He wasn't being that grouchy tonight; it was an odd, tangible feeling hanging in the air. He was only mildly cursing at the stubborn VCR, and all that plastic-on-plastic banging was a lot more controlled than what it would have been had he been in his usual rancorous mood.

He was nervous; she could smell it in the sweet candy red showing through the cold concrete and in the constantly ruffled black licorice of his hair. She wasn't going to comment on it; no, that'd only set him on a rampage, and she'd grown to like the jumpier, quieter side of him; for now, she'd let him believe that the dark of his respite block could obscure the colors.

Not that there were many in his block to begin with—much like his hive back on Alternia, everything was a slight variation of the same shade of grey; she knew why he had first started using such an icky color, the very real possibility of being culled in his own hive had been an ever looming threat, but here in the medium, stuck on this gog-forsaken meteor, everyone knew his secret to some extent, either the actual color of the blood that ran through his veins or simply that his slot in the hemospectrum could be described as: N/A. And even when his blood color became the worst kept secret in all of history, he kept the grey; she figured it was some sort of security blanket for him, kept him within the limits of his special brand of sanity. She was going to break him of it that it killed her.

Just not right now, partly because he'd ordered her to "sit right the fuck there and don't fucking touch anything," mostly because she was too entertained with Pyralsprite in her lap and listening to him argue with his outdated equipment.

"Another one of your crappy romcoms?" Keep completely silent? What was that? Most likely one of those concepts Terezi Pyrope never cared enough to learn.

"Shut up. This is a classic." The VCR just wasn't having it though, and the plastic-on-plastic fight continues; it was funny how even an inanimate object knew how puke worthy Karkat's movies were.

Though, finally, after several choice words and a rough sounding "clank", the old box of gears begrudgingly gave in, whirring quietly to itself in its corner as if pouting that it actually had to run such a monstrosity.

She didn't dare ask what gog awful romcom he'd chosen; they were all varying degrees of awful anyways. But she was going to sit there and take the torture; it had been she, after all, who insisted on movie night.

His side was rather comfortable, she decided, and he didn't make much of a protest when she buried herself there; if the movie was that bad, she could just fall asleep. Or poke fun at him. Yeah, that was good.

She really tried to be good and watch his sucky movie—from what she could smell, it was as sappy and awful as she thought it would be—but after he decreed no screen licking, her interest in it waned. Pyralsprite, she believed, or, at least, she liked to pretend she did, was getting bored and needed some popcorn. That made him mad—she knew it would but didn't really care—and he started yelling something about "showing a little fucking respect" for his movies and to stop feeding her "gog-damned stuffed dinosaur" popcorn.

"Dragon," she corrected him, but he was too livid to give a flying fuck. He moved to snatch the toy away but she held it out of his nubby little reach. From there, and neither really knew how it happened, his respite block became a fighting ring, the two combatants rolling and tossing each other across the floor, movie completely forgotten.

She was faster, she was stronger, she was more ruthless, and he knew it. If he hadn't cried "uncle" she would have done much worse than pin him down and sit on his chest. It would have been much, much worse. But now he couldn't breathe with her weight over his lungs.

"Get off," he grumbled, trying to wiggle his way out.

She laughed, a sinister, dark sounding kind of cackle that send shivers through him. His fear smelled sweet like the red under his skin when she flashed him her signature smile and trapped his wrists to the floor.

"Hehehe." Maybe she was going crazy—well, crazier—or maybe she was just feeling merciful, because of all the awful, terrible things she could have done to him, she planted a small peck on his cheek, the cherry candy floating around her making her head spin, and leaned her forehead against his. "Silly Nubby."

He was still for a moment, trying to gather up what was left of his pride and manhood, no doubt. "G-get off," he managed to stutter in a whisper about a minute later.

Her response did not please her, and Lady Justice was deciding that mercy didn't really suit her, but the suddenly alive computer in her glasses distracted her from her duty to punish the guilty; someone was pestering her, and judging from the color hitting her nose, she knew this was not going to end well.

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC] at 8:09

TG: yo rezi

TG: you free to go chalk it up some more

TG: mayor is getting kinda antsy about can town

Maybe he couldn't see it? Maybe she could just ignore Dave and pretend it never happened?

No, she couldn't, she knew it when the cherries drained from his cheeks, when she could smell that his lemon yellow eyes glued themselves to the floor.

"Get off." He wasn't playing around anymore, he wasn't even yelling. He was just…cold.

"Karkat—"

"I said get off!" He caught her with her guard down, shoved her onto the floor and started storming off in a fashion that was ever so much not Karkat; he didn't stomp, didn't scream, didn't so much as grunt. He just walked away. It was scary, just knowing how hurt he was.

"Karkat!" She couldn't smell him anymore, all of the colors were the same without the red in his cheeks. Where had he gone? He'd stopped in a mid-step at her call, but hadn't even given her his voice to follow.

TG: terez

TG: you coming

"Just—just go."

Ah, there he was. "But—"

"Why don't you go already? Strider is fucking waiting for you! Just go be stupid nookfucking artists or whatever and leave me alone!"

She reached for his shirt, but he stomped away on the transportalizer pad; the air pinged and wiggled around her in a way that made her want to sneeze.

TG: so i guess youre not coming

GC: SORRY

GC: K4RK4T 1S B31NG D1FF1CULT

GC: M4YB3 SOM3 OTH3R T1M3

TG: thats cool

She was going to wait by the pad, glasses gone to wait patiently on a nearby table, arms crossed across her sign, until he came rampaging back in because he realized how stupid he was. It wouldn't take long.

The pad pinged, the air shivered, and she almost sneezed some twenty-eight and one half seconds later.

"You know what, this is my respite block; you get out!"

He probably would have gone on some more, probably had an entire rant ready for her; she wasn't in the mood to hear any of it.

She grabbed handfuls of his shirt, pulled him to her, and crashed her lips against his.

She wasn't expecting a fight, knew that his funny little brain couldn't present one in a situation like this even if it wanted to. Hell, her thoughts were spinning fast enough to make her dizzy. When colors tasted this amazing, who needed brain function? Or air, for that matter?

Maybe it was a few seconds, a few minutes, or a few centuries, but something in her realized that air was actually pretty nice and that inhaling some just might be a good idea if she wanted to live another day.

The clung to each other, both trying to refill their lungs and reboot their thinkpans. She hadn't taken notice when his arms moved around her waist or when hers trapped him against her; such a heated moment can do that kind of thing to a troll's awareness; there were both slowly discovering the liked being this close, that by some miracle two pieces from separate puzzles fit nicely with the other.

"What," he breathed, heavy, and—dare she assume such a thing—overflowingly happy, "in the name of the good mother grub was that?"

She cackled, though not one of cruel, devious origins, but taken from the foundations of pity and that queer human emotion that starts with "l".

"You're such a silly Nubby."

"But…I thought…you and that insufferably prick—"

"Hehehe. Dave and I are way paler than that, Karkles."

Something in him relaxed, like someone undid a few knots here and there.

"I told you I hate that name," he mumbled, but it seemed only for keeping up appearances; gog forbid anyone, even his own matesprit, see him in anything but his classic rage mode, see him be happy.

"But it's so adorable!"

"I am not adorable. I am a ferocious, bloodthirsty leader troll."

"I'm sure we've settled this issue before. You are adorabloodthirsty."

All was quiet for a long, long time; the movie, long forgotten and abandoned, played out the final scene in the background, the freaking cheesiest, sappiest song of a happily ever after humming somewhere off in another world that didn't matter.

He pecked her forehead quickly, then buried his face in her hair. The scent of candy hanging in the air was thick and sweet, brimming with—oh, what was that l word the humans used? Well, whatever it was, he sure reeked of it and it was simply intoxicating.

"Shut up."