AU where Oikawa is a famous novelist who hasn’t published a new book in a while, causing fans to speculate whether he’s run out of ideas or if he’s ill. His last work hadn’t performed as well as his early books, and some critics thought he was losing his touch.

He wonders if they’re right.

His latest manuscript mocks him from a glaring computer screen and he hasn’t been able to bring himself to add any words to it in weeks.

He takes off his glasses and rubs tired eyes, trying to stem the pressure he can feel building behind them. The sounds of the city drift in through the cracked window by the fire escape, and the fact that he even notices them is a sign he’s off his game.

They’ve been too loud lately. Like his first few months here, where every siren, every blare of a horn, had him jumping and burying his head under a pillow. Eventually he grew accustomed to them, until they faded into white noise.

He loves living in the city. He loves the hustle and bustle, the masses of milling people, the myriad faces he sees in his day to day sparking stories in his head, living varied and enriched lives within his imagination until he can commit them to page.

His phone buzzes, drawing him out of his reverie. It’s Iwaizumi urging him to take a break upon pain of incurring his wrath. Oikawa smiles fondly at the aggressive caring from a continent and an ocean away.

It’s been years, but the other man still has a 6th sense for when Oikawa is working too hard.

Not that he sees it that way. Is he really working too hard if he hasn’t committed words to page in nearly a month? Nothing that has stuck, anyway.

He’s typed and deleted countless pages in that time, but none of them were right. Nothing is working.

He tells Iwa-chan this much.

“New York is getting to your head,” is the familiar reply.

“Maybe you need to slow down and get away for a bit. Get out of the city and out of your own head.”

“You’ve been talking to Ken-chan haven’t you.” No wonder he knew Oikawa was stressing more than usual.

“He may have mentioned saying something along those lines to you.”

“You’re both traitors.” He doesn’t mean that though, and Iwaizumi knows it.

And it’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about Kenma’s offer. If none of his usual haunts have helped him through his block, a change of scenery might be the best thing for him.

He sighs as he opens up his last text from his editor. “You need a break. I know someone with a perfect place for a writing retreat that might get you out of this funk. It’s west coast though, let me know what you think.”

“What the hell,” he types back. “Can’t hurt, right?”

Of course, when Kenma had said “west coast,” Oikawa was thinking California, or maybe Oregon. He was not expecting to take a puddle jumper from SEATAC out over the Puget Sound to a cluster of islands he’d never heard of.

The airport on San Juan Island has only a single runway, and Oikawa begins to wonder just what Kenma has roped him into. This is the literal middle of nowhere.

Pacific Northwest, indeed.

His apprehension wanes somewhat when he sees the man waiting for him in the tiny lobby. He’s tall, in a fitted muscle tank tucked into well-worn denim jeans, a checkered flannel shirt tied at his waist. His dark hair is in wild disarray, but his smile is warm and welcoming.

“You must be Kenma’s writer friend,” he says, offering his hand. “Testurou Kuroo, at your service. You can call me Tetsu, or Kuroo, whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

Oikawa has lived in America long enough to not be uncomfortable with using given names, -

- but he is pleasantly surprised to find a taste of home in this unfamiliar place.

He releases his luggage long enough to shake Kuroo’s hand. “Tooru Oikawa,” he introduces himself. “Thank you for having me.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve got more room than I know what to do with,” Kuroo laughs. “I’ll be glad for the company, but I’ll stay out of your way while you’re working.”

As he gestures Oikawa out toward the parking lot where his pickup awaits to bring him to his temporary home, Kuroo’s laugh echoes in his mind, light and comforting.

Oikawa thinks that maybe this month in the middle of nowhere won’t be so bad after all.

// To Be Continued

The drive to the house, much like everywhere else on the island as he’ll come to learn, is brief. The airport and ferry are both in town, and Kuroo lives minutes from both. In fact the house is so close, he could probably have walked. It couldn’t have been much more than a mile.

The short drive through town reveals a smattering of storefronts, many touristy shops, restaurants, hotels, but also local grocers and hardware stores and bait shops. There were banks and gas stations, churches and parks. It sure wasn’t the city, but it was more than he expected.

They turn past the ferry holding lanes up a steep hill. He can see the harbor between the houses they pass, and wonders what sort of view Kuroo’s home will have. As they pull into a half-circle driveway, Kuroo makes a noise of surprise.

“Ah, probably should have asked this sooner but uh, you’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”

Oikawa laughs. “No, no pet dander allergies here.”

Kuroo breathes a sigh of relief. “It just occurred to me that Kenma never said. Would hate for you to be miserable for your stay here.”

“With such pleasant company? Never.”

Kuroo snorts. “How can you be so sure I’m pleasant company? It’s been all of ten minutes since we met.”

“I’m a great judge of character Tetsu,” he grins at the man’s lazy smile. “Besides, any friend of Kenma must be great company because he doesn’t really get along with many people.”

Kuroo clutches his stomach as he barks the ugliest laugh Oikawa has ever heard. It’s loud and endearing and it startles him into manic giggles of his own. A thought floats through the back of his mind that he’s been awake for almost 24 hours.

“You’re definitely not wrong there, Kawa,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek and pushing the handle of his door to climb out of the truck. Oikawa mirrors him. “He’s been stuck with me his whole life though. Maybe I’m not all that great.”

Oikawa quirks an eyebrow as he watches Kuroo reach into the bed of the pickup to pull his guest’s luggage out. “Clearly you are the worst. How dare you open your home to a stranger and play bell hop for them.”

Kuroo places a hand over his heart. “I am always this kind.”

“I rest my case.” Oikawa huffs a laugh as he follows his host towards stairs that descend to a recessed door that opens onto a covered patio breezeway that splits the house in two.

“Grandad had that addition built when dad was a kid,” Kuroo says, gesturing to the building on their right. “He’d always wanted to rent it out as a vacation home, but it was a forever project. Things kept piling up and it never got finished.”

Oikawa follows him through and his breath hitches in his throat when he catches sight of the harbor over the deck.

“You should see it from upstairs,” Kuroo teases, leading him to a door on the left.

“I would have taken you through upstairs, but Bo gets excited with new people and I didn’t want to overwhelm you so soon.”

“Really not selling this “terrible company” bit, Tetsu,” Oikawa teases back, earning himself another lazy smile.

They step inside and Oikawa’s vision is assaulted by what looks to be the entire interior décor section of a Hobby Lobby.

Every surface of wall is covered with framed posters with inspirational quotes, plaques with bible verses, and nautical themed paintings.

There are knick-knacks on every surface, a mish mosh of throw pillows on every seat. There are two couches in the den area, the pullout already set up as a bed for him, but both are adorned with pillows of every size and color.

As he gets his bearings, he notices the suite actually has a kitchenette amongst all the clutter. A sink, toaster oven, microwave, and mini fridge give him options, and oh a coffee pot. That'll come in handy. There's a table tucked into the back by the stairs. Perfect to work at.

Kuroo hovers at the bottom of the stairs, nervously rubbing his neck. “The bathroom is right through there. It’s not much, just a standup shower and a sink and a toilet.” Oikawa pokes his head in, humming appreciatively. He’d had smaller bathrooms in the city.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip up some pasta. It’s a bit early for dinner, but you’re still on east coast time I bet.”

He is, and the exhaustion of his travel is starting to catch up to him. He eyes the pullout couch warily, wondering if his long legs will even fit.

Kuroo seems to catch his hesitation. “It’s way more comfortable than it looks. I used to sleep on it whenever I came to visit.”

Oikawa takes in Kuroo’s lanky form. He was even taller than Oikawa, not an easy feat. “Were you smaller as a kid?”

That barking laugh makes another appearance and Oikawa’s cheeks warm at the sound.

“I mean, yeah, weren’t we all? But I still fit, if that’s what you’re asking. Spent my first few months here on that couch actually.”

His voice turns wistful, almost as if he hadn’t meant to admit that aloud. “If it’s not comfortable, I can set you up in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs instead. I just thought having a space of your own would be easier or something.”

“It’s perfect,” Oikawa says. He’s already imposing enough just by being here, and the suite is nice, if a bit quirky. “And I will definitely take you up on dinner, but maybe after a quick- a quick naaap,” he yawns in the middle of speaking.

Kuroo huffs a soft laugh. “Want a wake up call?”

Oikawa flops face first on the mattress. “When’s dinner?”

“Hmm, two hours?”

“Kay.”

“Night sleeping beauty.”

Oikawa tries to make a jibe back, but his eyes are already closed and his tongue is too heavy with sleep. After a 3am alarm, 8 hours of flying and 5 hours in airport terminals, he’s too weak to fight his body any longer.

Before sleep takes him completely though, he takes note of another feeling.

Hope. Relief. Excitement.

Surrounded by so much inspiration, he’s sure he’ll find the story he’s looking for here.

//