Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji should have known the universe was plotting against him the moment Bokuto opened his mouth and declared — eyes shining, arms thrown wide — that for his birthday this year, he wanted to see the Aomori Nebuta Festival.
Never mind that his birthday was in September, and the festival was in August. Never mind that Keiji had editing deadlines lined up like dominoes waiting to fall. No, Bokuto had decided, and therefore so had Keiji.
Which was why he was currently on a rattling shinkansen barreling north, knees knocking against a too-small tray table, watching his sanity pack up and leave somewhere around Omiya Station.
Kuroo? “Too busy” with work. Kenma? Sick. The only two people capable of sharing Bokuto-duty had conveniently vanished, leaving Keiji to the wolves. And by wolves, he meant: Hinata (human battery pack), Atsumu (walking megaphone), Sakusa (perpetually irritated), Bokuto (see: disaster incarnate), and — because karma has a cruel sense of humor — Miya Osamu.
Owner of a wildly successful onigiri chain. Twin brother to Keiji’s least favorite source of noise pollution. And, if the twitch in Keiji’s jaw was any indication, someone who had apparently decided that the best way to coexist with him was to act like Keiji’s very presence was a mosquito bite: small, irritating and best ignored.
Fine. Keiji could ignore him too. He was very good at ignoring things. Like Atsumu’s voice, or Hinata bouncing in his seat, or the fact that the air conditioning in this car was clearly losing the battle against Japanese summer humidity.
He unwrapped a convenience-store onigiri (mentaiko, lukewarm at best) and took a slow, pointed bite. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Osamu’s head tilt, just slightly, as though judging his choice. Of course. The onigiri tycoon, silently condemning Keiji’s seven-eleven rice triangle.
Keiji swallowed, smiled politely at the window reflection, and composed the headline in his head: Editor Dies on Shinkansen, Cause of Death: Miya Osamu’s Stupid Face.
The train lurched around a curve, and of course, fate being the sadist it was, their knees knocked under the table. Keiji froze, schooling his face into neutral calm. Osamu pulled back like he’d touched a shrine gate with dirty hands.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Bokuto twisted around from the row ahead, grinning wide enough to split his face. “Akaashi! Can you believe it? We’ll be there in time for the floats tonight! The giant lanterns, the drums…it’s gonna be amazing!”
Keiji managed a small, courteous smile. He was practiced in those.