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Being punched or beaten or stabbed is…not the way he likes to spend an afternoon, but not exactly intolerable, even if Black*Star’s naked jealousy is embarrassing now and then. He once broke his right arm in a duel and asked Black*Star to break his left. Black*Star is a good friend.
Temperature is…well. He knows fire is dangerous, feels hot and cold sometimes–in quick succession, even! He blows on soup and some kinds of drinks (mostly to watch the steam) and likes to watch his breath when there is snow. But temperature is…not...
Um.
It’s probably not even a real thing, temperature. Rather, it seems like a complex web of things that people are too lazy to put into proper words, so there, Liz. Sometimes in the desert just outside of the city he watches the sweat roll down Liz and Patty’s jawlines and thinks of his terror when images of wrongness, of his own failure won’t leave his head. But he forgets, sometimes. (In the interest of fairness, Liz would say “usually.”) He just tilts his chin in a dignified (Liz would say “obnoxious”) way when the subject of temperature is broached.