Gravitational Forces

They were complete opposites; from their personalities to their eye colors. They were clashing forces of nature: one a tsunami, blue eyes that can take over your soul in a split second, the other an earthquake, with brown eyes that could have you trembling with a single glance. Earth and water. They were the difference between destruction and complete demolition.

They were the representation of everything good, and everything evil. With blonde hair the hue of gold and eyes that have the capability to put diamonds to shame, you would think of an angel sent down from God himself. The crimson hair to match the color of blood, and soft mahogany eyes that could enchant your soul, you'd think of the devil that basks in the fires of Hell.

God and devil.

Angel and sinner.

Complete and total opposites.

Would you believe me if I said they were best friends?

Even their names had contrapositive effects. One slipped from your mouth like a serpent slithering through the sand. The other's name dropped from your mouth like bombs falling from the sky and plummeting towards the Earth. Nothing about them was the same, and each accepted that fact.

They based the foundation of their relationship on the fact that the only thing they agreed on was that they disagreed. "Agree to disagree," is what they often went by. Each boy had his own view. His own view on style, attitude, personal favorites, but mainly their arts. That was the only thing they truly respected about each other, not that that respect ever stopped them from bickering on a daily basis. Their views reflected their names. It reflected their tempers and appearances. It reflected everything they were.

Explosions. Fleeting. Transient.

Eternity. Forever. Always.

These were the views that shaped and formed around two opposing forces. They formed around a silent and deadly scorpion. A scorpion hell-bent on living until the world ends, and even then he wants to live for years past that. They formed around an explosive and loudmouthed pyromaniac. A pyromaniac that refuses to die in any other way than his art, his art of bombs and blood and screams and beauty.

The only reason he's alive now, is because he's determined to make his eternal best friend admit that his art is better.

Best friends. There's a fine line between friendship and a true relationship. No one understands it, how these two beings can merge so easily together. Then again, it isn't their place to understand a force beyond their control. But they can't help but wonder. How does the silent one, the one that has a steady glare and emotionless façade be involved with a beaming ball of sunshine, with mischievous eyes and a grin to match? No one knows, no one will ever know. But it doesn't matter, because whether or not the artists would admit it, they were in love.

In love with the polar opposites.

In love with the one thing they loath the most.

Maybe that's why they attracted so well. They were artists after all, so why would they want to be with something plain, something ordinary? Why be unhappy with a white canvas, if you could search just a bit harder to find the rainbow within the palms of your hands?

It's said that's how their friendship began. When their eyes met, the crystal and mahogany colliding, they felt a connection deeper than any word could convey, deeper than any picture could paint. In that one second, it felt like an eternity, ending with the after effects bigger than any bomb the artists would ever hope to see.

The emotions were cliché, but it was all unavoidable.

But the love?

Even that was a significant difference between them. It was like their names, or their art. One kiss took you by surprise, silencing you as it seemed to take over your body until you lost complete control. It tasted of spices, both minty and sweet. It was soft, and powerful, and made you want to be submissive. The other was all teeth, and tongue, and passion. He tasted of the opposite of his salty clay. He tasted of sweetness, of anti-clay. No salt, all sugar. He fought for dominance. He dared you to overpower him.

It's ironic, isn't it? It's strange how easily they came together. One was the dominant one, and one was the submissive one. One was daring, the other was demanding. It was a match made in heaven. As if they were the molds made of God and Devil themselves.

People judged. Of course people judged. They snickered, and sneered, and hated. The lovers? One didn't give a damn. He honestly couldn't care less. Someone hated him? Well that was there problem. He had done nothing wrong, and as long as his lover was happy, he was content. The other? Oh he adored the attention. He ate it up like it was going out of style. When people pointed and laughed, he smiled and flashed them the finger. He would laugh at anyone who dared laugh at him. He would fight anyone who would dare to even look at his lover with a scorned face. If people wanted to judge him, then so be it. They both took it all in stride, one more so than the other.

That's what they loved, though. Each in different ways. One consumed public attention as if it were a necessity to life. His love just found pleasure in seeing him fight back against the general public.

They connected like no other couple could. Their fates matched beyond perfection, creating their own moldings of bombs and puppets.

But what exactly are they?

What were they that made them connect so well?

They were clashing forces of nature.

They were the difference between destruction and complete demolition.

They were the representation of everything good, and everything evil.

They were artists with polar views.

They were best friends that defied all rules of relationships.

They were lovers held down by no bonds.

They were Sasori and Deidara.