Work Text:
When Kageyama thinks of Miyagi, he thinks of the air.
He could breathe—really, truly breathe—when he was there. When you inhaled, it’s as if the sky entered your lungs. Like the dusk painted your insides.
He thinks of the sunsets. Wide open spaces giving way to the giant canvas of a sky when he walked home from school, too sullen and exhausted to appreciate it at the time. So focused on going forward that he forgot to look up to see it: the pinks and purples swirling around the mountains, the reds and golds hovering up high. Beyond those colours, though, there was orange.
He thinks of orange.
He thinks of his favourite milk tea, peachy and cold, tucked away in an old vending machine at Karasuno.
He thinks of their uniforms. Of his friends. Of boys running, panting, barrelling their way to the top. Of one boy, small and explosive, flying his way higher and higher, pulling Kageyama up with him.
This prefecture was where he found volleyball, fell in love, and grew up. But when Kageyama thinks of Miyagi, he doesn’t think of home.
After all, that’s what Hinata is for.