A story about a girl and her mind

They had been going for half an hour and Dib didn’t even know what they were fighting about anymore. It was always something; a dumb joke that landed wrong, someone forgot to do a chore, two geniuses simply being too stubborn to not butt heads… It didn’t really matter, he thought, because it always resulted in the same thing.

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” he yelled. Zim was glaring murder at him.

“YOU’RE the asshole!” he bellowed back. He was so damn loud, but Dib would not let him win, not even in this.

“SHUT UP!” he yelled back. “Just shut the fuck up already! Every single thing that comes out of your mouth drives me INSANE, I fucking can’t with you! You never listen, you never give a single shit about anyone but yourself, you’re so fucking useless–”

A fist slammed hard into Dib’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. He only just felt the sting of his lip having split against his teeth, but he didn’t, couldn’t care; he was too angry.

It was on now.

Not thinking of anything but how much he wanted to drive his entire fist through Zim’s skull, Dib launched, both of them screaming, overcome by a kind of primal rage only the other could drag out of them. Fists flew, feet kicked, hair was pulled, and at one point Zim got in a nasty bite at Dib’s arm.

Later, when they were both spent and aching and covered in blooming bruises, scrapes and even blood, they would lay on the floor, harsh and labored breathing filling the stillness of dust settling. This time saw them side by side, an arm’s length between them.

Dib looked over at Zim, who was glaring at the ceiling with his one good eye and waiting for his injuries to heal (a benefit he had that Dib always envied).

“Hey,” he tried, the word coming out in a breathless hiss. Zim grunted in response. “Zim. Look at me?”

It took a moment, but eventually he did, giving Dib full view of the other eye he busted and making him wince. His own bloodied and bruised cheek and lips stung in sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” Dib whispered. It was so quiet in the aftermath of their screaming, he couldn’t bring himself to speak louder. He didn’t think his throat would allow it if he tried.

Zim continued to stare at him, expression tired and unreadable.

“I’m sorry for… for the eye. And everything else. I didn’t mean any of the things I said, I was just so, so angry. I didn’t mean it. You know that… right?”

“I know,” Zim said. He tilted his head to look away from Dib’s eyes, gaze resting near his chest instead. “I’m… sorry too.”

“You’re not useless,” Dib insisted. “You’re not.”

“Neither are you,” Zim said back. He sounded as tired as Dib felt.

"We should… We should probably figure out a way to deal with these things without pummeling each other senseless, huh,” Dib proposed with a self deprecating huff. He watched Zim shrug next to him.

Silence fell around them for a moment, joining the stillness. They weren’t breathing as harshly anymore.

“Hey,” Dib prodded.

“What?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Dib.” He let out a sigh. “I can… Zim can try, if you can too. To be less… angry.”

“Yeah? We can try together. Sounds good?”

Zim finally looked back at him, a small, hopeful smile on his green lips. Even beaten up, he looked gorgeous like that, and Dib found himself matching the expression (split, aching lips be damned). They reached their hands across the space separating them, palms finding each other and fingers intertwining with the ease of practice made habit. Zim moved their joined hands to place a kiss on Dib’s bruised knuckles.