Fandom: Invader Zim
Title: Volere-to want
Summary: He wants to comfort him, wants to be with him. Wants him. They were bestest friends, after all.
Character(s): Accidental KAZR. I'm serious. Was supposed to be KAZF.
Rating: PG
A/n: After a year of not writing anything, it's incredibly odd to post again. But, I'm back, happy to say, with a new, more cynical attitude and far more superior writing skills than before (thank god for that)! Anyway, this fic is partially inspired by a conversation with my Beta (ily, Murf) and listening to Muse (ily Matthew Bellamy). A marathon of IZ also helped stir the muses.
Tl;dr. Enjoy the fic!
-O-O-O-
He finds him and his unnaturally always-happy face seems to glow with glee. His feet carry him to the other, a mad dash through space and air. There is a 'thud'. A clash of bodies land on the floor; limbs tangled in a heap of flesh and bone on the concrete.
He's atop a warm body and he finds himself filled with butterflies and pleasantness. He can't help but snuggle further into the warmth, greedy for more. In his selfishness, he ignores the desperate squirms and indignant yells of his captive.
Abruptly, the warmth is gone. He feels despair fill him. He needs that warmth, craves it like a dying man craves salvation. But, instead he is met with the feeling of too-hot sidewalk on his back. He whimpers, wishing even more that the warmth would return.
He's in pain, but he ignores it, focusing more on the floating clouds in the sky, his unwavering smile still plastered on his face. He likes the clouds. He likes them a lot. He likes to watch them float and dance lazily throughout the sky. It's a fascination he cannot comprehend, but does not question.
The clouds disappear, replaced with the green face of his pursuit. His line of thought is broken, so focused on that face that his entire self seems to disappear. Instead, his mind is instantly filled with him. How much he loves him, how much he needs him, how much his entire existence depends on him. Briefly, he wonders if he likes the clouds as much as he does, then files the thought in the back of his mind for later.
Lavender eyes are glowering at him, the type of glare that would have many cowering; the type that inspired fraises like, 'If looks could kill.' They don't bother him; not in the way that they should. He's drawn to them. He is the moth and the pretty lavender is his flame. Lavender is his not his most favorite color, no. But, right now, within his racing thoughts, he can find no other color that is more beautiful or captivating. He finds it absolutely breathtaking.
He watches as a scowl begins to form on the green features. He's saddened slightly by this, but he does not show it. He doesn't like expressions like that; especially on one with such pretty, captivating features.
"Do not touch Zim, you filthy human."
The words are hissed, lowly and so full of venom that he shivers slightly. He detects a slightly not-so-subtle threat beneath the heated words. He wonders why that is. Shouldn't he be happy to see him? They were bestest friends, after all.
He ponders if the other is having a bad day. He feels sympathy edge into his body. Those days were rare for him, so happy and care-free that nothing rarely bothered him. However, when they did, the entire world seemed to disappear and emptiness and dissolution became his silent comfort.
Since meeting his best friend, those days have become almost none-existent, something that he was eternally grateful for.
He wants to comfort him, wants to cradle him in warmth and protection,wants to take him away from whatever badness that was troubling him.
Before he can gather himself, the figure is gone, the sound of 'click-click' signally a departure. He panics, not wanting the other to leave; not wanting him away from him for even a moment. His presence was his lifeforce-without it, he would die.
He feels a bump forming on his head. A headache was slowly developing on the edges of his mind. He winces in pain, grabbing his head, feeling around for the bump. He yelps when he finds it.
He fights though the pain, to catch up with the other. He's practically running to him, his breath coming in short puffs of air. The motions make his head throb even more. He doesn't mind it so much. Minor discomfort was a small price to pay in order to reach his prize. He would sacrifice anything just to be able to look at him, anyway.
When he's at his side, he can't help but lace his fingers with the other. The feeling of rubber on skin is electric, and he wonders what skin on skin would feel like. An ever-so-pleasant chill races down his spine, pooling at the pit of his stomach.
The trapped hand wiggles, trying to break free. He tries not to notice. He's too focused on his mission of comfort.
"Hey Zim, are you feeling okay today? You gave me a pretty nasty bump back there." His energy is boundless and he finds himself skipping slightly as he synchronizes step with him. His curly hair decides in that moment to obscure his vision. A quick puff of air solves his problem.
The hand entrapped in his tightens. He winces. The grip is vice-like; painful. He knows if he leaves it where it is for any longer, it would most likely break. Quickly, he snatches it away, cradling it near his chest. He doesn't notice the smirk of victory on the other's face.
He doesn't give up, though. The need to comfort is stronger now. The fact that he had tried to break his hand just solidified his suspicions that something was wrong.
But, he doesn't attempt to pry for information again. Part of being a bestest friend was knowing boundaries, after all.
Instead, he continues to walk beside the other, no longer bounding with endless energy, but still as bubbly happy as ever.
For a while, there's silence. The sounds of nature seem to fade away. He likes those sounds, but, for now, he doesn't mind. The silence allows him to think, allows him to search for something to talk about, something that he could focus on.
He recalls his thoughts from earlier.
"Do you like clouds?"
There is a faint growl from next to him.
"Well, I do. They're just so fluffy and cool! Sometimes, you can even see shapes," he pauses, searching the sky, "See, that one looks like a squirrel!"
He hears a snarl, like an angry cat. He looks to the other, noticing his tense body and angry, curled fists. He must be having a really bad day.
"Hey, do you wanna go do something together? We could go to the park or maybe the circus. You'd love it there!"
The tenseness of the other seems to increase. He doesn't answer.
"Zim?"
The other whirls around, stomping up to him. He should feel frightened at such an aggressive approach, but he doesn't. He's too elated at have the other so close to him, to feel that warmth once again. He's grinning like a madman, and loving every moment of it.
Then, in one swift moment, the other draws his fist back. He doesn't noticed, too focused on those lavender eyes. So pretty.
He's torn from the site, when the fist connects with his face. He crumples to the sidewalk, feeling the sting of his cheek in every fiber of his being. Then, he hears the fast echo of the other's boots swiftly clicking away from him.
He should feel betrayed. After all, this is the third time his so called bestest friend had hurt him. However, the only thing that runs through his mind is, 'His day must be going really badly.'
Quickly, he gets up, running after the other, more intent than ever on helping his friend. After all, that's what bestest friends were for.
-O-O-O-
A/n: Yeah. I have no idea why none of the characters are mentioned by name in the narrative. That's just how the muse wanted it, and I am a slave to my muse. Zim is also strangely silent. I hope this isn't too confusing to anyone.