I had a long break from writing when I hit burn out recently and it felt good to get back on track with fics. I also published a book in that time! It was immensely fun to actually put one of my original stories to print after so many years of being too nervous to actually… put it to print lmao BUT boi howdy what a fun experience so far (if anyone is interested, just hmu and I'll provide a link to it). Now, without further ado~!
Enjoy!
Part 66: Feelings
A grey sky and the very distant rumble of thunder was the first thing Zim noticed when he walked back into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. His antennae sagged alongside his shoulders as he sighed, looking begrudgingly out the front window, and dropped the bowl onto the table. Some popcorn bounced out onto the table. Gir snatched them up instantly to stuff into his mouth like a squirrel. Gaz glanced up out the window as the first drops of rain hit the glass. She hummed disapprovingly, glancing at Zim.
"What?" he asked, dropping down at the opposite end of the table. He slid a bowl of sugar in front of himself, dipping a piece of popcorn in.
"You're good?" Gaz asked. Zim flit his gaze out the window a moment before snatching the popcorn with his tongue. Gaz smirked, pausing her game to snatch a few pieces herself.
"I am fine. I dislike the thunder, but the sound of the rain is…" Zim furrowed his brow a bit, his antennae flicking, and he took a few more popcorn pieces to roll in the sugar before he finally spoke again. "It's not bad."
"What, can't describe it?"
"I'm not sure quite what words would work," Zim admits. "Couldn't quite describe it correctly to Dib, either."
Gaz kicked her feet up on the table. "Eh, you might figure it out," she says. She paused and flicked her game off, turning her head to the hall. "HURRY UP!"
"I have to finish before noon, just relax!" Dib shouted back. Zim laughed, tossing a popcorn up to catch with his tongue.
"This is why you finish them early!" he shouted down the hall. He heard Dib's rolling chair and caught sight of his hand through the door, flipping him off. "Could have been done days ago!"
"Shut up! I don't have a super-computer on my back to speed-write it for me!"
"Not yet," Zim corrected. He shot his arm out to catch Gir before he could dive headfirst into the bowl. Gir pouted, falling onto the table. Gaz whistled. Gir turned to her, hopping up with a smile. She tossed him popcorn pieces one by one to catch in his mouth.
"DONE!" Dib shouted.
A crack of lightning hit and the lights cut out. Zim and Gaz sat a moment.
"NOOOO!"
Gaz started laughing, rolling on the couch.
"FUCK!"
"He should have done it sooner," Zim said coyly. Dib came crashing through the hallway.
"Zim I need you to be my battery!"
"Screw off! You should have done it days ago anyway!"
"Just for a minute! You can do that!" Dib pleaded. Zim shot him an unimpressed look. "Okay, fine, how about the lab? It has power right?"
"No. My labs are not for your measly grades. Manage your time better."
"Oh, c'mon! It's just for a minute!" Dib wailed.
"Suffer," Zim shot back, popping another piece of popcorn in his mouth. He spat it out shortly after. "EUGH! No sugar, gross."
"Suffer," Dib seethed back. He fell onto the couch with a groan. "I didn't even get to upload it…"
"Just tell him the power went out, he might let it slide," Gaz said. Dib deflated further into the cushions.
"He'll fail me. My perfect grades…" Dib mimicked a puff of smoke with his hands, complete with sound effect. "…gone."
"Drama Queen."
"Hack the computers. Problem solved," Zim said smugly. Dib shot him a glare.
"I'm not cheating. I earn my genius recognition," Dib shot back, a note of disdain in his voice. Zim smirked down at him.
"I have nothing to prove to anyone," Zim retorted. Dib whipped his arm around and threw a pillow square at Zim's head. Zim didn't even bother to dodge, letting the pillow smack him clean in the face and fall into his lap. Gir took up the spot without a moment's hesitation.
"Well," Gaz says, standing and kicking Dib on her way past to the hall closet, "If we're stuck here with nothing else to do, I have an idea."
"Besides your Game Slave?" Zim asked with a raised brow.
"The battery doesn't self-recharge," Gaz said darkly, hauntingly. She let it hang in the air a second before whipping the closet door open and pulling out one of the board games. "So, I'll just whoop your asses in Scrabble instead."
"In what?" Zim asked. Dib shot up from the couch, already beaming.
"HELL YES!" he cheered.
Zim looked at him quizzically, an antenna flicking. Gir sat up, looking at the two siblings curiously as they moved things on the table to set up. Zim would admit, he hadn't paid much attention to the board games Dib insisted on bringing into the house. They hadn't touched them, and when Zim had brought it up over dinner and TV Dib had simply said 'for a rainy day'. And Zim groaned as he looked out at the actual rain.
The board was set up in seconds, with Gaz fishing her tiles out first before handing the bag off to Dib. Dib plopped down on the same side of the coffee table as Gaz, sandwiched between the couch and table, tilting his small tile holder in time with Gaz so they couldn't see their tiles. He held up the baggie in Zim's face, wiggling it, the tiles making clattering noise in the bag.
"Pick seven," he says. Zim reaches and Dib holds the bag out of reach for a moment longer. "No looking until they're picked, and we can't see them."
Zim stared a moment before snatching the bag and laying his tiles onto the holder. Just random letters.
Dib took the bag back, setting it to the side. "Okay, so you can make any word you want, just has to exist, and when you use up the tiles you replace them without looking at what you pick. There are two blank tiles—those are whatever letter you want them to be. They're basically cheat-y filler tiles. The goal is to get the most points by the time we can't play anymore."
"So, until we can't form words with our tiles?" Zim clarifies. Dib nodded and Zim looked at the words he could form, the list popping into his head almost instantaneously. "Alright."
"Great! Gaz? You wanna go first? Then I will and he can see from two people how it goes before going himself."
"I can understand simple instructions," Zim deadpans. Gaz was already laying out the word.
"You have to build off what's already laid down, at least one letter has to be used off an already laid down word," Gaz explained. Zim looked at what she'd laid down.
'ASS' stared back at him and he smirked. Dib groaned, running his hand down his face.
"Why do you do this every time?" he asks exhaustedly. Gaz wrote down her score on a spare notepad Zim hadn't bothered to notice prior.
"Swear words aren't exempt and I always get those letters."
It was hard to argue with that. Dib simply laid another 'S' down, forming 'SASS'.
Two and a half hours later, Zim was running out of options with what he could lay down. Each time one of the siblings set down a word he was left reassembling the list in his head. He was mercifully keeping to English, unsure exactly how fluent either sibling was in other Earth languages, and that decision was biting him in the rear. Gir had abandoned them long ago to chase a laser that Computer had started to use from the ceiling to keep the robot from eating the tiles. The sound of metal feet on the floor had been drowned out from Zim's consciousness by this point—nothing but a dull thrum of annoyance in the background. The shrill screams were still very much present when they hit, however.
Zim finally reached a decision after several moments and laid down a word. Gaz and Dib stared at it for a long moment before finally Dib pointed at it accusingly.
"That is not a word."
"It is."
"It isn't English."
"It… technically is," Zim defended, monotone. He and Dib stared at one another for several moments until finally Gaz leaned back.
"You can't use Irken words translated to English," she says. Zim broke away from staring at Dib to point down at the board.
"It is in English, however! Be grateful I'm being so merciful!"
"I'd be grateful if you kissed my a—"
"You can't anyway, there aren't enough Z's in the bag!" Dib shouted, waving the bag in Zim's face.
The few tiles left could barely be heard inside. Zim growled lowly and snatched it away. He promptly threw it across the room. Gaz watched it soar high and land right in Gir's mouth. Dib looked on in horror.
"Not again…" he whined.
"I'm getting food," Gaz said, getting up and stretching. "Let me know when you get a proper word down, bug."
"Not a bug," Zim grumbled as she passed, scrutinizing his own tile set. "This is torture."
"This is human board games," Dib says.
"This is fun to you," Zim says hauntingly.
Dib snorted, smacking his hand on the table a little. "It's just scrabble!"
"Lies. This is mental warfare," Zim said seriously, finally laying out a word by the time Gaz had returned with another bowl of popcorn.
"Oh, god, finally," she said, falling back into place at her corner.
She shoved the sugar towards Zim along with another, smaller bowl. He took the hint, scooping popcorn into the bowl without looking at the main bowl to do so, and dumping sugar in that, scrutinizing the board. Gir wandered up too close to Zim, within reach, and he grabbed the robot. He turned Gir upside down and shook him until the bag of tiles spilled out and then tossed him aside to run as he pleased.
"Do not hand me that," Gaz ordered. "Just give me tiles."
Zim smirked, fishing for random tiles to dump into her hand. Luckily for his own skin, they weren't wet with anything else that might have been in Gir's storage. He paused and then dumped the contents out. Three tiles.
"HA! Last three, bitches! They are mine!"
Gaz snatched them up.
"Just gotta make a word out of them on your next turn," Dib teased. Gaz glowered at him.
"I can do it."
"Uh-huh," Dib laid out most of his tiles, left with one on his stand. Zim grimaced, his antennae flicking to the side. "Annoyed?"
"Infuriatingly."
"Just make one word, that's all."
"Stop teasing the poor bug, it's his first game," Gaz said.
"Says you!"
"I'm gonna win."
"Done," Zim cut in. Dib looked down at the board and froze. He looked at Zim's tile holder. It sat empty, taunting him. Gaz stared at it blankly. She didn't even blink. She turned slowly to Zim, surprised he wasn't actively sweating though he looked like he would if he could.
"I had one word left."
"…As did I."
"You bastard."
"Bite me," Zim said reflexively. Gaz bloomed red and swatted him upside the head. "AH! That was a mistake!"
"Damn right it was!"
"Please don't kill my roommate," Dib pleaded, clearing the board. Gaz huffed, deflating into the couch. Her pocket buzzed. She lifted her phone out, scrutinizing it as Dib set up for a new game. She kicked the table lightly to get his attention.
"I'm headed out."
Zim looked up at her from his point on the floor with, and she could not believe it, puppy dog eyes. Gaz turned on her heel towards Dib.
"Did you teach him that?!" she asks. Dib was pointedly looking away from her. "You're both bastards."
"Why do you have to leave? It's raining," Zim hissed. Legitimately hissed. Gaz cocked an eyebrow at him, twirling her phone so he could see the messages. "…BabaGirl? Who the Irk is that?"
"A friend, dumbass," Gaz says, stepping over him. He refrained from hitting her legs away, knowing she'd kick him if he did.
"Who is she referring to as the 'cutie'?" Zim shoots after her. Gaz ignored him, snatching her coat on her way out as a car horn honked. "They're outside?!"
"What? You got a legit address now, don't be sour!" Gaz shouted, slamming the door. Zim deflated on the floor with a heavy sigh.
"We couldn't keep this place secret," Dib laughed. He started to clear the table. Zim watched him a moment before turning away.
Swallowing any pride or any feelings of wanting to bolt away and forget the thought of bravery was like trying to swallow rocks. Not a feat he was incapable of, but unpleasant all the same. Zim fought back a growl and grit his teeth. In all the years he'd been on Earth, Dib seemed to be the one to most readily initiate contact… when both were awake.
Zim hated it, but he was aware that he was still a stranger to touch. In the very least, consistent touch. He could feel the tugging in his squiggly-spooch with a burning sensation to get closer even as Dib passed him to grab a stray tile. He couldn't shake the sensation. It was uncommon on Irk, to indulge in anything gentle. Being part of a race that prioritized conquering over everything and who considered gentleness as a weakness forced those kinds of habits, he supposed. It was a distraction from one's duties. It was shameful. Or, more accurately, it was dangerous.
Yet, he felt the urge growing stronger every day. He knew the phrasing Dib would use to describe the entire scenario. Zim was in deep shit. Zim watched him as he put the board back, smiling with hardly a care left after his impromptu panic over the temporary death of his 4.0 grade average. Dib returned to the couch with a satisfied sigh. The thought of joining him on the couch and using him as a backrest snapped Zim back to reality and he sat up.
No. No, no, no. Stop that.
Actively engaging in most touch just wasn't something Irkens did. If it was, he'd have yanked Dova back and decked the asshole across the jaw within the first moments of their meeting.
Zim started to wonder if his PAK was against him when he started to remember letting Dib touch his bare hand when he'd asked to examine them. It was still something Zim wasn't sure why he'd done it. Under normal circumstances, if he weren't a Defective Irken, he'd have laughed at Dib's request and possibly even pushed him off the branch. He'd been close to doing that, at the time. As it stood, Zim just wanted to have the sensation of touch (that wasn't a punch to his gut or jaw) and refusing the blatantly open offer for it was something he couldn't let himself pass up. There had to be something about it that made humans seem so addicted to it.
He'd agreed to it before he'd realized what he'd done. And now they were roommates.
Funny how that happened.
Funny how it happened at all. Even Gir still had to tackle Zim some days just to get some kind of physical interaction out of him. Granted, Gir did it quite often and that was likely the only reason Zim was as accustomed to touch as he was. And The Computer had boycotted giving Gir baths after the butter incident.
Despite that, it always felt like he was doing something forbidden. Even just a little bit. It was something dangerous, wasn't it? Planets with alien species who were too 'touchy-feely' as Dib would describe it were unaware just how hard it would be for an Irken to successfully infiltrate them. Learning touch that wasn't for combat was… difficult. So, so difficult. Those planets were lucky. Lucky that smeets were only taught to fight, not comfort. Lucky that Irkens didn't share any tactile affection. Lucky that it was frowned upon. Lucky that it made it so much more difficult to infiltrate them.
And yet he wanted it so much.
The thought had his heart racing and his breath hitching, sometimes. He blamed the anxiety of being caught. It was so much easier when Dib initiated it—Zim knew for a fact it was welcomed when that happened. Just risking holding Dib's hand had been almost too much, and Zim was elated when Dib hadn't pulled away. Even Gaz initiated touch more than Zim did and she seemed almost as averse to it as Zim some days. If she was in a bad mood touching her was simply out of the question. Zim had learned that quickly. Dib, however, didn't seem to pull away from touch regardless of the situation. Even if they weren't sitting arm to arm, he sat close to Zim, just to give the option. Meanwhile, his PAK starts running diagnostics because of every imperceptible flinch when they touched him. Just the initial reaction. He enjoyed the hugs. Even if he started to purr in Dib's presence and he started to tease him.
The damn bastard.
Presently, Dib looked at Zim's hands as they scratched lightly into the table.
He wanted to hold them, rub his thumb on the back of Zim's palm, and caress his wrists. Zim had been preoccupied with the table for a few minutes now. His antennae were flicking in that way that they did when he couldn't resolve some problem in his head. Or, rather, PAK. His brow was scrunching up. Something was bugging him, and Dib doubted it was Gaz leaving. He looked at Zim's hands again.
Dib felt his heartbeat rising, it was a little harder to breathe, his brain was hazing out on him.
Am I really going to do this? He wondered absently. He knew the answer already. He was nothing if not brainlessly stubborn and determined once he set his mind to something.
Zim's antennae flicked, picking up on the increased heartbeat before him, and he glanced at Dib. Dib didn't move his eyes off his hands, even as Zim stopped scratching the table. He started tensing all over again. The sounds of the rain had started helping to keep his mind off things right up until the increasing beat of Dib's heart had drawn his attention. He was still staring down at Zim's hands, his face turning red.
Dib felt like if he didn't do it right then, he was going to chicken out and regret it. Even if he regretted doing it—he could tell himself he tried. Not that it was that much worse—Zim had initiated it the first time. Zim.
With that, Dib stretched his arm out, sliding his hand over Zim's. The glove was smooth enough, but it wasn't the same as feeling skin to skin. He slid one finger under the cuff of the glove. Zim's fingers curled in just slightly, scraping the wood again. Dib snapped his eyes up to see his face. Zim's face was starting to flush and his antennae were bending out to the side. Dib wasn't sure how to take that reaction—he'd never seen the antenna bend that direction before. He hadn't even been aware that they could. Were they on some axis? He'd have to remember to ask later because Zim was starting to look at him in utter confusion and concern.
"U-uh—" Dib started to pull his hand away. "S-sorry—"
Zim pushed his hand across the table to keep it under Dib's. Dib blinked at him. Zim looked away, to where Gir was trying to breakdance, his face flushed considerably. Dib couldn't believe it. He was feeling a mountain of things at once, unable to focus on just one, so he slid his fingers further into Zim's glove. He started caressing the back of his palm with his fingers, feeling the lizard-like skin. Zim's fingers curled in and Dib heard the beginnings of a purr. He let his hand trace up Zim's wrist and to his arm, under the baggy sleeve, to rub on the skin more.
It wasn't like when he'd first held Zim's hand. There were no claws to inspect. Nothing to ask a million questions about—including questions he hadn't even known he had and just never asked afterward. This felt more personal. Dib was actively just enjoying the sensation of the skin instead of taking mental notes on it. He wanted to take the glove off like Zim had allowed him to prior; but he didn't want to risk getting cut by the claws, either. Had he known about the venom in them, he wasn't sure he'd been so eager to risk turning Zim's hands over and over like he had. He felt goosebumps start to rise over Zim's skin and fought back a smug smile.
Zim's purring started to get louder. He closed his eyes, his antennae swaying low in motions that almost looked like the satisfied swish of a cat's tail. Each antennae swung back and forth, first towards and away from each other, in slow swings. Dib rubbed his thumb on Zim's forearm, feeling the skin warm up under his touch. He couldn't feel a heartbeat—he wasn't sure it would be felt the same way as with humans or if Irkens even had something like a heart—but he could feel the small vibrations of Zim's purring coursing through his petite frame. Honestly, if Dib wasn't aware of how strong Zim could be (he'd wanted to lift a fridge and Dib had caught him eyeing up cars before) he would think the alien was just so breakable. He chalked it up to the PAK and any other enhancements Irkens had put into themselves over the millennia.
He let his hand fall back down to Zim's wrist where he let his thumb start to rub there instead. He did feel something of a pulse there. However, it was overshadowed by the power of the purr that had gotten loud enough for Dib to hear over the rain. Zim suddenly shot up and moved around to the couch. He didn't take his hand away. He sat down, got comfortable, and leaned into Dib's shoulder. He let out a satisfied chirping noise, pulling his legs up to curl into Dib's side better. Dib got a silly idea in his head and, prepared for a punch to the gut, pulled Zim's arm up and over his chest with his other hand. He leaned them both back onto the cough, bending his other arm around Zim's shoulders to pin him to his chest. Zim had given him a confused whine at first, but as soon as they were laying down and Dib was back to rubbing the back of Zim's palm under his glove he was back to purring.
It was weird to have someone as hyperactive or alert as Zim being so complacent. His antennae had drooped—not in the way they would when Zim was sad or upset; but in a softer angle that wasn't as flat against his skull—and he was curled up against Dib's side. Dib doubted that his legs being pinned between them was that comfortable. Confirmation of the thought came when Zim gave a brief and gruff sigh before he just rested his legs over Dib's lap. He was practically laying on top of him at this point.
Dib snickered, pulling Zim's arm around so that he could have Zim laying on him chest to chest instead. It was much more comfortable. Zim's head was resting at his collarbone, which afforded Dib a view of the ceiling, but he didn't need to see much. This was like having a giant cat snuggling on top of him. He'd be out for a nap in no time. The purring was vibrating his own ribcage. As Dib held his hand, he felt the tip of one of Zim's antennae tap his chin once, twice, and then slid along his jaw as it began to sway again. He liked it. It was a rougher texture than someone's finger doing the same, but it felt nice.
If Dib didn't know any better, he'd say Zim was about as touch starved as he was. He did know it; he just knew not to say it around the Irken. At best he'd get adamant denials.
He was counting out the ways he could try and make up those missed points on his homework when his other hand absently moved to Zim's back. He traced up Zim's PAK, his finger skirting the edge through the shirt. Zim's body jerked, but then almost immediately melted and he gave a contented sigh amongst the purring. Dib traced his finger up and down the lining of the PAK, not really thinking of it.
It wasn't until he'd hit the fifth option that he realized Zim had stopped purring and had gone completely slack. Dib paused. It wasn't like before, when Zim would join him under some covers to soak up the warmth. Then, Zim's body was still somewhat rigid with the effort to keep his position and not move—sometimes just to be sure that Dib wouldn't wake up—even if he was relaxed. His breathing was evened out as well, and Dib shifted just to test his theory. Zim didn't react even to readjust himself and Dib gaped.
He'd put him to sleep. Legitimate and actual sleep.
He wondered when the last time it was that Zim had slept. Really slept, and not just laid down or sat to rest his eyes for a few hours. He couldn't really tell most of the time if Zim was just resting or if he'd entered the Irken equivalent of REM. How long had he been working on the PAKs in the lab, again? Dib thought perhaps he could count one or two times where he could confidently say that Zim had been "asleep". And that was it. In no part just because he himself would have to pass out eventually every day, if not every day or so.
He noticed the dim lights of Zim's PAK slowly pulsing brighter and then dimmer again (like the 'sleep' mode on his laptop's power light, he noted) as it danced across the ceiling. It was wholly too calming, he came to find, because he woke up to a darker living room. He was certain that nothing would have woken him up if Zim hadn't started moving.
Dib rubbed at the one eye he could reach. Zim froze. He shot up, scrambling to actually get a hold on the couch cushions to lift himself up. Dib started to chuckle as Zim just struggled more and more.
"You good?" Dib asks.
"I—ch—you—wha—uh!"
Zim finally fell in a tangle of his own limbs. Dib laughed himself into a wheeze.
"You good?" Dib asks again, leaning over the edge of the couch. Zim glares up at him, sitting up after rolling onto his back. Dib noted that it didn't seem that uncomfortable with the PAK—but he'd never get used to that; what with the obvious protrusion the PAK caused—but it was good to know, nonetheless.
"Do not speak of this," Zim orders.
"Have I ever?"
"You would," Zim accuses him, shooting him a knowing look.
"You know, your falling asleep around me is kind of inconsistent," Dib teases. "Makes one wonder."
The look that Zim shoots him has Dib fleeing from the couch. A leg poked out from the PAK, but Zim thought better of it. He was quick enough on his feet. He shot off the floor, cutting Dib off by slamming his own hand on the wall to block his path. Honestly, Dib was surprised he hadn't just tackled him. Dib eyed the arm blocking his way and gave Zim a sheepish look. He stepped back, returning to the couch obediently. He knew if he tried ducking under or around Zim would just trip him up and drag him back. Zim stared him down like an aggravated parent.
"You're not leaving until we're done discussing this," Zim says. When Dib looked up at him with a pout of all things, Zim continued. "You brought it up."
"I did not!"
"Yes, you did!"
"Well—" Dib floundered a moment, turning red. "W-well—it's true! You act weird sometimes."
"I'm an alien."
"That's not an excuse, anymore," Dib sighs. Zim just shrugged at him and Dib gave him a disapproving look. "Ok, don't make this difficult."
Zim was silent a moment before he relented and sat on the couch next to him, careful to leave at least a foot of space. He forced himself to admit that he had kind of demanded the conversation happen. He wasn't sure what the conversation was, exactly, but he was forcing it. Zim opened his mouth to speak and Dib cut him off.
"I'm still surprised you let me into the tree that day, you know?"
It took Zim a moment to realize he meant the same tree he could have just punted him out of when he wanted to examine his hands. He was sure the claw marks were still there.
"You were just so… weirdly cooperative after that?" Dib said. Since he'd already started, the words didn't seem to stop. "And I took advantage of it, of course. I mean, I thought you were dying at first, because you never indulged me so often before. And then with the fight in the hall, and we started hanging out more, and then all the… stuff that happened before graduation and the Market—"
"I get it."
Dib floundered a moment. He sighed, leaning back into the cushions. "And the PAKs."
Zim stiffened a little beside him. "What about them?" he asks tentatively. His gaze traveled to one of the many entrances to the labs. A familiar coil of anxiety seeped into his guts at the knowledge of what he was working on down there. Specifically, in a lab room that had no cameras.
"I just… I never expected it. I still don't believe it, sometimes, until I see them on the tables and you're still working on them," Dib says, his voice breezy. Like he couldn't believe the words even as he said them. "I know it's… not good for Irkens to do that. And I kind of worry sometimes. And I know I can't stop you from doing it, but I still worry, and… It's just… I don't have an equivalent way to pay you back."
"Don't die."
Dib snorted. "What, that's it?"
"You expected otherwise?" Zim asks. Dib regarded him a moment, scrutinizing Zim's features. Zim crossed his arms, scrutinizing him back.
"I don't know what I expected. But that sounds so you," Dib admitted. "What isn't is the cuddling."
Zim shot up, poking Dib hard in the chest, enough to make the boy's muscles sore. "Do not call it that!"
"That's what it is!" Dib said brazenly. Zim cursed the new familiarity they were sharing. The boy was so confident to say that now and not expect to be skewered. And damn it all to Irk, he was right. Zim groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. "And it's increasing."
"What?"
"How often you touch. It's increasing. That's good," Dib assures him. Zim started to shake his head before he really knew what he was doing.
"Not on Irk it isn't."
"Well, you're not on Irk," Dib says simply. He shuffled over, bumping their arms together. Zim peered at him from behind his hands, suspecting. "What?"
"I don't understand you some days."
Dib smiled at him, something strained, but still genuine. Zim picked up on that smile before. He was nervous; but a happy nervous. He had that look in his eyes that very much reminded Zim of the phrase 'rip it off like a band-aid'. The phrase never made much sense to him, but he was slowly beginning to understand a lot of human phrasings.
"I don't understand you, but I still care about you," Dib said finally, his voice cracking at the last words. He looked like he wanted to hit himself immediately for the blunder but Zim ignored that reaction. Entirely. He was far more focused on what he'd just said.
"…Care?" Zim repeated. Dib refused to look at him, his face growing red.
"U-uh. Yeah?" he tried weakly.
"You care about me?"
"Oh, c'mon, is that so hard to believe?" Dib whined. "Look, I'm not…" he waved his hands. "Good with feelings; but, I know that I care. Not like I care about Gaz or even Dad, but… I care. I know I do."
"…..Why?"
"Are you serious?!"
"I do not understand," Zim stated, readjusting to sit more comfortably on the couch. He crossed his arms, hiding the slight tremor in his hands. He couldn't hide his antennae flicking, however, and that just added frustration into the mix of emotions building in his head. Before Dib could speak to draw him back in, he cut him off. "I'm not used to emotions."
"…Okay."
"…Irkens aren't supposed to indulge in them. Some feel them. We're trained to compartmentalize or ignore them. Unbiased except for the good of the Empire. Having connections to others is… uncommon."
"But not unheard of?"
"Not spoken of," Zim corrects. He thought, briefly, of The Tallest and grimaced. He signed, leaning over into Dib. He thought for a moment of turning back away but fought the instinct down.
"…The PAKs, though, those are a way of caring," Dib mumbles, kicking his feet lightly. Zim hummed.
"Yes," he said quietly. Dib shifted. "They're not approved upon."
"I kind of already knew that," Dib says. He quieted for a moment, chewing on his thumb. "Are you going to get in a lot of trouble for making them?"
"Only if I'm caught."
"Are you going to get caught?"
"No, I am very cautious. I would rather shoot down the Massive than be caught," Zim says with a disturbing sense of finality. Dib slowly turned to him, mouth gaping a little. Zim pushed it shut. "And we're not speaking of that."
"But—"
"Another day," Zim promises. Dib shot him a disbelieving look but dropped the matter. He didn't need Zim trying to wipe his brain of the conversation if he pushed it and the alien regretted ever indulging in the topic.
"Can I ask something?" Dib asks.
"Do you ever not?"
"Could you make yourself a new PAK? So that they aren't so…" Dib gestured with his hands again, trying in vain to actually reach the words. "..So… up in your business?"
"I've… considered it," Zim admitted. "Or, at the least, make more adjustments."
"I think I'd like that," Dib admitted. He leaned back into Zim. "A lot. They can't take your touch-starved self away from me, after all."
Zim gave an indignant noise at that. "I am not "touch-starved"!" he insisted, fingers forming air quotes and all. Dib sidled closer to him.
"It's okay, I'm a little starved for it, too. Nothing to be ashamed of," Dib assured him. Zim huffed, blowing at Dib's hair scythe.
"I am not ashamed, I am simply denying the insinuation that I am starved of anything."
"Uh huh."
"I'm not starved!"
"You're small enough to have fooled me," Dib teases. Zim kicked his shin. "Ow."
"Suffer."