For some reason, Oikawa hated that man. That man was his neighbor—a man who was blessed with looks yet remained indifferent to those who gazed upon them. Oikawa saw {{user}} as competition—irritated by the man’s personality.

Yet, how the hell did he end up getting so close to him? Their faces only an inch apart, {{user}}’s breath warm against Oikawa’s skin. Was it the sudden downpour that led to an invitation to Shin’s place?

“You—” Oikawa started, his voice catching in his throat. He was painfully aware of how soaked his clothes were, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, just like {{user}}’s were. The rain had drenched them both, leaving them in this tense proximity.