"You're freezing," Ib says flatly when Mary tries to lace their fingers together in some sort of hand-hold. Ib's skin looks white and pasty in the dim light of the gallery. Mary knows the other girl doesn't say much, and the sudden, sharp sentence makes her have to stifle a half-jump of surprise.
"It is rather cold in here, don't you think?" Mary smiles saccharinely, and curses herself for it a moment later. Ib says nothing in response, and suddenly Mary is full of an emotion somewhere between hatred and sadness. Garry smiles at the small, frail girl and melts her heart in a second. Mary smiles at her and she pushes her away.
It's funny, really. It's funny because Mary has spent ages trying to see what it is that Garry does that makes Ib feel so safe around him. She knows it's cliché to think what does he have that I don't, but the thoughts circulating in her head are just that. Perhaps he has a heart, a voice in the back of her head that only comes out when she refuses to listen to anyone else whispers. He's kind and gentle and you're just a puppet with an empty hole where your heart should be.
But Ib suddenly grabs her hand, wordlessly as always. Mary tries not to stare openmouthed, wracking her brain for a response that will simultaneously make Garry huff disapprovingly and make Ib stare at her dubiously. But none comes. None comes, and Ib's hands are very, very warm against her own.
"I'm not cold anymore, Ib." She smiles, because a few minutes later she realizes the warmth isn't only on her skin.
i claim no ownership to ib.