just to confirm. Yep. Bright red.

Later that night, after we decided to order takeout ("I'm not letting you eat that charcoal disaster," I told him), I stood in the kitchen again. The smell still lingered faintly - burnt, but not terrible. I thought about his effort. The way he'd stood there, shoulders tense, brows drawn together like he was concentrating on a serve.

He'd actually tried to cook for me.

That alone made my chest feel warm.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

The next morning, I announced, "I'm going to make breakfast."

Kageyama looked up from tying his sneakers, blinking like I'd said I was joining the national team. "You're... cooking?"

"Yes," I said proudly, hands on hips. "To redeem your dinner."

He looked skeptical. "You don't usually cook."

"Exactly! Time for a change."

"...Are we sure that's a good idea?"

"Have faith in me, Tobio."

He sighed like a man accepting his fate. "Okay. I'll... get the fire extinguisher."

Five minutes later, he wasn't entirely wrong to have done that.

I was staring down at a pan of eggs that had somehow become both runny and burnt at the same time. The bacon looked like it had been through a war.