They meet during a fight.
Sakura doesn't start it- she never does, only finishes them -but he does. Start the fight, that is.
She's minding her own business: scornfully watching the boys tumble in the dirt, stunned really, at how much they suck. Their wildly-swinging (wildness should be freedom, not this pathetic attempt, how dare they- ) loosely-clenched fists and terrible form (she doesn't know why, but it's wrong, everything is all wrong) make them topple over each other like Grandmother's newborn puppies.
It's awful to witness.
So there she is, replacing shock for anger, seconds away from entering the fray to show them what a real fight is, when the playground quiets. Turning with a scowl because, of course, an adult would decide to step in before she can have some fun, she blinks in surprise to see a boy her age instead. Something wooden hangs at his side, gripped tightly by a small hand.
He has the right form, she notices absentmindedly. The boy glares and it's alright, as far as glares go, but certainly not scary enough (she could do better) to warrant the way the others have gone pale and are inching back, knees trembling and ready to run home. Sakura wrinkles her nose, he looks like Sasuke- which, ew -but less... soft. His eyes are pretty, a dark blue that makes her think of the night-sky and soaring birds.
Her eyes are still prettier though.
She gives a decisive nod right as the boy mutters, "Herbivores."
There's a pause as they all process what he said, Sakura doesn't look to the rest in confusion- she doesn't! -and then, she's frozen, staring again, as the boy proceeds to systematically destroy the crowd of boys in the field. He swings and ducks and strikes and-
it's all the absolute furthest thing from awful.
Sakura's moving before she even realizes it, eyes locked onto the boy, punching and shoving anyone who gets in her way to him. He pushes the slumped form of a boy off his shoulder and turns to her with those pretty night-sky eyes.
She bares her teeth and leaps.
But not fast enough to miss the fist she hurtles toward his face. His wooden tonfa manages to take the hit in place of his cheek but they both go flying from the force. Her hand hurts a bit, but she doesn't waste time thinking much about it, too busy scrambling to her feet. His eyes widen as she dodges his heavy swipe and outstretched arm to lunge forward. Catching him 'round the waist, she slams his back into the ground, hard.
The air leaves his lungs with a satisfying grunt and she revels in it before his next swing connects, rebounding along her ribs and dislodging her from his chest. She winces as pain explodes in her abdomen. Snarling, she remains low to the ground, crouching instead of standing just yet. He's taller, but she knows she's stronger.
They charge at the same time.
He keeps her at bay until she lands a blow that dazes him and follows through to tackle him to the ground again. This time she doesn't loosen her hold when he bucks. His longer legs hook hers and yank. Panting without rhythm, they tussle and wrestle as grass and dust blows about, stinging her eyes. The tonfas are discarded for the moment.
Her secure arms wrap around his neck, ready to clench, can feel their heartbeats synced. He rakes his nails down her arms and she fists a hand into his soft hair to jerk it backward. He makes a squeaking sound that still manages to come across as displeased. She snickers until he gets a hand into her own longer (softer) hair and pulls roughly.
Growling, she bites into the meat of his forearm that brushes her nose. He reacts explosively, flipping her over and stupidly trying to take his arm back- it would only make it hurt worse -as his other hand drags her closer. She slowly releases him with a sneer, about to push him off when he grabs her arm, brings it to his mouth, and quickly bites down. It burns. She lets out an incoherent shriek of rage and punches him in the gut, forcing him to let go as he chokes and clambers off of her.
Both their arms look savaged, but his is definitely worse. She smirks and runs her tongue over bloody teeth. The boy touches the wound with a curious expression on his angry face. By mutual agreement, they stop fighting but remain where they are, face to face, because it would be weak to be the first to back away. Standing suddenly, she kicks his leg and jumps over the bare fist that chases after her.
"You're not terrible," she said condescendingly. "What's your name?"
Birds flutter through his night-sky eyes at her curious and demanding tone. He stands as well, gives her a dark look and then moves to leave without saying another word. Sakura glares and darts forward to heave him back by the bicep. She never asks anyone for their name, he should be honored at her interest.* Her fingers slide to the open, bleeding skin of his thin arm and squeezes around it, promising a threat.
She leans in, close enough to see clouds in his irides, "Tell me your name."
She's so close she doesn't realize he's reclaimed his tonfa until it's almost too late. Surprised, she can't quite avoid the blow he sends swinging to her face. In her distraction, he latches on to the arm with deep scratches. Sharp fingers dig into her wrist and twist.
A flash of heat.
Night-sky eyes gleam.
The fight ends, but no one wins.