Heat crawls up my spine, unsure of its own origins. I stare ahead, at the frost-covered pine tree, its scent permeating the lands for miles, mixed with its brethren.
My skin goes red, heat and cool clashing in a war upon my flesh. I reach out to the cold, hoping to rid myself of this odd heat that has claimed my skin.
I am not supposed to be this warm, I must be overheating.
I kneel, closer to the only source of cold that I can physically move. I lay face-down in the cold, rolling onto my back for good measure. My sweat turns cold, yet I still feel as if I am on the beach, waves barely lapping at my feet.
It is still too hot.
The temperature seems to be rising next to my panic, and I stand up abruptly. The heat starts fading, the cold already set into my bones.
What have I done? I had pushed away the warmth, the only warmth I had. My lips turn downwards and my muscles scream in pain as I lay down once more and let the last of my warmth wash away. I had done my best to get rid of the heat, I don't deserve warmth anymore.
Calming down once the cold washes over every inch of me, I almost jump out of my once warm skin as a -too warm- hand touches my shoulder. I had thought I was alone, had I known I wasn't I wouldn't have let myself have a melt down.
"Are you alright?" A male voice asks, before muttering under his breath, "… You aren't dead, are you?" His hand burns my flesh as I sit up, the cold clinging to my clothes and only getting colder.
"Mmn, I am fine. May I ask what you are doing here, in the middle of nowhere, during winter?" I reply, my voice as crisp as the chilling air rushing through the stranger and I's lungs. The eye of the stranger meets mine.
The winter birds that had stopped chirping outside of my notice had started once more, a rabbit hopping into my lap as the only people in the ever-stretching forest freeze in a stare off.
We know each other. We are still strangers, it having been too long for us to be anything else.
A burning hand reaches for me and I shy away. I had pushed the heat away for a reason, I realized. I much preferred to be frozen than burning. The hand doesn't stop. The stranger wasn't known for being gentle, he was known for being efficient and deadly. As all ninja should be, I muse.
I wince as he grasps my arm - it burned make it stop - and pulled me up. As soon as I could I rip my arm from his grasp. He may be well known, but I was better. Than him. I rubbed the cold back into my limbs. He looks pained, and he sighs heavily.
"You'll get hypothermia. Let me help," He pleads. I shake my head. The heat was too much for me. I'd rather freeze.
I had forgotten the cold slows one down, and frown at myself, irritated. I should have known he'd use force. I should have expected it.
I'm burning. Heat makes itself at home in my body. I try getting up, only to be shoved back down. I was sick. We both knew it. The heat had burned me to ash. My bones were alight, my eyes giving off magma as I squirm. It hurt. I burst up, the stranger flying back as I rushed out into the cool. I jump into a lake, letting myself be submerged. It was still too warm, even as the ice froze the surface of the lake once more. I let myself breathe in, feeling the cool enter my insides, cooling it down tremendously and finally letting me relax.
A burning body collides with mine, and I struggle to get it away. I fail, and warmth is pushed back inside me. Even his breath was scorching, I realize. I cough up the nice cool, and am shaking. The heat was too hot. I felt as fire burned through me at the mere touch of the stranger. He was burning. I was freezing. Hot and cold, I muse, struggling against the burning stranger.
Fire licked at my bones once more, and once again I escaped only to be entrapped once more. Months went by like this, and eventually it passed. The cold was cold, and the heat was too hot but I could deal with it. It was always too hot for me, even in winter, and especially in deserts, but that was the first time I genuinely couldn't take it.
I blink awake, sitting up to see the stranger eyeing me warily. I stretch, and wake myself up with a bit of snow to the face. Throughout the months the stranger found that letting me a bit of snow helped me to not dive into the lake and try drowning myself. I snicker at the thought. Oh, boy, am I the best when I'm sick or what? I sigh, relaxing for a moment.
"That sucked." I stated. He wasn't convinced I was done, and stayed wary. I blinked at him.
"You were on a mission, right? Why the hell did you stay here?" I ask. He sighs heavily, rubbing at his face.
"I was technically allowed a year for the mission even though it took a few days to complete. I have half a year before I actually have to be back." He replied, still not convinced. I did have moments of clarity. I was well and truly done with the sickness, though. I knew, because I didn't have to stand outside to feel comfortable. I plopped my head in his lap, poking at his face, half-covered by a mask.
"Ah, how nice. You got a vacation - forced on you by the Hokage, since I know if you arrive more than a few months earlier than the allotted time your paycheck takes a hit - and you spent most of it taking care of me. Why the hell would you do that, stranger?" I asked casually, putting a hand momentarily on his bare flesh and flinching back as it burned. I sat up, rubbing at my fingers. I decided to lean against his side instead. Less of a chance of burning myself. He watched.
We had been best friends before we never spoke again. We hadn't spoken in a decade, a little under half both of our lives. We'd known each other all our lives, but never really met each other. We just silently hung around each other.
Then he joined Anbu, and I became a nukenin. Well, not a nukenin, just no longer working for or heeding the call of Konoha. Much like Tsunade, wherever she might be.
I sighed heavily. He wanted me to return. It was obvious.
"I can't." I said, breaking the silence. He looked at me, expression one of determined sorrow. He knew I wouldn't like what he was about to say.
"You no longer have a choice."