7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN
title speaks for itself GRRAAAAAAHHHHH🦅🦅🦅
USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI
You didn’t even want to play.
It started as a silly party game. Spin-the-bottle. Then someone said, “Let’s do 7 Minutes in Heaven!” and suddenly the bottle landed on you.
And Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Cue stunned silence. Some giggles. A very confused (and very tall) volleyball captain blinking slowly as someone gestured to the closet.
“…I don’t think he’ll fit in there,” someone whispered.
He tried. He actually tried. But when he gently knocked over a broom and muttered, “Apologies,” someone quickly pointed to the bathroom instead.
And now you were perched on the edge of a cold bathtub while Wakatoshi stood near the sink like a polite guest unsure if he should take his shoes off or not.
He hadn’t said a word. He wasn’t awkward—just so calm. Like he was in a pre-game huddle instead of a dim bathroom with soft yellow light and one nervous girl.
Finally, you mumbled, “So... this is happening.”
He looked at you. “Yes. I believe we are here for seven minutes.”
You let out a tiny laugh. “You sound like you're giving a weather report.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry. Should I not be?”
You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh harder. “No! It’s cute.”
He tilted his head. “Cute?”
Your heart flipped. “I mean. Not like cute-cute. Just. You’re... you. And it’s nice.”
Silence again. He looked down at your hands. You were fidgeting with your sleeves.
“I’ve never played this before,” he said softly. “What… usually happens?”
You looked up at him, cheeks warm. “It depends. Usually something dumb. Or something... fun.”
“…Fun,” he echoed. “Like talking?”
“Yeah. Or kissing.”
Oh god. You said that.
You said that.
He didn’t react—not with surprise, not with a flinch. He just… looked at you with those deep, steady eyes.
And then he asked, “Would it be alright… if I kissed you?”
Your brain short-circuited. “Y-Yeah. That’s… yeah.”
He stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. Like you were something precious and he was afraid of breaking it. His hand brushed your cheek, warm and impossibly gentle for someone so strong.
And then—he kissed you.
Soft. Curious. Sweet.
Like he wasn’t sure if this was okay but hoped it was.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper. “You’re… very soft.”
You laughed quietly, forehead resting against his chest now because honestly you couldn’t make eye contact. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
A knock on the door made you both jump. “Time’s up!”
He stepped back, flustered but still composed. “That was... nice.”
You looked up at him, cheeks warm. “Wanna walk out with me?”
He nodded.
And just before opening the door, he asked, “Would it be alright if… we tried that again sometime?”
You smiled. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
GOSHIKI TSUTOMU
Goshiki had mentally prepared himself for a pop quiz, a practice match, even accidentally calling the teacher "Mom." But absolutely not for being spun into a closet with you.
It was dark. Cramped. Smelled faintly of lavender dryer sheets and someone’s leftover cologne. You could barely shift without brushing knees, and the moment you did—
He jolted like he'd touched a live wire.
“H-Hi,” he whispered, voice cracking halfway through.
You grinned. “Hey.”
He was clearly trying to keep it together. Bent slightly at the knees, arms crossed like he was afraid of offending a coat hanger, and eyes trained firmly on the wall.
“This game is kinda weird,” you said softly.
“I-I don’t know why I agreed,” he blurted out, panicked. “I think my brain… glitched. Like, full system error. My dignity is currently on life support.”
You tried to stifle a giggle.
His eyes widened. “Not because of you! You’re not weird! You’re—uh—you’re really nice. And warm. I mean—not like, temperature warm. I haven’t touched you! Not in a weird way! I mean like… your energy. Your presence. It’s warm? In a good way?? Oh no, I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”
You were giggling into your hand now, biting back a full-on laugh.
Then you leaned just a little closer. Your voice dropped into something gentler, softer. “Tsutomu… do you want me to kiss you?”
He froze.
Absolutely, prehistoric-animal-sensing-danger still.
“Um. I—uh—maybe? I mean. Yes? I wouldn’t be against it. Definitely not against it. That’s a yes. Probably. I mean—yes. Yes.”
You smiled, heart fluttering a little at the way his voice squeaked on the last word. So you leaned in and kissed him.
Short. Sweet. Gentle.
Like pressing a daisy into his hand and watching him short-circuit.
He blinked, mouth slightly open.
“I…” he whispered, stunned. “I think I forgot how to breathe.”
You giggled again and rested your hand lightly on his arm. “That’s okay. I’ll help you remember.”
Outside, someone knocked on the door. “Time’s up!”
You turned the handle, but before opening it, you looked back at him—red-faced, wide-eyed, chest rising way too fast like his heart was trying to punch its way out.
He mumbled, dazed and completely flustered, “I’m gonna need emotional support after this.”
You smiled, eyes twinkling. “Good. Because I was hoping you'd let me be the one to give it.”
And that? That almost made him faint.
SHIRABU KENJIRO
Shirabu didn’t even want to play. “I’m here to drink soda and survive high school, not spin bottles like an idiot,” he grumbled, arms crossed, glaring at the circle of chaos around him.
But then you spun the bottle. And it landed right on him.
Now, here he was, sitting awkwardly in a dusty closet on top of someone’s old board games, knees bumping against yours every time one of you so much as breathed.
“This is dumb,” he muttered into the dark, voice sharp as ever.
You leaned in slightly, eyes playful. “You could just enjoy it, y’know.”
He rolled his eyes. “Enjoy what? Breathing recycled air and contemplating my life choices?”
You smiled. “Me.”
Silence.
Dead silence.
And then—his ears turned such a violent shade of red you were half-convinced he was overheating.
“You’re so annoying,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact, but it sounded suspiciously soft. And then you leaned in and kissed him.
Just once.
Just enough.
His eyes flew wide open, stunned. His brain short-circuited. His whole body paused for exactly two seconds. Then, mumbling something that sounded like "unbelievable," he leaned in and kissed you back.
It wasn’t gentle. It was clumsy, a little desperate, a little too quick—like he was trying to make up for the time he wasted pretending he didn’t want it.
Your hands tangled in his hair. He made a low sound in his throat when you tugged his hoodie. “Watch the collar,” he muttered, scowling into your mouth.
But then he grabbed your waist like he forgot how to not touch you.
You ended up in his lap somehow. His hands ghosted under your shirt—just a little, just enough to make his brain completely malfunction.
You leaned back, lips barely apart, whispering, “You like this, don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes again—but the sharp inhale he took totally betrayed him. “Shut. Up.”
You didn’t. You just kissed him again.
And again. And again.
At some point, time stopped being real. Minutes? Hours? Who even knew?
Then—
Click.
“Guys?”
The closet door creaked open. Light poured in.
You were still on Shirabu. His hoodie was halfway off his shoulder. Your faces were flushed. Chests rising and falling like you’d just run laps.
You both stared at the doorway like startled deer.
Gasps from the group. A very clear camera shutter. (Goshiki, you little gremlin.)
You scrambled back like the floor was on fire. Shirabu yanked his hoodie up, scowling with the fury of ten suns.
“You didn’t even knock?! What if we were—what if I had my—You know what?! I’m not doing this.”
He stormed off, face blazing, hoodie wrinkled, and lips very, very kiss-wrecked.
Later that night, someone had the audacity to ask:
“So… you liked it, huh?”
Shirabu didn’t even blink. “I’d rather wrestle a cactus than talk about it.”
But when you winked at him across the room, he immediately looked down. And smiled.
A tiny, shy, completely out-of-character smile that he’d deny for the rest of his life.
KUROO TETSURO
It was supposed to be a joke.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” your friends said.
“Totally harmless,” they said.
And now?
Now you were squished into a dim, definitely-too-small closet with Kuroo Tetsurō—and he was smirking at you like a cat who just spotted a cornered mouse.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, leaning casually against the wall, ankles crossed. “Didn’t know I was your type.”
You nearly choked on your own breath. “W-What? You’re not.”
“Sure,” he said, eyes gleaming. “That’s why you’re blushing so hard I could toast marshmallows on your face.”
You flailed. “It’s dark in here! You can’t even see—!”
“Shy, jumpy, and adorable,” he muttered, like he was ticking off a list. “Check, check, and check.”
You backed into a coat. The coat stabbed you with its hanger. You tried to act normal about it and definitely did not succeed.
Kuroo took a step forward.
Not threatening. Not fast. Just… slow. Confident. Like he knew he was in your head and now he was redecorating.
“So,” he murmured, voice dipping low, “we’ve got about seven minutes of uninterrupted darkness… What do you wanna do, kitten?”
You squeaked. Squeaked.
Your ancestors felt that secondhand embarrassment.
“I-I don’t know! Talk? Maybe—uh—maybe not talk???”
“Wow. Convincing,” he chuckled.
And then—as if he hadn’t already shattered your brain into glitter—he leaned in close.
So close his breath fanned your cheek. So close you could smell his cologne and the stupid mint gum he always chewed like a cocky menace.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna bite… unless you ask nicely.”
Your soul left your body.
He kissed you—soft at first, teasing, coaxing. And when you finally kissed back (shy but definitely melting), he hummed like he’d just won a game.
When the door finally creaked open, both of you blinked into the light.
Kuroo? Hair a little messier, smirk fully loaded. You? Probably looked like a tomato that had been microwaved and emotionally unprepared.
“Fun?” one of your friends grinned.
Kuroo stretched like a cat, then winked at you. “Let’s just say... she didn’t hate it.”
You smacked his arm.
He leaned down and whispered, “You’re cute when you get all flustered, y’know that?”
You were never trusting a spin-the-bottle circle again. But also... maybe closets weren’t so bad.
KENMA KOZUME
It was definitely not his idea.
Kenma had been peacefully playing a game on his phone, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, when someone (probably Yamamoto, because chaos) shoved him toward the circle.
“It’s your turn, Kenma!”
He blinked. “No, it’s not.”
“It is now!”
The bottle spun—and of course it pointed to you. Of course you smiled like the universe planned this from the start. And now here you both were: squished inside a closet with hardly enough space for air, let alone feelings.
Kenma sat cross-legged, back against the wall, hoodie strings clenched between his fingers. His knee brushed yours and it was over for him.
“…Hi,” you said, voice soft like a secret.
“...Hey.” His voice came out rougher than expected. His cheeks? Full-on LED mode. Someone please unplug him.
You tucked your chin on your knees. “This is kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“Cute?” he echoed, like the word glitched in his brain.
You giggled. “Yeah. You. This.”
Kenma looked down, tugging his sleeves over his hands. “I—I don’t really do well with this kind of thing.”
You tilted your head. “You’re doing just fine.”
He peeked at you through his hair. “You’re… really close.”
“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding a tiny bit closer. “Bothered?”
“…No,” he admitted, breath catching.
You reached out and gently cupped his cheek, warm beneath your fingers. He stiffened for half a second—then melted. Absolutely melted.
“Still okay?” you whispered.
He nodded slowly.
So you kissed him. Light at first. Barely there. Testing the waters.
His whole body went still. You pulled back slightly, gauging him.
And that’s when he leaned in.
It was shy and hesitant and everything. His lips brushed yours, sweet and unsure, and then again—like he’d figured out how to breathe through kissing and now he didn’t want to stop.
One hand found your waist, feather-light. You tugged on his hoodie, deepening the kiss just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch against you. The world narrowed to this one space. Warm breath, tangled knees, a hoodie that smelled like him, and kisses that turned into more kisses until the timer on this tiny moment of heaven was dangerously close to running out.
When he finally pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes dazed, he exhaled softly. “I—I think my game just crashed.”
You laughed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Want a restart?”
“I want another seven minutes,” he murmured, surprising even himself.
The door creaked open—
“MY BOY IS BLUSHING!” came Kuroo’s voice before a shoe was thrown and the door slammed shut again.
YAKU MORISUKE
“It’s just a game,” they said. “It’ll be funny,” they said. And now Yaku was trapped in a closet with you and regretting every decision that led to this moment.
Well—maybe not every decision.
You were sitting way too close, your knee lightly bumping his, and you were looking at him like you were planning something.
He didn’t trust it. Not one bit. Also, his face was already on fire.
“You okay?” you asked innocently.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, stiff and tense like he was bracing for impact.
You tilted your head. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m totally calm,” he added, which would’ve been more convincing if his voice didn’t crack halfway through.
And then you grinned.
“Prove it.”
“…Huh?”
You poked his cheek. He flinched.
You poked the other one. “Stop that—!”
Then your fingers slipped under his arms and started tickling him.
“AUGH—Y/N!!” he yelped, twisting and trying to squirm away but failing miserably in the tiny space. “NO—WAIT—TIME OUT—!!”
But you were merciless.
“Say you’re flustered!” you laughed.
“NEVER!” he squeaked, trying not to kick the closet door open.
You leaned in closer. “Say it~”
“I—okay, okay!! I’m flustered!! Happy now?!” he gasped, breathless, red, and borderline combusting.
You grinned. “Very.”
He glared at you with wide eyes and a red face. “You’re evil.”
You, shrugging sweetly: “You love it.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say a word, you kissed him.
It shut him up real fast.
His hands were frozen at first—then they found your waist. And then it all melted.
What started soft turned into something needier, warmer, and a little desperate like he’d been holding back since the door closed. Like maybe he wanted this just as badly as you did.
Your hands slid into his hair. He kissed you like he’d been waiting a long time to do it properly. And despite how flustered he’d been earlier, now he was leading it—pulling you close, tilting your chin up, mouth hot and just shy of reckless.
The air in the closet shifted.
So did your knees.
Somehow you ended up in his lap, his back against the wall, your lips still tangled and breaths short between kisses.
You pulled away slightly, just to whisper: “Still flustered?”
He smirked, breathless. “Very.”
And then he kissed you again like he didn’t care if the whole team heard.
When the door finally opened, you were both a little rumpled, a little pink, and definitely not making eye contact with anyone.
Lev blinked. “Did you guys… wrestle?”
Yaku grabbed the door, slammed it shut, and yelled through it: “WE NEED ANOTHER SEVEN MINUTES. THANKS.”
KAGEYAMA TOBIO
Kageyama stood by the wall like he was buffering in real life.
“Seven minutes!” someone shouted, plopping a bottle into the middle like it was a bomb.
The bottle spun.
The tension? Horrible. The squeak it made? Worse.
Then—it pointed. At you.
Everyone: “OHHHHHHH!!!”
You: “Nice.”
Kageyama: “Wh–HUH?”
He stared at the bottle like it just personally betrayed him. Then he stared at you like you made the bottle betray him. Then at the closet like it was the final boss.
“Closet. Now.” Bokuto shoved him toward it like a freight train.
He stumbled in. You followed with the energy of someone going to a vending machine.
Click. Door shut. Game on.
Kageyama stood in the corner like you just caught him stealing snacks.
You tried. You really did. “So…”
He flinched. “HMM?!”
“…You okay?”
“YES.”
“…You sure?”
“I—I—am alive.”
“…Okay then.”
He was breathing like someone just made him run laps in emotional turmoil. Fists clenched. Cheeks red. Brain in shambles.
You stepped closer. “You’re nervous.”
“WHAA—NO.” His voice cracked halfway through. “I mean—yes. But NO. But also yes. Wait. What was the question?”
You snorted. “Relax. It’s just a game.”
He opened and closed his mouth like a confused baby bird. “Actually—I was gonna say something. Before this. Like. Way before. But now we’re in a closet and it’s worse. I mean better. I MEAN—conveniently horrifying—WAIT NO—”
You poked his cheek. “Tobio.”
He made a tiny squeak. “Mep.”
You smiled. “Just say it.”
He stared at you, face hot enough to toast bread. “I like you, okay?! I’ve liked you for a while. And I think about you all the time and you’re always nice to me and I don’t know how to flirt so I just yell and give you milk—”
You leaned in, cupped his face, and kissed him.
He made a tiny “mrrph?” Then a “hhhf—!” And maybe a whimper?
Full panic. Zero control. His brain yeeted itself into orbit.
He kissed back—shaky, soft, like he was afraid he’d explode if he messed it up (which, in fairness, he might).
You pulled away after a second, smug. “Still alive?”
He blinked. “I—uh—possibly?”
Someone outside yelled, “TIME!”
He jumped. “WHAT?! NO—WAIT, I BARELY GOT TO—”
You grabbed his hand and opened the door.
He followed you out, dazed.
Everyone: “Ohhhhhh~”
Kageyama: “Mmfrhrrgh.”
You: “Don’t worry, he confessed. It was adorable.”
Him, whispering in shock: “I made noises.”
You, grinning: “Yeah. You absolutely did.”
TANAKA RYUNOSUKE
“YOOOO let’s GOOOOO,” Tanaka howled when the bottle pointed at you, standing up like he just got called to the big leagues.
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ryu.”
“Oh, I’m already there,” he winked, straightening his collar like he was walking into a music video and not a dusty broom closet.
But the moment the door clicked shut behind you two?
Silence.
You turned, expecting a smug comment or at least a dumb little laugh—but Tanaka?
Tanaka Ryunosuke was frozen.
Back pressed to the wall, eyes staring ahead like he was being interrogated by the FBI.
“…You good?” you asked.
He nodded.
“…You sure?”
He nodded faster.
You raised an eyebrow. “Ryu, you were literally barking ten seconds ago.”
“I panicked,” he croaked, voice cracking like a puberty rerun.
You stepped closer, arms crossed. “So Mr. ‘Let’s GOOOO’ suddenly forgot how to talk?”
“I didn’t forget,” he mumbled. “I just—uh—I’m… mentally buffering.”
You bit your lip to hide your grin. “Wow. Never thought I’d see Tanaka Ryunosuke, High Priest of Chaos, rendered speechless in a closet.”
“I talk a big game, okay?” he finally muttered. “But I’ve never actually been this close to you. Like, this close-close. Voluntary-close.”
You blinked. “Wait. Are you nervous?”
“No,” he said, voice cracking again. “Maybe. Shut up.”
You laughed, stepping forward and gently flicking his forehead. “You’re adorable.”
He looked like he might melt through the floor.
And before he could combust entirely, you leaned in and kissed him—quick, warm, right on the lips.
He made a soft “hnhnn!” Followed by a helpless, breathy whimper that might’ve broken his soul in half.
He stood there, lips still puckered, eyes wide, like his entire system just blue-screened.
Then, dazed, he whispered, “I saw God for like two seconds.”
You giggled. “Seven minutes of heaven, remember?”
Tanaka, recovering from cardiac arrest: “I thought I’d be louder in here.”
You: “Same.”
Door swings open.
The team: “WHAT’D YOU DO IN THERE?”
Tanaka: “...........Taxes.”
BOKUTO KOUTARO
The bottle spun. It landed on you.
The room went, “OOOOOOOHHHHH!!!”
And Bokuto? Bokuto blinked like someone just unplugged him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he held up both hands. “WHY is everyone yelling?? What does it mean?!”
Akaashi sighed from the couch. “It means you go into the closet with her.”
“What?!” Bokuto looked at you, then the bottle, then you again. “WHY THO?”
“Because you’re the chosen ones,” someone snickered.
“CHOSEN FOR WHAT?!”
“To be alone in a dark, tiny closet,” you explained calmly. “For seven minutes.”
Bokuto gasped. “AM I IN TROUBLE?!”
You grabbed his hand. “No. You’re in a party game.”
“Oh. Okay!” he beamed, and followed you like a confused golden retriever.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Bokuto squinted at the darkness. “Okay, so… now what? Is this like hide and seek? Sardines? Are there sardines??”
You stifled a laugh. “No sardines. Just you and me.”
He hummed, then realized the closeness. Then realized your face was right there. Then realized—he might actually be sweating a little.
“Oh,” he said.
You smiled, leaning against the wall. “You’ve never played this before, huh?”
“Nope! I was homeschooled.” (He wasn’t.)
You giggled. “You’re cute.”
Bokuto.exe: CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR
“HUH?!”
“I said you’re cute,” you repeated. “And I don’t mind being in here with you.”
Bokuto’s voice came out half-pitched. “Y-you don’t?!”
“Nope,” you said, now closing the space between you with all the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they wanted. “In fact…”
You reached out, placing your hands on his chest, feeling the way it tightened under your touch.
“I was kinda hoping the bottle would land on you.”
Bokuto looked like he got hit by a flying volleyball and liked it.
“…You mean, on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“…Like fate?!”
“Sure.”
You kissed him. He squeaked—then whimpered softly against your lips, as if his brain short-circuited and his heart had too many feelings all at once. But his arms instinctively went around your waist and then—suddenly—he was kissing you back, eyes wide, then slowly fluttering shut like a Disney prince realizing he’s in love.
When you pulled away, he was just standing there. Blinking.
“…Bokuto?” you teased, poking his cheek.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “That was DEFINITELY better than sardines.”
The door burst open.
Bokuto stumbled out, still holding your hand.
“I’M IN LOVE!!!” he shouted at the party.
Everyone cheered.
Then, softly, under his breath—
“…Oh my god,” he whimpered. “She kissed me. She kissed me.”
Akaashi blinked. “He’s broken.”
“He’s so happy,” someone whispered.
“He’s ascending,” Bokuto whispered. “Don’t talk to me. I’m in the clouds.”
(this was also rotting in my drafts......)
