notes: This is my newer, and longer crossover story that I really want to write, and finish. I love these two characters, and I actually have a solid plot for this, for like, the first time. I own nothing (characters, animes, layout, etc.).


like black cherries and gorgeous nightmares

it's simple and easy.

close your eyes, and count my breaths,

just like you and i were meant to be.

one.

Watching her move was like watching the cardinals in the sky.

The way her long scarlet hair swirled around her as she twisted her body around on one delicate foot, as elegant as a dancer clad in swirling laces and skirts fringed in rose-colored feathers of silk, and stays broken loose against the wind. Her body was perfectly balanced on her one foot, her eyes fallen shut, her lips gently parted in a soft grin. The hem of her pink blouse rippled against her pale cherry-hued skin, her red-black plaid pleated skirt dancing through the air around the paleness of her bare legs.

He'd never seen anything like her before.

He wasn't the type to be so allured by anything (let alone a female), but there was something about her that clouded his mind with vivid scarlets (like her hair, he noticed) and flooded his nose with the scent of cherries and warm summer air (like the fragrance that blew from the ends of her ponytail as she swung her body around in another circle). He'd never experienced anything quite like her in all his years of walking the Earth.

She hopped forward, then swirled left, holding her arms at her sides gracefully, her lips curved upward into a soft smile, before taking her stance. "Perfect."

It was just the two of them – he had bypassed the chocolate-stained closed sign pasted to the window with what looked like whipped cream (he later found the source – a plate of cherry shortcake and a cherry-vanilla parfait with two sticks of pocky sitting proudly on the top) and had ventured into the arcade on a whim – and she turned around, noticing his presence.

"Did'ya come to watch me?" she asked, taking a few steps toward the edge of the game board. He shook his head, pocketing his hands. She smiled, and jumped down onto the glow-in-the-dark carpet. She picked up her plate containing the cake, and grabbed the pastry in its entirety, holding it up to her lips and biting into it with bright eyes. "I understand. So, in that case, what'd ya come here for?"

If he wanted to be honest, he wasn't sure. But she didn't need to know that, not with the way she was eating her cake. He was surprised it stayed completely whole despite the death grip her fingers had on it. But the look in her eyes as she was eating her shortcake brought him back to attention, and he closed his eyes.

"I don't have a reason," he answered. "I just came simply because I wanted to."

"That is a reason," she replied between mouthfuls. "A vague, but acceptable reason. I go into places just because I want to all the time. It's like a hobby of mine."

She was a strange one. "An herbivorous one."

"Herbivorous?" she echoed, cocking her head. Her lips were painted bright white with the whip cream icing on the cake she was devouring. "What the hell do you mean by that? This ain't Ecology class, buddy."

And she had a foul mouth on her too. "Life isn't much different than an Ecology class. We're bound by the same rules as the ecosystems around us."

"Really? And what rules are those?" Her lip curled up against the corner of her cake.

"Survival of the fittest." Her amber eyes narrowed. "The weak have to make way for the strong. It's natural for those not suited for survival to decompose and return to the environment in order to nurture those that are. You're familiar with it, aren't you?"

"It's the food chain," she answered, leaning up against the seat of a driving game. "I have a passing grade in Ecology. And, I'm beasting Culinary."

Interesting combination. "Culinary is useless."

"It's not if you're someone who likes to eat," she drawled, popping the last piece of her cake into her mouth before turning to her parfait. "'Sides, it's gettin' kinda boring around here anyway. Gotta shake things up, you know what I'm sayin'?"

He didn't understand her.

She turned around, her scarlet bangs parting from the center of her forehead. "So, who are you?"

"It doesn't concern you," he answered, turning away from her. She leaned forward as if to get a closer look at him, her smirk taunting. He could smell the cherries and sugar from her cake on her lips. She was so close – a stab of irritation coursed through him. "Get away from me."

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey. "Got a personal bubble space or somethin'?"

He glowered.

"Hah, I got it," she murmured, drawing out her syllables teasingly, her auburn eyes bright. He knew she didn't have any intention of hurting him (and even if she did, he was fully capable of dealing with the sly little wretch), but she was pissing him off. She was much, much too close, and his killing intent was rising faster than he could dispel it. But that seemed to be just what she wanted. "Man, you're a downer. I was just screwin' with you."

Little wench.

She pulled back, and scooped out a spoonful of whip cream, cherry, and vanilla ice cream, before shoving it into her mouth and snorting. "Well? Got a name? Or should I call you something that you'd consider condescending?"

"I told you, it doesn't concern you," he muttered, beginning to lose his patience. He wasn't certain why he was still where he was. That boot she had on his toes might have something to do with it. "Remove your foot from mine. I will not ask again."

The pressure on his toes increased, and the corner of her lips twisted upward. "And if I refuse?"

"I'll bite you to death."

She smiled, and tilted her head. "So forward."

She had to be the biggest idiot he'd ever seen.

"I'll bite you to death, herbivore," he snarled, reaching for his tonfas. She twisted her body, smirking as he narrowed his eyes a fraction at the pain in his foot. Her back pressed into his chest, and her right hand gripped onto one of his tonfas, stopping him. "What are you hoping to accomplish, positioning yourself like this?"

Her spoon touched his right cheek. "You need to loosen up a little."

"Get your spoon off my face."

"Hey," she said, her amber eyes glowing, "did you know that there's parfait on your cheek?"

"You're the one who put it there," he glowered. He didn't understand what was happening with him. Normally, he would've already whipped his tonfas into her face, and left the dusty, noisy arcade with her bleeding on the floor. It wasn't their position that was stopping him. He wasn't certain, and it pissed him off.

Before he could say anything, she whispered, "I'll get it for you."

Then her tongue was on his cheek.

"Just what are you doing?" he demanded, as her face drew back. She blinked, and pursed her lips as she raised his right arm to the side of his face, and wiped at the cheek her tongue had just touched, her parfait in the other.

"It was the quickest way to get rid of the whip cream and shit off your face," she retorted. "What? Too forward for you?"

"Hn?" he snorted.

"Don't look at me like that," she hissed, flicking him in the forehead, "you're the one who started it."

How had he started it?

"I haven't started anything," he shot back, pulling his left tonfa out and slapping it across the back of her head.

Her ponytail billowed from the onyx ribbon holding it up, stray tresses falling from the neat up-do. Her free hand reached to the back of her head, and he noted the irritated tremor of her shoulders, the quivering of her back, and the shadowed death glare. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her ebony ribbon, and pulled, freeing her long crimson hair into the air.

"Do you not understand how fucking hard it is to get your hair up with a ribbon?" He didn't care. He honestly didn't care at all for what she was screaming about. This only proved the fact that she was a small animal, and therefore incapable of interesting him. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

"No."

The corner of her lips twitched, and her eyes blazed. "God damn, I really want to kick your ass."

"Is that so?" he asked, pushing her away from him with his tonfa. As he'd expected, she spun around to face him elegantly, her long scarlet hair swaying out behind her. Her parfait teetered within the center of her palm, and in her other hand, her hairpin and onyx ribbon lay still. She wasn't armed. He smirked. "Come."

She locked her legs, planting her feet. "You first."

She certainly was a strange one.

Not willing to disappoint her (and the fact that his body was screaming for motion), he smirked, and jumped forward, whipping his tonfas forward without hesitation. She smirked back, and ducked, before sliding between his legs on her ass as he jerked up short of the back of the driving game seat in front of him. He swung around, continuing with his assault, narrowing his eyes at the fluidness of her movements as she dodged. She was merely toying with him – weaving in between his attacks like they were nothing.

Her right arm lifted to block his left tonfa, and she tossed up her parfait into the air to block his right one, his tonfa denting the side of the plastic cup between them and spraying cream into the air. He widened his eyes as she tilted onto her right foot, and lashed out with her left boot, kicking him in the stomach. He slid backwards, but aside from the force she'd exerted to push him back, he hadn't felt any pain from her attack. She really was playing with him.

And that pissed him off as well.

But at the same time, he wasn't being serious either.

She jabbed her elbow into his incoming tonfa strike, before waving the butt of her hand downward to lower it. He watched her left hand fly forward as if released from a sling-shot, so quick and seamless that it barely grazed his cheek. Her feet pitter-pattered across the carpet, as she wove through the space between them, fighting through his defenses once more, before he understood.

She was merely dancing.

As was he.

She moved well – evaded his tonfas with ease, all the while keeping her burgundy irises firmly fixed upon their movements. She was talented, and her own movements were seamless, flowing from one to another. She twisted around underneath his tonfa, and brought her left hand back up, smirking as her long scarlet hair swirled through the air around her, blowing across her irises. He let his head fall back as her fist grazed his nose, and promptly aimed his other weapon at her face.

She smirked; hopped back, slipping slightly on the white whipped cream on the floor, and lifted her head back to meet his. He watched her eyes flash back and forth, watching the lengths of his tonfas lash and whip at the sides of her face, and evaded them all with hardly any effort. He narrowed his eyes, and drew back slightly, aiming both tonfas at the sides of her face at the same time out of frustration.

Her movements weren't natural. They just weren't. Even if she were extremely nimble and flexible, she didn't seem to be the type to be this skilled at fighting. Verbally, perhaps. But physically?

It was impossible.

He registered her hands, her fingertips on his tonfas, and pushed against them. But she merely arced upwards, dodging his attack and hovering in midair above his head for a moment before elegantly dropping toward the carpet just behind him. He turned as she squealed, and held her hands at the front of her skirt as she fell, causing him to briefly lift his eyebrow. He'd already seen her underwear – pink, frilly, laces – when she'd slid underneath him. He hadn't meant to. But he had to admit, the color flattered her fair pink-white skin tone.

Then, he saw what had scared her.

"Kyouko, my shift's over, we can head to Mami's and have some tea, and—" Her friend stopped in her tracks, jerking to a stop at the doorway. He noted her short, diagonal tomboyish hair-style, bright azure-colored eyes, and a sunny smile, before gazing down at her outfit. It certainly was more tomboyish than the blouse and lace-edged skirt the red-haired girl Kyouko was wearing. The girl blushed, and bowed. "I'm sorry for interrupting. I'm Miki Sayaka, it's nice to meet you."

"Hn." The red-haired girl glanced back at him, and snarled.

"Filthy pervert," she hissed, laying her chin on her shoulder.

Her auburn eyes brooded from the sleeve of her frilled blouse, and for a moment, he was certain she was about to come after him again. But the presence of her friend, Miki Sayaka, seemed to have a positive effect on her. Positive meaning that she didn't challenge him again. And that disappointed him.

Her long scarlet hair tickled his arms as she swept it back up into a ponytail, securely holding the unruly crimson tresses with one hand, her hairpin and black ribbon in the other. As if by magic, she skillfully tied her hair back up into the neat style she'd tamed it with before he'd destroyed it, and tightened the ribbon into a bow at the center of her waterfall of cherry-red. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulled out a pair of bobby pins and slid them into her bangs, parting them back from her face with close precision.

"Alright, Sayaka, I'll come along with you this time," she snorted, putting her hands on her hips. "But only if Mami's making one of those cakes again. I had a piece of shortcake earlier, and some parfait too before this idiot attacked me."

So he was an idiot, was he? "Your reference to idiot wasn't referring to me, was it?"

"Oh, it was," she snapped, gesturing with her right hand to the floor. "You attacked me, so I dropped my parfait. Therefore, you owe me a shit-load of sweets."

He'd attacked her? That wasn't how he remembered it. And she hadn't dropped it. She'd thrown it at him to deflect his tonfa.

He was about ready to smack her upside her head with his tonfa. "Herbivore—"

"Don't herbivore me!" she exclaimed, taking a step closer. "You owe me another parfait, and another piece of cake, understand me?"

"K—Kyouko," Sayaka stuttered, her eyebrows twitching. Kyouko jabbed a fingertip into his chest, her face close.

"Tomorrow," she said. He blinked. "Same time, same place. Cherry shortcake's fine, but make sure that there's extra icing on the top. And as for the parfait, I like to have my pocky sticks standing up at the top. Got it?"

He would've whipped his tonfas into her face then and there for her orders had it not been for the hand on the left side of his face, and the cherry-colored lips at his ear. Her breath was hot against his skin as her lips moved.

"By the way, my name ain't herbivore," she drawled. He could feel her heart beating through her shirt against his arm, and instinctively stiffened. She was so, so close. And he wasn't moving to push her away. He didn't understand it. She smiled, and slid something into his right hand, replacing his tonfa without his knowledge. "It's Sakura Kyouko. Nice to meet you."

She pulled away, holding his tonfa in one hand. He raised the object she'd placed into his hand up to his face, and squinted, analyzing it with a practiced scrutiny. He could feel shapes inside its smooth wrapper, and narrowed his eyes. Lifting his eyes back to hers, he caught sight of the crooked grin on her face, and glowered.

"Return my tonfa," he ordered. Kyouko twirled it daintily in her right hand, spinning it effortlessly on her palm, as if to taunt him.

"This?" she asked, smirking into her reflection on the surface of the metal rod, "I'm gonna hang onto it for a little while."

"No."

She smirked. "What? Can't live without your little toy?"

"It's not a toy," he muttered, closing his eyes. Not only was she irritating him with the tone of her voice, but she sounded like she was challenging him. And he never backed down from a challenge. "I expect you to return it to me tomorrow."

Her eyes sparkled. "I promise."

There was something triumphant in her gaze that irked him. He wasn't certain what she was celebrating internally, and he glanced at her friend to find a clue as to what that something was, but Sayaka was too busy staring wide-eyed at the red-head to offer any sort of hint.

Useless herbivore.

Snorting irritably, he brushed past the red-haired girl, and closed his eyes, smoothly pushing the door open and left the arcade without a backwards glance.

Back in the store, Kyouko curled her lips up, and glanced back at Sayaka, waving the raven-haired boy's tonfa through the air. "And that, my dear friend, is how you ask out a boy."

Pause.

Kyouko's lips parted back from her teeth, revealing her fangs in a sly smile.

"The right way."

shift.


notes: This is possibly the most edited piece of writing on my profile. Hopefully I keep this up with the second chapter. Reviews?

notes2: This may have been inspired by Gorgeous Nightmare by: Escape the Fate. I absolutely love that song. I recommend you listen to it. It's awesome.