Haikyuu imagines

7 minutes in heaven with Kawanishi

You weren't even at a party.

Not really.

It was supposed to be a study session at your friend's house - quiet, simple, maybe a little boring. Kawanishi was only there because your friend begged him to help everyone review before finals. He barely spoke the entire time, offering calm, dry comments whenever someone got an answer wrong.

But then your friend's older brother came home.

With friends.

Loud friends.

Suddenly the living room was full of people, music, and someone yelling about how "studying is illegal on weekends."

You tried to slip out unnoticed, but your friend grabbed your arm.

"WAIT! We're playing a game! Kawanishi, you're playing too!"

He blinked slowly, already tired of existing.

Before either of you can object, names are thrown into a bowl.

Someone draws the first pair.

Your name.

And then his.

Kawanishi looks at you... then at the bowl... then at the group cheering and pointing toward the hallway closet like it's some kind of sacred altar.

"Are they serious?" he mutters.

"They seem... committed," you whisper.

One of the drunk guys shoves the both of you toward the closet.

Kawanishi sighs with that deadpan, patient expression he always has - the one that somehow makes your stomach flip.

"Come on," he murmurs. "If we don't go, they'll just keep yelling."

He opens the closet door for you and steps inside after, closing it softly behind him.

Instant darkness.

Instant closeness.

You can hear his breath, quiet and steady, right next to your ear.

"...This is ridiculous," he finally says, voice low.

But then you feel it - the faint brush of his arm against yours, his shoulder grazing your shoulder, the tiny shift of him leaning just a fraction closer. Not confident. Not cocky.

Just drawn in.

To you.

"You know," he says quietly, "of all the people they could've stuck me with... this isn't the worst."

Your heart slams so hard you're sure he feels it.

You whisper, "Not the worst? Really?"

A soft huff of amusement leaves him.

"No. Actually..." He pauses, and you can hear his swallow. "You're the one I would've picked."

Your breath catches.

In the dark, you barely see his hand lift - hesitant, slow - until his fingers brush yours.

He waits.

You lace your fingers with his.

The second you do, he exhales sharply and leans in, forehead brushing yours.

"Okay," he whispers. "I'm... gonna do something stupid."

And before your brain catches up, he kisses you.

Not rough.

Not rushed.

Just deep and warm and careful - like he's been holding it in for way too long.

Someone yells from outside:

"HEY! TIME'S NOT UP! DON'T STOP IF YOU'RE DOING ANYTHING IN THERE!"

You both freeze.

Then he pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips, voice low and warm:

"...Ignore them."

And he kisses you again.