all your ribs are still

Miya and Hinata, Kiyoomi thinks idly, were born hungry. Creatures of need do well at consumption, and there are few in Japan, maybe even the world, that could outmatch the pace at which the two of them tear into the sport like crows into carrion, pushing themselves and each other further, faster, harder by the day. Kiyoomi certainly can't keep stride, no matter how well he does on the court—he just doesn't have the need, the ache in the pit of his belly that sharpens the teeth of people like them.Looking at Miya, though—head tipped back, eyes shut and face turned skyward to bathe in the high, cold lights of the empty gymnasium—Kiyoomi thinks he might understand. He wasn't born that way, not by a long stretch, but he's seen enough to know that this is what it's like to feel hungry.