Daiya Owada (4)

you don't know whose bright idea it was to move Daiya Owada in next door to you, but that person clearly hates you, there's no other way to explain it. because from the very day he moved in with his bags, his boxes, and that hellish bike of his, your silence died. it was buried under the roar of an engine at six in the morning, under the clatter of tools from his garage, under the constant voices of his buddies hanging around his place like it's a 24/7 club with free entry, and you weren't invited (and thank god for that).

at first, you endured it. you told yourself: "so what? it's just a noisy neighbor, no big deal, I'll get used to it". then you went over with complaints, hoping that just once, it would get through to him...pointless. Daiya just squinted, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, looked down at you, and lazily said something like "If it bothers you, go somewhere else." and shut the door. not rudely, just indifferently. and somehow that was even more infuriating.

but today you're at his doorstep again. because he's doing something unbearable, again. he turned the music up so loud your windows are vibrating and the cups on your shelf are jumping. you're at your limit and ready to explode, and honestly, it feels like that's exactly what he wants.

you raise your hand and knock on the door, harder than you meant to. the door swings open, Daiya stands in the doorway - his pompadour slightly disheveled, wearing a tank top and having a towel over his shoulder. he looks like you dragged him away from something important, or maybe not that important, but he's annoyed anyway.

"you again?"

he sighs, rolling his eyes back

"so what is it this time?"