Itâs a funny thing, the quiet just after a fight. Not funny as in amusing or laughable. But the bizarre type of funny. The void in the air is choking, nearly suffocating, as if you were breathing ash rather than the normal mixture of oxygen and other random gases. Even when the other person had stormed out, denying you their presence in the midst of the smog, it was just as unbearable. And yet, Arthur Kirkland found the silence to be almost comfortable now, as if the night wasnât quite complete without it.      Â
   The Brit was in his armchair, staring down at the pages of one of the many novels that graced his library. He wasnât quite sure which one; he hadnât turned the page in over an hour. No, the book was just another mechanism, a way to pull back from the stream of raised voices to the pitiful silence that now fell over the house. At least, that had been his intention when he snatched it off the shelve and flipped to a random page, effectively cutting off whatever insult hisâŚ. lover?âŚ.was attempting to spit at him.  It was like this most nights, usually just after dinner, as if the evening meal was the signal for all of their problems to start pouring out at once. And it always ended the same way. Sometimes, Arthur snapped first, normally flopping a bit less gracefully than usual into whatever seat was nearest to him. Others, well, he watched the retreating figure of the troll that had been staying with him for nearly a year. Arthur sighed, closing the book and gently placing it on the floor beside his chair. He ran a hand through is messy blond hair, mentally reminding himself to have the frog cut it again. He blinked slowly, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, half-glaring at the wall beside him. He was never quite sure how he felt during these moments, probably somewhere between pissed off and disappointed. But, at the same time, relaxed. It just felt needed, like it was the proper way to spend the evening, hating each other. He had talked with Kanaya about it, mostly because he wasnât sure any of the other countries would quite understand what he was even talking about. It seemed, though, the feeling was perfectly normal for trolls. Something about quadrants and hate and procreation. Needless to say, Arthur still had no idea what was going on. Still, despite whatever better judgement he had, he agreed to go along with it.
  A crash from the kitchen snapped his attention out of the silence, though. He knew he shouldnât care, it would upset the delicate balance of the evening, but raising colonies had taught the British representative one thing, crashes were never left unattended. His feet carried him towards the sound on their own accord, robbing him of his breath as he raced down the hall. He rounded the corner fast, almost surprised to find a fully-grown troll in the place of the small colony his experience had trained him to look for. A slew of curses fell from Karkatâs mouth, his finger turning purplish-red where it had contacted the kettle, the offending item now spilling its contents across the tile floor.
  âStupid fucking Earth kettle with stupid fucking boiling water--!" the troll seethed, glaring at it.
  âDonât just bloody stand there, you great pillock!â Arthur yelled, as his feet raced him over. He grabbed a dish towel from the counter, wrapping it around the handle as he righted the pot, placing it back on the stove. âYouâll set the house ablaze!â
  âIt's your own damn fault, Kirkland!â
  "And just how is it my fault? I wasnât even in here!â
  âIf you hadn't gotten so pissed off over nothing, I wouldn't be in here trying to make you fucking tea as a fucking peace offering! Because apparently, you humans need to be reminded of affection all the goddamn time-!â
  Arthur paused, half-bent as he tried to wipe up the puddle in the floor.
  âYou.. Were trying to make tea?â
  âNo shit, asshole. I literally just fucking said that I was."
  âWhy didnât you ask for help, then?â
  âI didn't need it!"
  Arthur crossed his arms, gesturing towards the mess. âObviously.â
  Karkat growled, his mouth pulling back to show the sharp fangs that Arthur had felt puncture his skin far too many times not to notice the small shot of electricity running up his spine. The Brit shook his head, stepping over the puddle.
  âGive me your handâ
  âWhat?"
  âJust. Give me your hand.â
  The troll looked him over; clutching his finger briefly before placing his hand palm up in the Britâs awaiting one. Arthur turned it over in his own, examining the burn briefly before pulling the didget up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it. At this, Karkat's face turned a familiar shade of bright, cherry red.
  âWhat the fuck are you doing-!?â
  âShut up, or I bite it offâ He warned.
  His eyes were lidded as he ran his tongue gently across the damaged surface, trying for once not to hurt the other. Karkat had to admit, at least to himself, it felt good. Not as good as being the one doing the nibbling, but maybe a little enjoyable every once in a while. Not that he would ever let the country even suspect that. He waited not so patiently for the other to finish whatever the hell the delectable torture was, spikes of light pain shooting up his arm ever now and then, making him squirm just a bit. He all but grabbed Arthurâs collar, jerking his hand out of the otherâs mouth just in time to connect their lips. The kiss was harsh, bitter even, as Karkat nibbled none too gently on his kismesiss' bottom lip.
  âWhat.. The fuck.. Was that for..?" Karkat muttered in between breathes, trying to ignore the hand that was brushing through his hair, skimming dangerously close to his horns.
  âConsider it a peace offering.â
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