It was a fine summer's day that had brought the novelist out for a walk through the bright and blossoming park. He hummed to himself quietly as he walked, so as not to disturb any others that might be out. Luckily, he was alone, which meant he wouldn't be bothered too much. Settling down on one of the many green benches, he leaned back and made himself comfortable, enjoying the fresh air immensely.

There was a gentle breeze that ruffled through his dark hair, blowing strands across his face, but he didn't mind. Maybe it'd tame that scythe-like locke that stood proudly atop his crown. A small chuckle escaped him at that thought. His hair had been that way since he was very little, it had just grown longer as he aged.

Sighing, he looked at the black messanger bag that sat beside him, the small edge of his spiral sticking out from it. He really needed to work on the latest story of his, but he hadn't had any inspiration in a long while.

"Bah...not like that would fly with my publisher."

A loud yelp caught his attention as he jumped a little in surprise. Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he craned his neck to get a better view. What he found not only shocked him...but he became a bit confused as well. The sight he was faced with was a strange looking teen...about 14 or 15...fighting with a cat over what appeared to be the scraps from a tuna or maybe turkey sandwich. Frowing, the man stood and approached the two, watching the cat hiss at him and running off with the sandwich. All that was left for the teen-which he hungrily ate-was a small corner of bread. The boy glared up at him.

"Why'd you chase him off? A few more minutes and I would have had that sandwich!" The man just stared down at the teen. Up close the boy was scrawny, barely on the edge of what someone could consider "healthy". Up close, the boy reminded him greatly of the hungry cat that had just scurried off, hissing and growling in anger. "What do you have to say for yourself, chasing away a person's meal?" Standing, the teen glared up at him. He wasn't very tall, the man took notice.

"Well, maybe you should try eating something remotely healthy for you." He glared right back, crossing his arms. "Just because you are so cheap that you'd rather dig from a garbage than by food doesn't mean you should try and steal a meal from an animal." He was going to go on but the teen held up a hand, quieting him.

"First of all, I'm not cheap. Actually, I'm quite poor and without a home. Second of all, that cat had plenty to eat before hand. He could have afforded to share with me." He pouted, crossing his thin arms and cocking a hip girlishly in annoyance. "Besides, what right do you have to tell me what I can and can't do? I don't remember hearing anything about you being president of me." He pointed a clawed finger at the older man, who simply watched him with dull interest.

"If you're so poor, why don't you head down to the shelter?" People like the teen, who mooched off of society, really pissed him off. They had no excuse for stealing from human or animal for the simple reason that they DID have a shelter that was very well stocked. The mayor payed for it himself, and he was a RICH man. "Not only do they have food, but they have a contraption called a SHOWER, which, by the way, you could use." Sneering, he turned around and began walking out of the park. "Whatever. What you do is none of my buisness." He waved him off heading for home. The teen, however, had other plans. He caught up with the man walking off, a glower on his face.

"I DON'T go there because I CAN'T." He said, walking backwards to keep eye contact with the taller one, the anger never leaving his pink eyes. "I CAN'T because they've kicked me out."

"Well, if THEY kicked you out than maybe you should be out on the street. You had to have done something wrong to have been kicked out of a SHELTER." He snorted, looking away from the angry teen, which only heightened the teen's fury.

"They kicked me out," he snarled, "because a guy there didn't like me." He glared up at him. "Because APPARENTLY I'm gay." He stopped in front of the man, causing him to stop as well. "And if you have such a problem with my smell and the way I live, why don't you do something about it? Complaining won't do you any good." He crossed his arms once more, sneering. "Or are you too much of a pussy to? Bet you're reeeaaaal anal about the cleanliness of your white carpets and furniture, huh?" He watched as the man passed by him with a shove.

"Get out of my face, you filthy cat." He turned to face him. "Scram! Go on! Get!" He made shoo-ing motions with his hands. "Get out of here you mangy stray." With that, he spun on his heels and headed home, not caring if the boy had anything else to say.

Glaring after the man, the boy simply turned, stopping when his eyes fell on a book bag resting in a bench seat. He watched it for a few minutes to see if anyone claimed it before running towards it, his hand instantly diving into it's bowels to search through it's contents. He pulled out a small spiral and a nice looking pen, setting them aside. That wasn't what he was searching for. A happy squeam escaped his lips as his hand found what it had sought for, pulling a black wallet from the bag. Tossing the fabric to the side of the bench, he unzipped the wallet and his face fell in dissappointment.

"It belongs to that ass," he grumbled, looking the picture over. "Huh...Dib Membrane...23 years old. Well no wonder he's a dick." From the boy's experience, anyone between 13 and 29 were all assholes. Condensending, judgemental and disdainful fucks who couldn't do anything but bitch and complain. His eyes settled on the spiral at his side, watching it for a moment before pulling it over and resting it on his lap, his claws fluttering the pages by, stopping randomly here and there to read what was written.

"Under the moon's silvery light came a hushed voice. A quiet voice unlike that of his own. Blue eyes traced away from the stars to star at the man beside him, his cheeks flushing...huh. So he's a writer?" The boy tapped a claw to his chin thoughtfully, reading the rest of the page through half-lidded eyes. "I haven't heard of him...He's not bad. A little sappy, but not bad." Humming, he placed everything neatly back into the bag, memorizing the address on his photo ID. He felt like he should return it.

Standing on lanky legs, he headed out of the park, looking both ways before crossing the busy street. Reading the street signs and appartement numbers, he finally found the one that the man named Dib lived in.

"If he's an author...why does he live in an apartment?" Shrugging he began the climb to the seventh story, keeping his eyes on the numbers of the rooms. "289." He stopped in front of the door, his hand hovering above the oak before giving three quick knocks. He rocked from heel to toe while he waited for an answer, whistling slightly. He grinned when the man peeked out at him from behind the oak door. "I've brought you bag and I don't bite." The teen held the black leather out to Dib, the grin never leaving his face.

"My...my bag?!" Flinging the door open fully, he snatched the bag, his eyes wide in surprise. "I forgot my bag?" He looked back at the teen before sighing. "Thank yo---wait!" He leaned back, looking down at him skeptically. "How the hell did you know it was mine?" He instantly began rummaging through his stuff, making sure everything was still in place.

"I didn't take anything!" Zim pouted again, his arms crossing. "The least you could do is say a PROPER thank you. Or is your foot wedged to far up your ass for you to take the time to thank a STRAY like me?" He glowered at the man. Glaring, Dib reached out and drug the boy in, throwing him up against a wall and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand.

"Listen, you mangey house cat," the man snarled, leaving no time for the boy to protest. "I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone, even if they're filthy fucking rich. Because even if they have all the money in the world they'd STILL steal from a bag left in the park." He growled a little, his face inches away from the boys. "Why don't you give me your name?" The teen was far to surpised and dazed from the impact to the wall to protest.

"Z-zim..." he managed.

"Alright then ZIM." He pressed his lips roughly against the teen's, holding the boy there for a few moments before breaking off. "Thank you," he snarled between his teeth before shoving Zim back out the door. "Now get lost." With that, the oak door slammed in the black haired teen's face, leaving him outside and alone once again. His tummy grumbled but he didn't notice as he moved his claws to tenderly caress his lips.

And that was how the 14 year-old boy recieved the first kiss of his life. And that was when the 14 year-old boy fell in love.

For the first time ever.