It had been such a long time that he had to watch a fucking YouTube video to remember how to make hot chocolate.
Fuck, and good thinking, because it was nothing like he imagined. When you were a kid you had the powder and the mug, and you just poured some milk and stirred that bad boy until it was a muddy color...
That had been kids’ chocolate milk. This was motherfucking AMBROSIA IN A MUG.
He filled a pot with water and placed another metal container inside to heat up the milk without boiling it directly. The tiny carton he was able to afford was just enough to fill up his mug, so he had to be careful.
He then placed two rose petals he had stolen from Mrs Marsh’s front garden into the milk, to make it look slightly pinkish. He gently removed them. By then, his kitchen, whose usual stench was a mix of old clothing and dubious substances, now smelled like early spring. Flowery, but also with the comfort of warmth after the coldest day of winter, which would linger with him as much as he wanted. A bit of sugar, borrowed from a neighbour, a pinch of salt, and then...
Oh, then. Chocolate.
*Godiva chocolate*. You just had to quickly Google the thing to know how valuable it was, how many extensive processes those grains went through. You just had to smell the bar to transport yourself to a cocktail party in a posh New York penthouse where everyone wore gold thread dresses and diamond cuffs.
He felt like a guilty heathen for considering putting the chocolate in the milk while he prepared it. But he did it, because Zim had given him the chocolate. Because Zim was expecting him to consume it, and because Dib needed to assimilate the gesture on a molecular level—mix it with his blood, make it burst through his capillaries. He needed to soak his soul with it, and the only way was pouring it into his malnourished body, giving it sense and reason to be.
There was pride in his eyes when he managed a creamy, dark substance. It was not like the muddy water of cocoa powder. This was top notch, expensive-ass CEO level chocolate milk. The type that stayed in his mind forever, the capstone of his cooking piece. Gordon Ramsay could eat an entire ass.
It almost didn't need the milk he ended up adding, but the tutorial had been clear about that. Chocolate could be slightly acidic, and sugar was alkaline enough to cut the acid, make it gentler for his stomach. Dib definitely needed gentle in that area. He would never forgive himself if he felt the slightest discomfort with something he had longed for so hard.
Meeting his creation face to face made Dib feel like Dr. Frankenstein meeting with his creature. . Only this was the opposite, because this mug was pretty as fuck, and he couldn't wait to enjoy its company, the secrets unveiling in his tastebuds. He only hoped they weren't damaged with years of cup noodles and he could appreciate it accordingly.
His hands were cold, normally freezing at any time of the year. He had skeleton fingers with the slightest blanket of skin. His fingertips were slightly swollen, and he knew this was due to blood pressure issues. Bad eating habits, lots of salt in his foods. Hypertension wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, but he hoped it would wait to appear until later in his life.
The mug felt right in his fingertips, extending the warmth all the way to his chest.
His smile bloomed shyly with the first sniff at the chocolate milk.
Zim had given it to him.
Zim was in this mug, in the scent, in the warmth of the liquid. He was the right temperature of the milk, the pinch of salt. He was the lunch, the agitation and the peace. Zim was the spark of life that still smoldered in his heart, burning to be the ultimate defender.
Zim was the sweetness of the chocolate. It had to be searched for, but ended up as a piece of Godiva chocolate melting in his insides and taking sweet ownership of his cells, armoring his defenses, filling up the rivers of his fantasies.
Thinking of this allowed him a moment until the milk cooled down, and he drank a sip.
He could have cried.
He had to take a moment to savor it. The gentle kiss of sugar. A halo of immediate peace covering his body , providing a bandaid over some of the old wounds in the memory of his wretched childhood.
Whatever had happened on the day he was in bed after breaking a leg, it was now a fun story about having a mug of chocolate in his hands and admiring the rain outside.
Suddenly he was an okay guy, a normal person, standing in his kitchen. He wasn't a mess of a human being. He wasn't a mass of limbs and blood and piss and beer. He was a guy. A guy with a job, a guy in his apartment, having a comforting drink, like your average Joe.
He was not a skeleton, he was a person. A human, not an animal. He could make rational decisions. He got tired like anyone else. He paid rent, he walked under the sun like the rest of his kind.
There, in his home, holding the mug and putting nutrients inside himself, he felt right. Looking out the window like the other millions while sipping on his chocolate milk, he could put his own problems in perspective. He could put aside the alien invasion for five minutes. He could remove himself from hatred and pain.
Now Halfway through his mug, he sat on his chair, turning around to feel the sun on his pale face. Ah, more warmth. Was it always like this? He wished he could tell his 12-year-old self to bask in it. He wished he could tell him, "hey, put on those dorky sunglasses that Gaz mocked you about, and enjoy the sun." He wished he could go back and find the Godiva chocolate before, and give half a bar to Zim.
When he finished the drink, his stomach was heavy. The good kind of heavy. It was chilly outside, in the 50′s, but he felt warm all over. He knew he needed a coat, and maybe pants, and to turn on the heater probably, but for the moment he was feeling all right.
He was feeling all kinds of right.
He stood up, looking around. On the way to take his mug back to the dishwasher, he also grabbed a few pants and shirts lying around the room to place in the laundry basket.
Once in the kitchen, he absentmindedly threw some styrofoam noodle cups in the trash, as well as some paper wraps and beer cans.
He then took a shower, got dressed, and looked in the mirror.
“Hey, who's that smiling guy?” he wondered.
“Looks like me.”
_____________
Illustration by me, ficlet written by the Amazing @anarchymorty!!!! I Highly recommend you check out their blog, their writing is incredible :D
____________
Pt 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28