Dib didn't understand what this 'love' thing had to do with anything. NO prior knowledge as to the uses of the emotion, nor was he certain exactly what it was. Sure, he had some small clue. After all it was talked about, sung about and written about, shoved into his everyday life. But, despite the normalcy it seemed messy, complicated, and over all a worthless thing to feel.
Unfortunately for Dib, his latest assignment at the establishment of skool was to write a whole essay about the subject. 'What is Love to you?'
The very question had him groaning in confusion. It was extremely frustrating to look down at the blank piece of paper and have no idea what to write.
The deadline was fast approaching and the boy turned to the one eh, person who might be of any help and who may have understood him better than anyone else on Earth.
Zim was half on the bed, half off of it, antenna brushing across the cold floor as he fussed around with an old invention of his he'd found in the hazard that was Dib's room. The human watched, a little dryly, when the Invader cursed, fumbling with bare claws around the broken machinery. The gloves had been thrown somewhere, most likely never to be seen again, a half an hour before in the midst of their latest bout of passion.
"Zim…?" Dib asked, arms wrapped around his pale, knobby knees, head on top of them and amber eyes alert to the irken's every movement.
"Yes, filthy-dirt-child?" Zim responded, brows furrowed, tongue sticking out, concentrating on the old ray gun. Dib rolled his eyes at the nickname. They had been sleeping together for 5 months, two weeks and four days now but, the insults never stopped.
"Think of better pet names, moron. Have you finished the essay for English yet?"
"Mmm…You mean the one about the stoopid lurve thingy?"
That was a new way of putting it, but expected of the irken. "Yeah."
"Of course not. Zim knows not of these feelings. I'll write pure dookie and most likely get an 'A'."
Dib raised an eyebrow. It was sadly true however; he did not have Zim's crazy luck and would get an 'F' for sure if there was no real effort put into it. He ran a fore finger along the smooth expanse of Zim's naked stomach, admiring the way the jade skin reflected light that bled through his tightly shut blinds.
"Very possible. But, you know you only get such good grades because they feel sorry for you. I mean just look at you. Shortness and that horrible skin condit—OW!" The heavy metal invention was brought down over the top of Dib's large head. Glaring at Zim, Dib rubbed the aching sore.
Ignoring the glower, he went right back to tinkering with his weapon. "Why not write about Zim? You are very fond of me after all." But, then again who wasn't fond of the amazing Zim?
Dib opened his mouth to make a smart ass comment, and then snapped it shut quickly at the suggestion. Why not write about the irken? There was plenty to say. It would be very easy to write a full blown essay about the object of his obsession.
So, kicking the half naked alien out of his house, much to Zim's distaste (he promised vengeance), he set to work on his much dreaded writing assignment, hoping it would be done by the next day.
OoO
, the old hag, made them stand and read the essays aloud. Watching each person spill their words to a symphony of laughter and cynical snickers. It made Dib sink farther and farther into his seat, face getting paler when a few people aside from him remained.
He could NOT read this thing aloud. Especially not in front of Zim.
This would, without a doubt, shove them both kicking and screaming out of the closet, and reveal more about their relationship than Dib was willing to share with anyone let alone an entire class.
Zim stood up and recited his essay in an extremely epic manner and as was predicated, it was pure crap; a mix of random quotes, sappy lyrics and poems all stolen of course.
"Dib your turn." The teacher hissed, grey steel eyes glaring into the teen's very soul. Gulping, he stood shakily with the paper clutched in sweaty, dirty hands. His voice came out husky, nervous, dropping low into a baritone.
"Love is victorious gasping remarks, jagged pink teeth, magenta eyes glittering in the evening stars, reflecting the moon.
It's bleeding together on the unforgiving ground, laughing hysterically at the pain inside, out. The sorrow and obsession that sets in when we're apart.
Love does not describe many failed attempts at death, the smell of burning oil, pheromones in the humid, electric air. Sweet copper azure life blood on my tongue. Sweating in the vicious, never ending summer nights, while crickets chirp our song.
Fighting about nothing and about everything we know. Bickering nonsensically because it's normal.
I-it's h-him being the one to give in, to place his arm around me, quivering in fear as we sat near that lake. It was the realization that we needed no one but each other. The hatred, the lust, the war was moot in that moment.
Reluctant comfort and uneasy laughter. The truce we gripped, silently praying, hoping it stayed.
It was the brushing of lips, heat a magnet, filling my soul, my insides with the heady knowledge; he wants me too.
It's his failures, rants that go on for days afterwards, until something new catches his eye. Its shivers, silent screams at dawn. It's his feet that can't quite reach the floor, an arrogant toothy grin, terrible grammar.
My loyalty, distracted by everything he does, tongue lolling out as he works a math problem. The stupid fluttery feeling I didn't know was real, as the touches continue.
It's his irrationality, insane logic, incredible strength, spider like movements. Several limbs holding me close, the future of all mankind, plans to destroy the world, video calls at 4 in the morning, immature insults, the insignia of his people on my back, scars that will never fade, seeing his trust grow slowly, needy gestures, misconceptions, jealousy, and finding the beat together.
His laughter in my ear, musical as the yells, his pants of passion. My name a curse, a plea, a prayer on jade lips, slithering off an alien tongue.
It's talking in whispers at midnight so my father doesn't hear, seeing the small, lean body encased in my shirt, rubbing sleepy eyes. I want him. I want you. But,I hate you.
I need to kill you and make you all mine. Wrap you in my arms, possess all that anger, all that heat and fire. I don't know what love is…but if it's anything like this…then I think I love you, Space-boy."