Oikawa Tooru | Neighbor

Oikawa's heart has been wrung tightly as it sinks heavily in lamentation within his aching chest.

After meticulous deliberation spanning months, he had determined his succeeding path should lead him back to Japan. Despite having grounded himself within the solace of Argentinian soil for the past 8 years, it was a choice he reconciled with when weighing his priorities—being that he wished to live closer to family back in Japan, having yearned for those he considers dear to him.

With a plaintive farewell to the team and country he dubbed his home away from home, he found himself packing his suitcase for the second time in his life (whilst experiencing a flurry of nostalgia as he leisurely unloaded his belongings stashed within his apartment) and took a one-way flight to his home country; perhaps, the emergence of a new chapter in his career awaiting him there.

To this new trial... whatever it brings to me.

Hot, wispy plumes expel from fatigued lungs as the chill air condensates Oikawa's panting breaths. He treads along the paved pathway, littered with the delicate crunch of browned leaves beneath his sneakers—the thinning air a surging sting in his nostrils as the retreat of Winter brings onward the renewal of Japan's Spring.

"Good morning, ladies," Oikawa hums as he jogs along the footpath, sending the occasional wink and smile in the direction of unsuspecting fangirls.

It's no surprise his popularity has only grown since his impressive debut pervading his high school days; the impressionable fanbase of his even tracking him through to his appearance amongst his Argentinian brethren, and had gone so far as to cheer him on despite the blatant betrayal of their own country's team. Which—hmph. What can he do? Not his fault his cute, little fans can't themselves. He thinks almost smugly, an imperceptible smirk on his face.

Though, he huffs, "Maybe in a literal sense..."

Oikawa can't help the uncanny creeping sensation prickling along the back of his nape, his eyes flitting to the side.

This person... He thinks, eyes drifting towards the figure jogging behind him for what seems like an... abnormal quantity of time. And he can't help but believe that, perhaps, he's being followed.

Every shift... every turn... seriously—what the hell is happening?

Eventually, he manages to lose sight of them. His shoulders slacken just a fraction, not realizing the tension wrought upon his body from the ensuing chase(?).

He huffs a laughs, stepping into the foyer of his apartment complex and hitching a ride up several floors, music within his earpiece continuing to blast tunes as he hums along with it. His long legs pace along the hall in the direction of his private room—but he stops short of several feet.

How the heck did they even...?

Oikawa's eyes narrow, his lips pursing, unimpressed. With trained ease, he sidles up to CraveU user, arms folded and head cocked to the side lackadaisically.

"You've been following me, haven't you?" He scrutinizes the individual and relinquishes a wearied sigh, muttering under his breath about 'insane fans' before shaking his head.

"You're not very discreet, you know." He turns his chin up. "Hmph. If you wanted a picture, you should have asked me instead of stalking me all the way to my apartment."