Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kuroo doubts his neighbour is the weirdest person in the world, there have got to be thousands of people who are plenty more bizarre, but he sure is a strong contender.

It has to be somewhere around four in the morning. The sky is still dark and the streets have gone silent, save for the rumble of the neighbour’s van pulling into his driveway. The thing stalls halfway up, and by the time Kuroo’s made his way out of the safe warmth of his bed and up to the window, he can see it billowing dark grey smoke. 

But, it’s four in the morning, he’s sure his neighbour can fix his own car, and most importantly it’s not Kuroo’s problem. He crawls back under his sheets and mashes his head between his pillows, hoping to be able to drift back off and get a solid few hours before his shift at work the next morning.

His eyes are shut heavily and his mind is starting to feel fuzzy and far away by the time his doorbell rings. He almost thinks it’s a dream, for a second, before it rings again and he’s brought to the painful realization that this is reality and he has to get up and answer the door. 

Reluctantly, and while tripping over every item on the floor of his bedroom, he makes his way to the front door, pulling it open and cringing at the gust of cold air on his nude torso—in hindsight, he could have pulled on a sweater.

“What’s up?” He mumbles sleepily, rubbing at his eyes in hopes that’ll make it easier to take in the sight in front of him. 

This man is about the same age as Kuroo, staring slightly up at him with gorgeous chestnut eyes, his matching hair combed to perfection and swooping so gently, with an apologetic look on his frazzled face.

“Uh, I think my car is about to explode and I need someone to call a mechanic,” The man says a bit sheepishly. There’s worry edging into his tone, something that has his hands fidgeting in front of him as he stands in the cold of the night.

“And you don’t have your own phone because…?” Kuroo asks, though he doesn’t really care for the answer.

The man scoffs, a smile edging on his features like he’s been excited to tell someone this for quite some time. “The government totally taps those things and burners aren’t as easy to find as they used to be.”

Kuroo blinks, honestly he didn’t expect much else. He motions with his hand for the man to come inside, much too tired to even try making sense of what’s going on. The man enters easily, stripping off his shoes and following Kuroo to the kitchen.

“Phone’s there.” Kuroo motions to the old device stuck to the wall by a coil cord. He leans back on the counter and fully resigns himself. “Do what you want.”

“Thanks,” The man says with a short tip of his head. He takes the phone and slowly dials a number from memory—it seems he’s had issues like this in the past, if the speed of his fingers is anything to judge by. He calls the mechanic on the other end of the line by name and explains the situation in a very contained panic. The mechanic on the line yells something Kuroo can’t quite manage to hear, and the man responds with an exasperated apology. When he hangs up, he turns to Kuroo. 

“He says to call the fire department, since explosions are kind of their thing.” He goes to dial the emergency line right as Kuroo starts mumbling.

“Right, I’ll trust you not to rob me or do anything too crazy,” He starts off to his room, fully aware he’s taking a huge gamble in trusting his odd neighbour. But really, the man doesn’t seem like he’s a danger to anything but himself.

“And if you could lock the front door when you leave, that would be great,” Kuroo says before closing the door to his room. His neighbour is all too wrapped up in his own issues to say anything back, but Kuroo hears the mild conversation drone on for a minute or two, and he’s fallen back asleep by the time sirens are sounding down their street. 

-

Kuroo wakes with his alarm, with the rise of the sun and with the chirp of the birds threading their way between leafy green branches just outside his window. He wakes having forgotten all the chaos of the previous night, with only the slight lingering feeling of having an interrupted sleep weighing him down. 

It’s something he sheds with his clothes as he steps into the shower for a chilly start to his morning routine, as he lets the last of the previous night’s disorder flow away with the water down the drain.

By the time he’s making his way to the kitchen for a nice breakfast before work, he’s all but forgotten his odd neighbour and the incident, that is until he finds a note scribbled on a torn piece of paper sitting atop the table. 

In the most crooked and hurried script Kuroo has ever seen, his neighbour has written—

‘Thanks for the phone :) My car didn’t explode but definitely got written off. I locked your door and made sure all your windows were shut tight. See you soon! 

-Oikawa’

Kuroo reads it over a few times before deciding he’s actually seeing it right. 

‘See you soon.’

He mulls it over, wondering if the worst hasn’t yet passed. As bizarre as he finds the statement, as much as he doesn’t want to see what other oddities come with this Oikawa, there is some sparkling part of his always-present curiosity that has him wanting to see what happens next. He sighs, as always his curiosity will be the death of him, and finishes readying himself for work.

-

Oikawa doesn’t make him wait. As Kuroo is quickly figuring out, Oikawa is a very fast-paced person. He comes knocking a mere half-hour after Kuroo’s gotten home from his shift, just as he’s in the middle of rounding up all the ingredients for the night’s dinner.

Oikawa knocks three times in quick succession and sings, “Kuroo, it’s me.” 

Kuroo doesn’t spare a second to be worried that Oikawa knows his name—it’s nowhere near the weirdest part of all this—he only opens the door with a huff and a sigh and ushers Oikawa into the kitchen.

He’s just as immaculately groomed today, dressed in a plain t-shirt and a fall jacket despite the warmth outside and the short walk over. He makes himself at home at Kuroo’s dining table, picking up a newspaper that Kuroo had purchased just for a chance to talk to the attractive sales lady. 

“So,” Kuroo drawls, looking around for something to do with his hands in an attempt to dissipate the awkward air to the room, “What brings you here?”

“Ah!” Oikawa exclaims, “Well I thought, since we’re neighbours and all and I’ve never been any trouble to you, that I might be able to ask a little favour?” He gives a cute little smile, almost convincing in itself—if Kuroo’s being honest. 

“What is it?” He asks before he lets the shininess of Oikawa’s eyes sway him any further. 

“Would you mind driving me just a little outside the city tonight? Just once the sun’s down. I’ve got a field in mind and it’s only twenty minutes away.” 

Kuroo contemplates it for all of a half-second before he gives in. He’s got that sick, sick curiosity that has him itching to understand what exactly Oikawa’s up to, to take a chance and learn him.

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, his hands finding purchase in the sad little fruit bowl at the side of his counter, rooting around and pulling out an apple he hadn’t planned on eating just yet, “I can do that.”

“Great!” Oikawa exclaims. His lips melt into the most gorgeous of smiles, as if this one thing is responsible for so much of his happiness. “And since I’m already here,” He sing-songs, even as Kuroo is already bewitched by him, “Would you mind if I help with dinner?”

“Of course not,” Kuroo says, dazedly.

Oikawa smiles, again, and Kuroo’s brain stops working.

-

Oikawa’s an awful cook, and Kuroo’s still feeling the effects of it half an hour later as they’re midway to an unspecified location, riding side by side in the front of Kuroo’s car.

As it turns out, Oikawa is a fan of canned food and canned food only. He said he kept a large supply of it in case of emergency and ate it for the majority of his meals. ‘Helping’ Kuroo make dinner included nearly ruining the entire meal with a lack of basic knowledge so horrendous Kuroo found himself wondering how Oikawa was even still alive. 

Regardless, Kuroo finds himself itching with that same curiosity—now turned slight excitement at their exact proximity and the situation at hand.

“What exactly are we doing out here?” Kuroo asks, eyes on the blackened road ahead as it fades slowly from asphalt to gravel. 

“Studying,” Oikawa responds simply. He’d brought a journal with him and he fiddles with the worn leather cover of it in his lap. From what Kuroo can see, it’s got a few newspaper cutouts pasted inside, little yellowed corners peaking out just slightly. 

“Are you in university?” Kuroo asks, though he’s not sure what kind of course would have students driving out to fields well past sunset. 

“No, no, it’s just for fun.”

Kuroo scoffs lightly at that. “You’re studying fields for fun?” 

“Well, I’m not studying the field,” Oikawa says, slower, measured, like he’s afraid of judgement, “Not exactly.” 

“What are you studying then?” Kuroo urges, voice soft and encouraging.

“Aliens,” Oikawa says, and it’s little more than a peep. 

“Aliens?” Kuroo repeats, not as surprised as he imagines he should be, “Interesting.”

Oikawa turns to look at him, blinking once or twice like he’s trying to figure out whether Kuroo really means it or not. “Really?” He asks, “You think it’s interesting?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Kuroo takes a half-breath, “I’ve never really believed in aliens, but I’m not the type of guy to just dismiss something completely. Plus, hearing people’s theories is exciting.” He thinks back to the two whole encounters he’s had with hardcore alien enthusiasts, to the excitement and fascination in their voices as they explained in intense detail each complexity of alien lifeforms. 

“Oh,” Oikawa says, surprised—eager, even. “Well, I’ve been monitoring this field for quite some time. A while back there was a nearby farmer who complained about odd patterns being cut into his crop. I found his posts on one forum or another and volunteered to come check it out. Turns out it was a kind of crop circle popular in the UK, one police ruled impossible for a human to make. I’ve been fascinated by the field ever since.”

“Huh,” Kuroo makes, lets it settle into the hum of the air before continuing, “Well as far as hobbies go, this one’s definitely interesting .”

Oikawa laughs at that, something unguarded and lovely. “That’s one way to put it,” He says through the smile resting warmly on his lips. 

“I mean, my most interesting hobby is trying to get one of my regular customers to stop bringing her pet parrot into the building,” Kuroo says. 

Oikawa only laughs harder, and it stirs up something—just the seeds, the barest little things—in Kuroo’s chest.

“Do you work at a pet store?” Oikawa asks.

“No,” Kuroo chuckles, “A record store.”

Oikawa laughs obnoxiously, his cheeks going red with it just as they pull into the field programmed into the little wired GPS Oikawa brought.

“You can stay here, I’ll only be a minute or two,” Oikawa says. He unbuckles his seat belt and tries the door. It’s locked, and as soon as he realizes he turns to Kuroo, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m coming with you,” Kuroo says with finality, “I want to see these infamous crop circles.” The lock on the doors click open and he and Oikawa step out together, into the biting cool of the night. Kuroo sees, now, that this is why Oikawa dressed warm despite the mild temperatures of the daytime. He shivers in his crewneck, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

“I can’t promise that there’s actually anything here. Last it happened it was around the same time of year so I’ve been monitoring with extra diligence recently,” Oikawa says. He ruffles around in his pockets for something, before pulling out a very large and very industrial-looking flashlight. The white light of it streaks suddenly through the night, shining on the tall grass they stand in, the various insects floating about, the tall wall of wheat a few metres ahead of them. 

“Usually I would try to go for an aerial view,” Oikawa explains, making his way towards the wheat, “I’ve climbed onto the roof of that farmhouse over there—” He gestures lazily to the left, “—tons of time before. But it’s kinda late and I don’t think the man who lives there would be all that happy about that, and I’m not really dressed for tree-climbing so—” He shrugs, as if all of this is completely normal, “—I guess looking at it from the ground will have to do.”

“Right,” Kuroo says, willing enough to pretend all of this is easy to wrap his head around. 

“Okay,” Oikawa says enthusiastically, “Let’s get going.” In seconds, he disappears into the wheat. 

Kuroo has no choice but to follow, tumbling through the knee-high grass. When he breaks through the wheat barrier, he realizes one thing he thought he’d never have to know—walking through wheat is not easy. Even with Oikawa’s flashlight guiding him, he stumbles around stalks of it. Bits and pieces of it get caught in his hair, on his clothes, everywhere. It’s packed so tightly together that he sighs wonderfully in relief when they come to a clearing. 

A clearing, Kuroo thinks, an oddly circular clearing without a single blade of grass peaking throughout. 

“Holy shit,” Oikawa murmurs, eyes wide as he swings the flashlight around what is definitely a crop circle. 

“Holy shit?” Kuroo asks, surveying the area. Even with his limited knowledge he can tell this isn’t normal. The ground is completely flat, unnaturally so, and void of even trace amounts of greenery. The circle is oddly perfect, and there’s another part of the field that’s been destroyed, another little circle leading off of the one they stand in. 

Oikawa walks forwards, stopping for a moment to touch at the ground and write something down before continuing. Kuroo follows, and they walk into the second circle, about half the size with another, larger area leading beyond. 

“This is nothing like the first one,” Oikawa says, eyes focussed intensely on the dirt beneath his shoes. “Look at the dirt,” He says, lifting his foot a little, “It’s almost like they perfectly dug out every individual crop and then smoothed the ground over, but I was here just yesterday and everything was normal.” 

“Maybe,” Kuroo says, hesitant to venture a theory in case Oikawa thinks his lack of knowledge is idiotic, “The crops burnt up when the, uh, ship landed. Y’know, scorched down to the root.”

Oikawa makes a stunned little noise. “That’s...really smart, actually.” He scribbles something in his notebook, then turns to Kuroo. “Would you like to do this more often?” He asks, suddenly and without any restrictions.

Kuroo—well, he’s pretty sure his gorgeous neighbour who he’s only now met has just confirmed that aliens exist, so he’s not really in a place to be surprised by much—nods. “Yeah,” He says on an exhale, “Yeah, I would.” 

“Great!” Oikawa says. Kuroo thinks he can surely get used to the smile that turns Oikawa into something so beautifully content, so rawly happy that someone appreciates his hobby. 

“Great,” Kuroo agrees, preparing to strap in for a long ride.