AN: Mid-week happy story! So who is the summary really talking about? Yes, yes it is. This story was unplanned and popped up without warning. It's a nice distraction from ... you know... thingsIreallyshouldbewritinglikethenextTMBchap... orstudyingorsomethingproductivemumblemumblemumble. HAPPY READING!
Song recommendations: Garry's feeling shine in Fun's "I Wanna be the One." And Ib's would be Taylor Swift's "Enchanted" :3
Sunsets in Africa
Write about the colour of your best friend's eyes.
Garry stared at the monitor, blinking at the Daily Writing Prompt of the day. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, resting his head against his thumb and forefinger.
"This could work."
He opened up a new Word document and sat up, tucking his chair a little closer to the table. Taking a sip of his cold coffee, he decided to finally start.
Except he didn't.
He took off his writing/reading glasses and palmed his eyes, almost crying from desperation. This block has been killing him slowly for months. Placing his elbows on the table, he cracked his knuckles. Then he rested his forearm on the edge of the table, fingers hovering over the f and j keys of the board. He muttered unintelligible curses at himself before sighing once again. "Start with something simple, Gar."
Crimson orbs-
He slapped his hand over his mouth, resisting the urge to vomit from the phrase. He personally hated calling eyes orbs. It was repulsive. Control, shift, up arrow, delete.
Blood red-
He backspaced immediately, appalled at the nerve of his mind. He would never compare her lovely eyes to something so ghastly and unlike her. She had beautiful eyes and... he hunched over, suddenly stricken by the phrase. He opened his mouth in thought before clamping up it tight and letting his fingers dance on the keyboard.
She has beautiful eyes, red like the sunsets in Africa-
He slammed his elbows on the wood and buried his head in his hands, sickened by the cliché oozing from the almost complete sentence. He let out a broken howl of pain at his inability to describe eloquently, the death of his creative writing abilities, the end of his career as a writer. He would never rival her charm and grace on paper like she is in real life.
"What's wrong?"
He jumped at the quiet voice and shot up, trying to hide the monitor with his torso.
"N-Nothing."
Garry glanced back at his best friend and gave a nervous chuckle, desperately hoping she hadn't sneaked a peek at that god-awful sentence. Suddenly sniffing in a mouth watering aroma, he zeroed in on the steaming mug in her hand. She held it up and gave him a gentle smile, keeping eye-contact to let him know she wouldn't look at his self-depreciated work. He always was self-conscious of his writing when they were in progress, even if it was just simple exercises like this.
Garry switched off the monitor before slowly slipping his fingers into the stem of the mug, breathing in the warm, rich scent. Ib skirted around him and took the four different multi-coloured cups from his writing desk. He took a delicate sip of the hot liquid, almost purring at the thick flavour.
"You're an angel, Ib." He tucked a strand of her long fringe back behind her ear and held up his rainbow polka dot mug, "You know exactly how I like it."
"If you're tired, you should just take a break Garry." She replied, going over to the mini-kitchen. She ran the faucet and started washing the cups with soap. Her fingers are forever elegant, even when she did menial tasks. "Brilliant artists need to refill their palettes too, right?"
Garry hung his square red glasses from the V in his t-shirt and when he looked at Ib, something niggled in the back of his mind. He squinted. Garry admired the French cascade braid he wove earlier in the morning, and then stared at the back of her long sleeved striped shirt before looking down. The phenomenal, completely earth-shattering epiphany crashed into him.
"Ib..." She looked back, wide-eyed at his shocked tone, "You're wearing shorts!"
So she was.
She shook her head and smiled prettily at him, unaffected by his dramatic tone. "Yes, I am."
"You were wearing a long skirt earlier!"
"I was wearing this underneath."
He was about to retort about how young ladies shouldn't change in front of grown men, even if he was too busy writing to peep, when he suddenly inspected her legs. His eyes widened and he snapped his head towards the window. His neck gave a small creak, his face grew hot. The bead of his long necklace bumped into the lens of his glasses. Ib has legs? When did Ib have legs?
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, moaning at his stupidity today.
Of course she had legs, he just didn't realise she had...
He sneaked another peek to his right, before quickly averting his gaze from the shapely calves and intricate mesh of black lace.
She had legs.
He has never, ever since they met, ever since he found her again when she was finishing middle-school, never ever seen her outside of a knee-length school uniform, a skirt or a dress. Trousers and shorts were never in her dress code and he had never questioned it. Now she was in his apartment, on a hot summer evening, just the two of them, and she's wearing micro jean shorts and black, lacy, floral tights. Why did she love torturing him like this?
"Control, Garry. Control." he muttered to himself.
She had really nice legs.
The sofa in the small studio apartment gave a soft plop and Garry turned back. Ib had settled herself down with a thick textbook book in her lap, the soft Aztec-themed blanket draped over the lower half of her body. He gave a small sigh of relief. She was probably reading ahead for her art history class. He took another sip of his coffee and ran a hand through his lavender locks.
"You're working really hard Ib, you should take it easy during your summer break."
"You should take it easy from writing," she retorted, thumbing the page and flipping on.
He grinned at her, regardless of whether or not she saw, and let her be. As long as her parents were fine with her staying over his apartment during the days of her holiday, he would be more than happy to welcome her here. He put on his red square glasses once more and sat down on his comfy wooden chair.
Satisfied that her attention was elsewhere, he turned back to his desktop and switched the monitor back on.
She has beautiful eyes, red like the sunsets in Africa
The blinking I was mocking him, he was sure of it. Garry backspaced until the document was, once again, like the rest of the day, empty. While it was true his previous book about their adventure in the art gallery (listed under fiction, of course) was a success, he had been running out of ideas and he could practically feel his writing skills crumbling into dust since then. He had published it almost a year ago, and in the following months any semblance to another book fell short, very short. He had to part-time at quite a few other places to survive and sell his own original abstract artworks that people, friends and acquaintances, enjoy hanging in their living room.
Writing was another form of art, a skill he discovered he had a few years back. A skill that seemed to, sadly, be diminishing.
Glancing back at Ib, he noticed she was playing with her long hair, twirling it round and round her forefinger. The room brightened slightly as the clouds outside shifted and sun rays peeked in between his fluttering sheers. As she turned to lay back and rest the book on her knees instead, something bright red glinted on her cheek. Garry picked up one of her elastic hair-ties she always left around on his desk and tied a short, bobbing ponytail at the top of his head, keeping his fringe out of both his eyes.
Turning back to the monitor Garry took in a deep breath and let the words flow out. He glanced at random objects in the room every few seconds, struggling to find the words to bring justice to his best friend's eyes.
She has beautiful eyes. Some may find them alarming, some exotic and some would drag her to the hospital for a check up, but her eye colour is indeed natural. In the dark, they are a dark brown with a reddish tint-
'Lame.' He backspaced, grinding his teeth and trying again.
She has beautiful eyes. In the dark, where shadows try to hide them, they shine in an almost feline manner, mystifying yet breath-taking. In the light, when sun-rays kiss her skin and her shy, playful smile make her eyes crinkle ever so slightly, they seem to sparkle-
He chuckled, scratching his cheek at the verb. Ib disliked that word ever since she tried one of the romance fantasy genre's best-selling novels as an "experiment". It didn't quite suit her here, making her seemingly childish. Sure she was playful, but she wasn't nine anymore.
-twinkle with a free-spirited delight. In the summer air, she would lay on the soft green bed of grass underneath orange and pink skies. As she sniffs the time-less scent of the bouquet of wildflowers, her eyes would look up and a thousand emotions would gather. She had never been a very dramatic person, but her eyes could convey-
He backspaced and pulled his arms back. Garry rested his head against his left arm while drumming the table with his fingers. He pushed his chair back and leaned over to the bookcase on his left, straining to grab the thesaurus without standing up.
"Need help?" He heard the blanket shifting again.
"What's a more romantic word than convey?" He flipped the pages until he reached the entry for convey, before flipping further on for the word transmit. He sucked his teeth at the lack of appropriate words listed. "Like... something telling a story without telling a story directly?"
"How about..." She must have slid her book on the coffee table and nestled into the coach cushions from the different types of rustlings. "Express?"
"That's... good." Garry placed the heavy volume back and swung his chair to the front, gripping the table to stop him from toppling over. He read over the sentence, mulling it in his head, "Not bad."
-express the greatest joy a person could see.
He grinned at the hundred and twelve words he had just typed out and nodded to himself, strengthening his resolve to defeat his writers block. He looked up at the clock and simply watched it tick, mesmerised by the movements made by its pendulum. It was the small moments like this that he was thankful he escaped, that he gave a moment of silence for a lost child, that he prayed what happened to them wouldn't happen to anyone else.
"Garbear."
He glanced back and smiled affectionately at the young adult. He took off his glasses to see her better. She was staring hard at her smart phone, eyebrows knitted in what he recognised as annoyance. "What is it?"
"Turn the news on."
He instinctively caught the TV remote she threw at him and switched the small, cheap box on. "Eh?"
He immediately understood why she was so peeved off. All the subway lines were closed off for the night; the police were investigating a possible bombing threat.
"Mama says I should stay overnight." Ib tapped her screen, scrolling down what he assumed was a message from her parents. He nodded in agreement to her mother's sentiment.
"It isn't safe to go out, she's right."
She turned towards him and grimaced with the next sentence. "Papa says he'll de-man you if you do anything during the night."
Garry stretched his arms out, yawning at the age-old threat for the past five years.
"Tell dad I wouldn't dare harm our princess' virtue." She rolled her eyes at the statement. "And tell your mom I'll take care of you." Walking over to the fridge, he grabbed all the ingredients he needed. Ib's thumbs tapped into her screen again and Garry rolled his eyes, appreciating his good old flip phone more. He would leave all the fancy gadgets and techno stuff up to her. "I'm making dinner. How does omelette rice sound?"
She squealed in delight. Ib beamed at him and rolled off the couch, skipping towards the mini-kitchen to help out. "No green peppers, please!"
"Not a chance," he smirked, dangling three bell peppers in her face, "They're good for you."
She grabbed the red and orange of the lot and pouted, setting them on the cutting board before rolling up her sleeves. "Keep it to a minimum, please?"
"Sure, kiddo. Now help me make the salad. "
He ruffled her messy thick locks and noted the unwoven braid that he would have to redo after dinner.
~G~A~R~B~E~A~R~
"All yours."
Ib walked out of the shower room, closing the door quickly to prevent all the steam from escaping. Garry pushed himself off the couch and grabbed his green towel.
"Thanks, I-" Her name was cut short as he gaped at her makeshift pyjamas. "Ib-chan..."
She froze, unwilling to turn and face him. That wasn't a term of endearment; they were close enough to get past titles and suffixes. He only ever used that honorific now when he had utterly pissed and didn't feel want to yell at her. She stiffly tilted her head back and pretended to be too busy drying her hair with his towel to look at him, "Aha... yes?"
"The sweater's fine but..." She knew his right eyebrow would be ticking, his eyes narrowed to slits, "Why are you wearing my boxers, Ib-chan?"
"It's... ah..." She felt his presence behind her, her heart was racing, "Comfortable...?"
She felt his gently tug her trembling left hand and made it close around a large soft fabric. "Change."
Ib heard the door to the bathroom close lightly and the water started running. He wouldn't come out for a while. She quickly exchanged the clean boxers she stole from his underwear drawer for the loose and comfortable shorts he had given her. While it was presumably the smallest outfit for him, she felt like she was being enveloped by hugs from several soft, cuddly bears at once. She was drowning in fabric. She adored him, all of him, but Garry's protective gentleman side was becoming very close to overbearing. It was almost as if he didn't see she was a grown, legal woman.
Ib grabbed the chess set from the top of his bookcase and set it on the coffee table. She'd show him. She picked up the hairbrush he used on her in the morning and sat on the sofa, opening her book from where she left off. Garry didn't realise she loved reading about artists and their lives, their times long past. It was fascinating, and she was not working too hard, whatever he sai-
A scream ripped through the apartment.
Ib almost ripped out a good chunk of her damp hair.
"IB! HELP!"
Alarmed by the sudden hysterical yelling, Ib grabbed her heavy textbook. She rushed to the bathroom and kicked the door open.
"What's wrong?" She held up the closed book as a weapon, similar to how one wields a hammer, and scanned the small wet box for ... something.
The shower was still running. Garry's outline in the steam stood shivering in one corner, shakily pointing to the side of the medicine cabinet, stammering like a child. The clothes he had brought with him were damp on the floor. Ib turned the water off and tried to squint at what Garry was wildly gesticulating to.
"Sp-p-p-p-p-spi-!"
Of course it was.
"SPIDERRR!"
The little (actually quite large) monster swung from the medicine cabinet to the adjacent wall, making its escape. Ib swung. She hit. She stilled.
Hesitantly lifting the book off, she spied blue liquid smeared onto the wall, dripping slowly. The back of Ib's textbook was unlucky enough to have the rest of the twitching, black mass splattered across. She sighed and waited for the rustle of what she assumed to be a towel to quieten. Looking back at a nearly naked Garry, she gave him her most charming smile.
"I killed it for you."
His mouth was gaping at her, eyes widening in both awe and terror. Then, to his horror, he watched her eyes, almost in slow motion, rake over his bare form, blinking in surprise and –he shuddered- delight at certain areas. He should have brought a bigger towel. She licked her lips and smiled coyly at him, twirling the end of her long fringe with her forefinger. It was absolutely adorable how his fierce blush spread from the tip of his ears all the way down to his neck and the top of his chest. She never dreamed of seeing this much pale skin.
She giggled, almost... huskily? "Nice abs, Garry."
"OUT!"
She waltzed merrily away for a few steps before feeling the door slam back in place, or as much as it could anyways. She had, after all, mercilessly shattered the lock after breaking in. Picking up the hair brush he had lent her, she continued brushing the tangles out of her thick waist-length locks. She assumed he was feeling disgust; just a familiar, defending impulse to protect her innocence. She scoffed at the thought.
She heard the door squeak open once more and a timid Garry padded across the room to grab a few clothes. Just to tease him further, she refused to look at him, making him even more wary of her actions. She nonchalantly patted her hair until he cleared his throat. He paused before speaking.
"Thanks, Ib."
"It's no problem."
Another pregnant pause ensued while he opened his drawers to take a few things.
"Ib."
"Yes?"
"Where's your phone?"
"Right here."
She held it up, the back of it facing Garry. He opened the bathroom door before he heard a suspiciously artificial click behind him. Whipping back, he saw her casually inspecting his nail polish collection in one of his bed drawers, still not looking at him, smart phone nowhere in sight.
"Ib."
"Yes?"
"Stop eye-molesting me."
"Hn," she picked up the Wisteria, Chinese violet and French lilac, comparing the different shades. He watched her teeth caught her bottom lip as she alternated holding the three bottles up towards the light. "Can I paint your nails later?"
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I wanted to write-"
"Pedicure, then?"
"No, I-" Another click. He looked up at her innocent face, head tilted in faux curiosity. He growled, before giving up."Fine."
~I~B~C~H~A~N~
He regretted carrying her like this.
Now she wouldn't let go, even in her sleep.
Garry patiently tried to pry her arms from around his neck, but she held on steadfast. His cheeks rose in colour in the semi-darkness as he formulated another plan to getting away from her. He allowed her to drag him down onto the bed, and then pressed some of his weight onto her torso to reassure her that he would stay. She sighed in content and loosened her arms slightly, trying to burrow into his chest. Now was his chance. Garry slipped out of her hold and stumbled back. He allowed a silent fist-pump into the air to declare his victory. She sighed once more and he went back, pulling the sheets over her.
He tucked her in into his bed, smiling at her soft irritated murmurings.
She wouldn't trap him so easily.
He poked her chubby cheek gently, grinning at the soft pout she made in her sleep. He wondered how she was a sharp, ruthless, twenty year old college student, wise beyond her years, all the professors wrapped around her pinkie, revered ice queen of the student body, yet so innocent and adorable in her sleep. She turned over to sink further into his pillow and he leaned down, whispering sweet dreams and wishes against the shell of her ear. He gathered her rose dangly earrings she had dumped on his coffee table and placed them on his dressing table for safe keeping. Looking back up at the clock, he briefly wondered if he should sleep on the couch, or continue working. It was almost four in the morning.
He switched on his monitor and plonked back down onto his chair, working by the dim light of the wall lamp. He was on a roll with a hundred and twelve words. He could feel the magic beginning to spark behind his fingertips once more. Why stop?
He looked back at Ib's sleeping form, then looked back at the saved document.
Ib was nothing if not determined. She refused to settle down with their tie of seven to seven in chess, while she painted his fingernails French lilac and toenails Chinese violet. Then she forced him to show her where he hid his scrabble set. After a tie of five to five in scrabble, he gave in and pretended to lose the sixth match, just so the stubborn woman would finally sleep. Her parents would get the wrong impression if she came back from his house yawning, with panda eyes and a sore back. He couldn't understand how she could sit and lay down in such uncomfortable positions without yelling out in muscle pain or dislocated joints. Garry mentally added 'unfathomable flexibility' to his 'Reasons why Ib is epic' list.
He could learn a little from her. He placed his reading glasses back on.
Garry opened his internet history to have a look at the writing prompt again without too much hassle.
Write about the colour of your best friend's eyes.
Clicking back on his document, he clicked on the end of the last word and started a new paragraph. He cracked his knuckles and then... a thought occurred to him. He blushed scarlet and looked back at Ib.
"Inspiration is inspiration. I guess." He shook his head violently, appalled at his mind again. "I'll never write that. But..." Garry pursed his lips at the blinking I once more. "Let's try something else."
She has beautiful eyes. Her eyes dance merrily when she teases, when she has trapped her opponent into a checkmate, theoretical or otherwise, yet allows him to hope otherwise.-
Garry suddenly stopped, before looking back at the writing prompt. He realised that his effort may as well have been wasted after all. He didn't follow the writing prompt very carefully, or even at all. Re-reading all that he wrote, he suppressed a groan at the fact he hasn't mentioned her eye colour even once. He cracked his knuckles, one by one, before a soft sigh escaped from the bed a few meters away. Garry leaned back, checking for more movements from the girl. When he was satisfied he hadn't woke her up, he hovered his fingers on the keys again. He had to stop that bad habit of his, he knew it bothered Ib when he did it excessively. "Let's do this again."
While she may act blasé about concealed truths in the presence of others, the real truth is the twin red fires her eyes hold ablaze. When her temper rises to a crescendo, they would flare even brighter, frighteningly gorgeous, and achingly magnificent. As she calms, as she learns, as she focuses her attention, the raging infernos would smoulder-
"I make her sound like a hothead." He rested the weight of his head on his palm and slowly breathed out, typing the rest of it with his left hand.
-and reveal brilliant garnet eyes.
Garry pushed his chair back slowly, always checking for any more murmurings from the bed and made his way to the fridge. Perhaps it wasn't really writer's block, he thought back. After all, he had successfully typed out two hundred and four words about Ib's eyes generally. Imagine the possibility of writing about the shape of it, the way her thick lashes framed them, the way it glittered when she cried...
He choked on his orange juice, spluttering and coughing the sweet liquid out of his airways.
He was a sick man.
Ib shifted in her sleep, reacting to the noise and half sat up. "I'm fine, Ib. Go to sleep." Apparently too sleepy or tired to care, she did as she was told and collapsed back onto the pillow.
The Daily Writing Prompt was to induce a writer to get off his arse and write something. His something was a little strange, and it didn't follow the prompt very much, but it was what it was. It served its purpose. He decided to continue it, making it at least five hundred words. Garry was more than capable, and the writing subject was familiar. He could write about her for hours. Taking care to be silent, he made himself comfortable in his chair and adjusted his glasses.
Her eyes were as natural as the sun and stars that hung in the sky. It is the colour of her rose, a five petal flower that blooms in her wholesome body. It is the colour of burgundy wine, as it glazes over when she took her first sip of alcohol. The glassy, yet somehow sharp gaze settles gently, coating her beloved person with a feeling of affection and warmth. It is the colour of rubies, cut and polished from the roughest conditions. She had an unbreakable spirit; which reflects in her steely gaze and admirable bravery.
Garry twirled a lock of his fringe and closed his eyes, allowing them the briefest reprieve.
Not only did she have beautiful eyes, she has beautiful eyelashes. Dark, thick and curly lashes framed the lovely gems and enhanced every expression, when she chose to open herself to the world. She had an adorable nose, which crinkled in delight or ticked in anger. Nostrils would flare at the smell of frying eggs, and if she saw it was for her favourite omelette rice, plump lips would part and curve upwards. She has a beautiful smile, be it shy or completely unguarded. It would be unsurprising if she was part siren. Her quiet voice commanded attention without effort and one look with her eyes would drown a man in a sea of love.
He harrumphed, somehow glad that Ib was so reserved around other people besides him, especially male. She was too pretty, too kind, too wonderful for her own good. He wanted to share her and keep her as his well guarded secret all at once. It wouldn't be fair though. She was her own person, not his toy. He never wanted to make her feel like he owned her.
"Sea of love..." He scoffs at himself, "Red like the sunsets in Africa sound even better."
Garry combed his hair back with his hand and hunched over his keyboard, ready for the final stretch.
She is love reincarnate. She is kindness reincarnate. She is bravery, intelligence, stubbornness rolled into one stunning person. She had won perhaps almost all the genetic pools except those for confidence and an affinity to speak. She is the spring flower that was last to bloom, yet stayed fresh the longest. She is the fireworks of summer, rising high into the heavens as her friends and family watched, supporting her. She is the colours of autumn, ever changing and growing to become a better person in due time. She is the Christmas of winter, encouraging forgiveness and love between those she cared about.-
"Which is pretty much all of mankind." He glanced over at the window and noted the lightening of the night hue. The sun was going to rise. He glanced back at Ib. No matter how late she sleeps, she rises with the sun too. He better finish up quickly.
She has beautiful eyes. Red, like the ribbon around her collar when we first met. Red, like the rose she guarded fiercely. Red, like the fire that blazed through what could have been a friend. Red, like the six years of agony before we found each other again. Red, like the fierce, protecting love we grew for each other.-
He paused, hands stilling at the thought. Enter key, new paragraph, shift 'M'.
My best friend has beautiful eyes, indeed.
"You look proud of yourself." The sleepy voice drifted from the bed, merry eyes still half closed murmuring him a soft good morning. "I still won, last night."
"Of course, good morning, Ib" She languidly stretched her arms out, yawning with her mouth wide open. "Cover your mouth, honey."
She placed a hand over her mouth and gave him another one of her happy eye creases. In front of every other person, she would be the proper lady, yet with him almost all of her inhibitions are lowered. She was honest to a fault sometimes. The only time when she was as outspoken as the normal person was when she's just woken up. Garry took off his red glasses and yawned himself, holding up a palm to his mouth to lead Ib by example. He looked out the window, eyes widening at the blooming skies. He really had no sense of time when he wrote.
She slinked out of bed, making her way to the fridge. "I'm not a child, and we're out of orange juice."
"Oh?" Garry avoided her eyes and gave a nervous chuckle; He was glad it hadn't registered in her mind, for once. She would relentlessly tease him over choking on OJ. He switched off the monitor. Not only was she a light sleeper, her memory recorded almost every minor, insignificant detail. He had to be increasingly careful. "I'll grab some more at the store. We need more eggs and veggies too. Do you want to buy clothes for the day?"
"Yesh, pleash." A frothy reply came from the bathroom. This wasn't the first time she had slept over, so he had kept her spare toothbrush around. He heard the water running. This wouldn't be the last either. She would miss her train, or her parents sent her here when they were off for overseas business trips, or something extreme would randomly pop up like last night. He had earned her parents implicit trust over the years, enough to let her stay the night.
Her dad may think he was too gay to do anything anyway.
Garry pushed his chair back and slouched, barely hanging onto his seat, slinging his right arm over the back of the chair. "I'm assuming you're finished?" She had put the kettle on and was now looking for another source of entertainment.
He smiled at her and nodded, "Not my best work, far from it, but I'm happy I started writing again."
She smiled at him and nodded. "So you'll let me critique it, right?"
"Eh?"
She casually plopped onto his lap.
"EH?"
Ib turned to face his computer screen. Her legs straddled his thighs, her weight constantly shifting until her position was more secure. Garry bolted up in shock and almost sent them tumbling to the floor.
"I-IB!"
"Move your bum in more, Garry."
Just so she wouldn't fall and slam head first into his desk, he did.
"YOU-" She lifted her weight for a fraction of a second, then dropped all of it on the top of his thighs. She had sharp pelvic bones. He groaned in pain. "Tch... classy."
"You're too nice to push me off, Gar."
He grinded in teeth in annoyance and placed his large hands on her waist, leaning in close to her ear. "Want to bet?"
"Nah," She grabbed his wrists and suddenly slipped his hands -Garry turned scarlet red- underneath her thighs. The shorts were way too big to allow any inappropriate skin contact but... but... BUT! This was inappropriate! It was her thighs. When did Ib have such strong, shapely thighs?
'You forget she did track and field in her old girls school.' His mind betrayed him.
Thighs... Ib had thighs.
"Ib, I will tell your mother how forward and uninhibited you've become if you don't release me at once!"
"And she'll tell dad, since they're best friends. I'll fill him in on how you started salivating and feeling me up while trying to 'escape' and had this red, hungry look on your face." She smirked at him over her shoulder, caressing his cheek lightly, "Dad would always make me the virtuous princess in a red riding hood and you the big bad wolf."
"When did you become this manipulative?" He stared at her in horror.
"College. Hush and let me read."
"Ib, don't!"
It was too late. She had switched on the monitor.
Garry sighed and rested his head against her bare shoulder, staring up at the clock. The 'small' sweater he had given her had slipped to one side, revealing a creamy shoulder. He watched the clock ticked, counting the minutes until it finally reached five. Ib had become very still. He got off her shoulder and stared at the back of her head. Was she not finished reading? She was always a fast reader. He gasped, suddenly realising why she could be so quiet.
"Ib..." No response. "I'm very, very sorry if you find this creepy." None. "Trust me Ib, that was never my intention!" None whatsoever. "I was never going to use this. I found this daily writing prompt thing from this website I go to and I thought I could beat my writer's block with it. You know how I've been bumming around and finding it hard to write these days, right?" Still no response. He squeaked, "Please don't hate me?"
She gently grabbed his wrists and slid his hands out from under her weight. She wrapped his forearms around her waist and leaned back fully, until she was flushed against his chest. Garry's heart almost stopped. She had this beautiful smile and her eyes were partly moist and her neck was exposed, along with her collarbone and so was her-
She stretched up from her position and closed her eyes, kissing the morning stubble on his edge of his jaw.
"I loved it," She whispered delicately near his ear.
"Y-You do?" He stuttered back. His arms tightened around her when she nodded. "I'm glad."
"Your grammar is off in a few places, some of the phrases were so loaded with sugar it felt like I was swimming through honey," She giggled, a few tears escaping. "But no one's ever openly told me, or wrote about how much they loved my eyes. Only mama and papa accepted them."
"Ib..."
"People found them creepy, and unlike my personality or my grades or my hobbies, there was nothing I could do to change them. Contacts are bothersome and inconvenient. This is the first time anyone's said anything so sweet about them. You know how to inflate a girl's ego." She nuzzled into his neck.
"Yes, that's because I love said girl and her eyes." He brushed the tears from one cheek with one hand, while kissing away the tears on the other. She half giggled, half broke into more happy sobs.
"I'm a little disappointed though."
"Hm?"
"I thought you hated clichés with a passion? What's with 'sea of love', 'raging infernos' and 'twin red fires'? They all sound so..." She stuck her tongue out at him, teasingly proving her point. "I like the second last paragraph, even though it's full of squiggly green lines."
Garry moved his cursor over the said green lines and right clicked. 'Fragment (consider revision)' was all it provided for help. He sighed in exhaustion. "You forget I still haven't slept yet since yesterday, and you're starting to get heavy-" He yelped at the pinch of his forearms.
"Where's 'Red, like the sunsets in Africa'?" He flushed a pretty pink at the phrase. The sneaky girl... she did see it after all! "I actually really liked that."
"I thought it was corny."
"'Sea of love' is corny."
Garry swivelled them both to the side and stood up, letting go of her. Ib immediately pouted. He chuckled. He couldn't blame her; after all, it was rare that he was physically affectionate with his girlfriend of two years, his best friend of five years. He was a very cuddly person and he didn't to scare her when he started being more romantic. Their limits were continuously expanding though, and soon enough she would see that side of him she always yearned for. For now, they would have breakfast.
Then they needed to go shopping.
Then he needed his nap. She should have one too. Maybe with him-
Garry rubbed his eyes with his palms. He never liked pulling off all-nighters.
"You shouldn't rub your eyes so much."
"Thanks, doc. I'm making breakfast. How does cheese and scrambled egg sandwiches sound? I think there are just enough eggs." He opened his cupboards, one by one until he found the sandwich maker. He heard her gasp in excitement and dashed to his coffeemaker, wanting to be of use.
"I'll make the coffee!"
Sure, she was the one who asked him out those short two years ago. Sure, he was apprehensive since he was a full nine years older than her. Looking at these moments though, he couldn't help but wanting to be more than her boyfriend. He wouldn't mind spending everyday for the rest of his life making breakfast, lunch and dinner with her. Well, he would let her finish her Art major first. Then, he would talk to her dad.
Looking back at the coffee table, he spotted her Art History textbook and grimaced, remembering the incident last night. He looked away and suppressed his gag reflex.
"Hey, Ib?"
"Hm?"
"You don't mind having spider mush on the back of your textbook?" He added the two eggs to the pan, making sure they would turn out creamy, just how Ib liked them. She spread margarine on both sides of all four slices of bread and shook her head.
"I don't mind." Garry's eyes widened as she suddenly paused in her task and her eyes glazed over in memory, her lips parting and crookedly smiling. She started breathing heavily, a blush adorning her cheeks and nose. "It reminds me of the time I nearly saw you-"
"Ib!"
Her garnet eyes danced merrily, teasing him with the slight crinkle of her nose. He smiled at her and poured the eggs in a bowl, shaking his head at her shamelessness sometimes. She was only this expressive in the mornings, and he would have fun teasing her back later in the day when she was shy again. Her eyes glanced up at his and she tilted her head, giving him that adorable expression which meant several things at once.
You're wonderful
You're very kind
You're the best
I adore you
Thank you
After grabbing the slices of cheese in the fridge, he sat down beside her. Tilting her chin towards him, he leaned in and kissed her fluttering eyes gently, reverently. She blinked curiously up at him and he could see the wonder, the love and strength that had kept them together. Her eyes were red, like the sunsets of Africa. It was beautiful, it was fitting. He had to revise the descriptive piece and add that in somehow. He smiled and touched their foreheads together.
"I adore you, too,"
~G~A~R~B~E~A~R~
AN: So much fluff I can't... I just... I don't even... *faints*. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Certain parts, like describing Garry's frustrations and his quirky little writing habits, were really fun and of course, a forward Ib is always a good source of laughs. Please review if you liked it, didn't like it, and any other thoughts :3 Take care x
Fun facts about this story shall be posted on my profile.