Disclaimer: I do not own Ib or any of the elements in the game. They belong to their respective owner, Kouri; I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.

AN: I've realised I never got to thank the silent support I've gotten for the story in terms of views, favourites, follows and constructive critiques in the form of reviews. It really makes an author happy to know someone's taken an interest in their story, or voices their opinion. Thanks for stopping by C: Happy reading!

Note: This chapter has been revised from the original. Grammar has improved, conversations/flashback conversations make more sense and there is more flow to the narrative. There is new material too. Enjoy.

*Whispers* Ya might want to listen to the songs Ib is playing while reading the chapters, just saying *winks* Song recommendation: *ChopinNocturne in C Sharp Minor No. 20 (Played by Ashkenazy)

Chapter 3:

Japan, 1997

-5.5 years after the Guertena Art Museum-

Her fingers glided over the keys, eyes closed as she felt the music in her veins.

"That's beautiful Chopin, Ib." Her fingers halted and she turned slowly to greet her mother at the entrance of the drawing room, "Nightmares again, huh?"

Ib looked at the grandfather's clock, smugly displaying 2.47 in the morning. *She nodded. Esme sat besides the young girl, wrapping her arms around her. She tucked Ib under her chin and stroked her hair gently, holding her close. It was a familiar gesture, one they often shared since she was a little girl. Now that Ib was growing up, her mother didn't get to do this very often.

"The truth will set you free. Tell me what's wrong, my darling."

Ib said nothing. It's very odd. When she was younger, facing the Gallery alone, she didn't feel as terrified as she did now, re-living it through nightmares. She didn't realise it wasn't right back then, that art pieces shouldn't move or talk, or try to kill you. She just... didn't react. She thought of nothing but getting back to her Mummy and Daddy. Ib only realised what an alarming situation she was in when she saw her parents in a painting.

Ib remembered how she was so weary, how tired she was of everything, she just wanted to go home. Now she was home, she still couldn't find peace. The strange nightmare she had inside the safe room had manifested itself into something else now, her sister Eve. There were quite a few memories she still hadn't uncovered yet. The act of ... something... burning... someone...

Her mother was looked at her, still expecting an answer.

"I just... everyone at school was being mean again."

A lie

"Oh? That's it? They're not bullying you are they?"

Just another lie to cover everything up

She had started lying a lot more nowadays, to hide or disguise what or why or how she was feeling. Recently, Ib had started lying about other things too, like where she went or who she went with when she goes out for hours on end. She would go to the empty fields nearby afterschool and just lie down on the soft grass, watching the bright blue sky until it transformed into night. She lied about how her art materials from years ago went missing, when she grabbed everything and burned them. She lied about trying smoking once too. She stole one cigar from her father's secret stash. She threw the rest of it away after trying one cancer stick. She hated it, both things. It bothered her was how easy twisting things had become and how talented she was at it.

Loner

Liar

Arsonist

Esme's loving face troubled Ib. She flushed and started feeling restless and feverish. While it was partially true, it was only because Ib let them be. The children at school were forever trying to befriend her, but she knew they only wanted her for her parent's wealth. When she rejects them, they reveal their true nature and spite her in every way possible. It didn't really bother her but apparently, it was good enough for nightmares.

"No, no bullying."

'You'll never understand.' Despite the denial, the worry never left Esme's face. She obeyed her maternal instincts, understanding at least something was wrong with her baby.

"We can... send for tutors here at home, if you like? You don't have to go to school, just take the main, national exams. You can play the piano as much as you like, too."

The ostracising wasn't too bad, really. She liked being alone anyway. The offer was very tempting but Ib doubted it would last for the rest of the night. She hopes it does, it was quite tiring going through the day just avoiding all of her peers.

"That'd be nice."

Her mother gave her another cuddle and closed the piano key board. She took Ib by her hand and led her back to her room, trying to savour a few last moments with her only daughter now.

"Why are they so mean to only you anyway?"

They want her wealth and allowance. They hate her red eyes and fine-quality clothes. They hate her quiet nature and how reserved she is from everyone. They pick on her because she's only one person, with no support from anyone.

Liar

Liar!

LIAR!

"There's an odd one out in the room."

She pushes away support and tries to find her deserted strength from that day in the gallery. She's quiet while the rest of them are lively. She's lonely when everyone else in that rich private school has friends. She's the untouchable porcelain doll, because whoever breaks her face will pay the price in terms of family connections. Whoever breaks her spirit, however, would become the champion.

"I'm just the odd one out, Mum. It's fine."

xIxBx

"What's this?"

The sturdy, aged woman raises an eyebrow at the cheque her son placed on their dining table after he had cleared the plates. She had wanted to resume her painting but his serious expression stilled her. It wasn't the "talking shop" look or "I'm getting married" look. It was an "I'm going away and I don't know for how long" look. Sakura hunched over her green tea and crossed her arms.

"It's money. It should be enough for at least six months' worth of bills for electricity and heating, groceries and all the fixed costs for the shop."

She spies his shaking knee under the table. He's nervous.

"What are you doing, Garry?"

"I'm going away for a while, learn new skills, maybe even meet new people. I need you to run the shop while when I'm gone, Ma. You can change the opening and closing time to whatever suits your needs. I've got enough stock to last for about seven months, I think, because I've been carving more than necessary for a while now—"

"Garry, what are you talking about—?"

"It's going to be alright, Ma. I've got pretty much everything planned out. I'll write to you when I go to a new city, maybe send a postcard and I'll bring back some souvenirs for you too—"

"Garry, where are you—"

"I can't wait to go, but I think a bit more money and stock for the shop is good, so I'm staying here another 6 months—"

"Garry, why—"

"I'm going to the US first, then down to the South. After that, I'm going to England. I've read they've got quite the woodcarvers guild there. Then, Europe is going to be so gorgeous. I plan to go when the tulips are in season in the Netherlands. I'll try out Italian and French macaroons, because that's where they originated from—"

"Garry—"

"I'm going to go to Africa too, then go back up to Asia. I'm still not too sure about Australia, but I think it would be amazing if I tried and—"

"Gareth."

He stopped talking at her tone and looked at face, afraid to see what lay there now.

"Isn't Japan good enough for you? You're taking on the whole world. What's the reason behind this trip?"

His face drops, her heart tightens.

"I need to do this. I feel trapped in this city."

Her face softened, she felt it too. For the past few years, Sakura watched her son become such a recluse at first, and then he turned himself into a workaholic. Something inside of him was constantly on edge, even his gentle, feminine side was beginning to sleep. She wasn't exactly overjoyed by his effeminate habits, brought by rebelling against his overly-strict, elderly father, but she didn't enjoy this silent, gloomy Garry either.

"You were always like a caged bird, even as a child. I don't mind you leaving, and I can handle the shop until everything is sold. I just wanted you to tell me beforehand, when you first thought of this." She took a deep breath and looked into his natural coffee brown eyes, "You haven't been yourself lately either, this is good for you."

He hesitantly grinned, genuinely surprised at her lack of resistance.

"Ma—"

"I hope you find a nice girl out there."

Garry stammered something unintelligible.

"Ma! That's not why I'm going!"

"Alright, you can find a guy if you want to, I wouldn't mind adopted grandchildren running around. It'd be kind to give the lost ones a nice home."

"Ma!"

Garry was blushing fiercely at the absurdity of her suggestion, his face the colour of the red roses in a vase on their dresser.

"There's nothing wrong with that dear, we're all the wonderful children of—"

"But I'm not gay! I genuinely like girls!"

She patted his cheek affectionately, delighted in the small glimpse of her cheerful, gentle, little boy again while he was talking. When he was younger, he used to be so enchanted and curious about everything, holding life in high regards. The old Garry was coming back. He may be a flustered, displeased, grown man at the moment, but she took no notice of it, preferring to stick to her impression of him.

Sakura grabbed the cheque, headed out of the room and left her son muttering disapprovals.

"Whatever you say, my dear. Wash the dishes for me, would you?"

He was worried if she would be fine on her own, but the years have been kind to her. She's much better, spirit in much better condition before he moved in. Garry frowned and the rolled up his sleeves, preparing for the long task ahead.

xIxBx

England, 1998

-6 years after the Guertena Art Museum-

She bows low, overwhelmed by the thunderous applause of the audience.

The conductor was smiling at her; overwhelming pride from the orchestra members could also be felt. At first, they were sceptical of what a little girl could do, especially one that came along from family connections, with no experience from competitions. Once they heard her play, they were enchanted and were honoured to play beside her.

Her international debut was a success. The audience were enthralled by everything she did. Ib told herself to be thankful even if only one hundred people attended, but the news of a fifteen year old piano protégée playing with a famous orchestra and world-renowned conductor in the Royal Albert Hall, London, ensured a full house. Looking over the audience, she was surprised to see them giving her a standing ovation. Ib looked over at her parents in the front row and they looked extremely proud of her, hands clasped above their hearts. In one of the box seats above, her relatively new private secretary and manager nodded at her, a smug look on his face. Ib knew it was all thanks to him she had gotten this opportunity. She gave a bright smile back.

She was proud of herself.

Ib had played many concerts since she was a little girl, small ones, all for her parents and their friends. News spread fast about her talent but her parents didn't want to pressure her at a tender age like other child-prodigies. They remained adamant to let her grow up with a happy childhood, not one full of demanding schedules and countless overseas trips. Ib's parents cultivated her talent instead, brought her to see the world-class European symphonies, and to master classes with famous pianists. They decided it was her ultimately her choice what she wanted in life.

She chose music.

With this debut performance, she would have a larger audience for her own projects, her own charity concerts for all the children's hospitals in Japan, and then the more unfortunate children all over the world. She had big plans.

Ever since the agreed home tuition, she's been planning this. She has been volunteering at hospitals and orphanages, to open her eyes and find out more about the world and how she could help. The smiling faces of the children when Ib arrives always make her heart swell. It reminded me of her little sister and she was glad she could make other children happy, even if she can't do anything for their fate.

It's been three years since Eve went away and all Ib could do was deciding how she could help children. She played music for them in the hospitals. She played with them, told them stories about lands far away from Japan. For now, all she could do was made them laugh and that would be enough for her.

Ib walked through the narrow corridors on her way to the dressing room. Feeling drained after the exhausting performance, she leaned on the wall to catch her breath. It was a dark hallway, with little lighting. Something rustled nearby. Ib straightened and moved to the centre. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She regretted telling the bodyguards Ellis had given her that she would be fine on her own. She looked back and saw nothing.

"Beware of the edges"

Ib wondered what it meant. She walked around the tiny stand, unaffected by the message. Suddenly, a black, scaly arm rushed out of the wall and tried to grab her. She stumbled backwards to the other side and felt something sharp grasping at her shirt, plucking a petal away from her rose when she turned around. Her body weakened. Moving to the middle, where the arms can't reach her, she holds her rose close to her heart and moves forward.

Ib held the bouquet she received close to her chest and ran forward until there was a wide, clear area. She waited and waited to hear the sound of snarling coming from the walls, or see dark shadows protruding from the edges.

It never did.

Ib looked around once more and scrambled when a rustling started again.

xIxBx

United States of America, 1998

He sits in the small cafe, enjoying his coffee and macaroons, just enjoying life in general.

The cool wind blows through his lavender hair and tattered coat, making quite a number of people stare at him. He didn't mind, he never did. The cafe was a lovely spot in town, quite famous for its latte art and cappuccinos. He was also pleasantly surprised to see the macaroons sitting daintily amongst the other pastries. There's a park nearby too, so he'll be busy seeing the flowers and lake there after he was done.

America.

Wow.

Garry was enjoying his long-awaited trip so far. He still bone tired from the flight, jetlag and change of sleeping habits, but he was really, really happy. No nightmares, no strange visions, no stress or guilt so far. Everything here was mostly strange and unfamiliar. His English was proficient enough, so he could be quite friendly with the locals if he wanted to.

Garry downed the last of his coffee, gathered his coat and set off towards the park, leisurely walking so he could enjoy the cool spring afternoon. He put his coat on and smoothed everything out using his hands. The soft, warm material had always comforted him, ever since he received it as a gift from his father. They may have argued on many levels as they both grew older, but the coat always brought back the happier times for Garry.

He would rummage through his father's old clothing and things on rainy days to find another "treasure" for his Ma to talk about, another story to tell, but on that particular day, she was busy. Instead, his father was home, working on a big project for a client.

"Hey pa, what's this weird coat?"

"Oh that? I got it when I was younger... never really used it though. I think it would be too big for you now," His father gently draped the coat onto Garry's shoulders and watched as a large amount of the back swept the floor. "You can have it when you're older though, if you like. I don't wear it anymore. The design is a little rough-"

"I like it!"

The young boy's outburst put a smile on the aged man's weathered face.

"Alright Garry, you can have it. You can use it as a blanket in the mean time; it's quite warm on cold nights, very good quality material. I was lucky to find it in a charity shop one day, these sorts of coats don't come cheap brand new. Take good care of it, son. It suits you."

Little Garry puffed out his chest and gave his father a big grin. He ruffled his already messy, slightly curly black hair and placed the coat in the boy's room. While he went back to work, Garry was admiring the coat, feeling the softness and thickness of the material, contemplating the design of it.

He stopped next to the red rose bushes and Garry smiled to himself, allowing just one thought about the Gallery to come through since his arrival.

'The coat was almost double her height back then. How adorable'

xIxBx

Japan, 1998

-6.5 years after the Guertena Art Museum-

Ib blushed a dark red at the sight which awaited her in her dream. A woman was sprawled in what looks to be a seductive pose, obviously naked underneath the sheet. It barely draped over her torso and private area, threatening to slip off. Stunned by the lack of coverage, Ib stepped back and a half-naked man passed right through her.

Her face was hot enough to fry an egg.

"Weiss, ma Cherie, I've missed you."

"I was only gone for two minutes, my dear Belle."

Overcoming her conservative and prudish upbringing, upon a closer look, Ib realised it was the same man from her dream about two years ago. His build was around the same, although much more muscular and his hair was slightly longer. The face that was so devoid of hope earlier beamed with love. She noticed the gold band on the woman's left ring finger and two silver bands on the man's left hand. It was on his ring and index finger.

'That snake...'

How much time has passed in this dream world?

The last time she had seen him, he was burying his first wife, selling his home and deserting his boy, telling him he "couldn't take care of him". What had happened? Ib suddenly grew angry at the man in front of her. What about his son? He used to be in the depths of poverty, grieving and now he's having a great life with a new wife? How dare he abandon that child! They embraced in bed and Ib looked away. A wave of nausea appeared and she almost gagged.

She placed a hand on the wall and felt it was solid, not ghostlike, it was completely different from the last dream. She could pick up objects too. Only the people were unable to interact with her this time around.

The woman giggled and Ib felt the sheet from earlier thrown to her feet.

'Oh... no...'

It was time to leave.

Ib tried to escape the room but for some reason, she couldn't walk out of the open door. Something invisible, yet solid was barring her exit. Ib felt cold sweat on her forehead. She tried to push gently, then with more strength but still couldn't get out. The lovers made a strange, smacking sound. She didn't dare look back. Ib progressively became more violent, slamming and smashing and throwing heaving objects like vases. It didn't yield. Her kicks, body slams and any other method failed her completely too.

She was trapped here.

'Why...?'

The couple took no notice of her.

"I've always wanted a little girl."

"Oh?"

"A sweet, cheerful little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, just like her daddy."

The phrase stopped Ib in her tracks and she turned around, scrutinised the man now, while they were not doing anything. His hair was shoulder length, waves of light brown mixed with a bit of gold here and there. He had electric blue eyes which reminded Ib of someone from long ago. A friend... a foe... someone not human...

Gold hair, blue eyes

"Ib, no! What are you doing? Stop!"

The words rang in her ear from a forgotten memory...

The woman, his wife, Belle, has curly black hair and brown eyes. They were quite common colours and features, but she was still incredibly beautiful. She was vibrant and happy, simply adoring him.

"While we wait for a real one to grow, I can paint you one, if you like?"

"Listen Ib, there's something you should know..."

She closed her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous darling; you've still got so much on your plate. Do you want those people to be breathing down your neck, demanding to see an unfinished work?"

"As soon as I'm done, you'll have a daughter on canvas too."

"Mary... she's not real."

"What do you want to call her?"

"It would definitely... be Mary!"

"Merry like her mother?"

"Weiss!"

They laughed and cuddled, chatting cheerfully about nonsensical things. Ib didn't pay attention to any of it though, her thoughts still locked on the new and old pieces of information.

'Mary...?'

When she opened her eyes and focused, she was staring at her own bed canopy.

xIxBx

England, 1999

-7 years after the Guertena Art Museum-

He sees it one day, in the small cafe in England and after months of peace, imagines her face once again. The single red rose on the table, tied with a blue ribbon stands proudly between a romantic couple. The girl was a brunette, and while she was laughing, head thrown back and eyes closed, he could just about see Ib, all grown up, doing the same thing.

He looks back at his own table and sees the yellow rose tied with a red ribbon. He grimaces. It's been 7 years now and he still hasn't seen her, or heard anything about her.** How is she? Where is she? What's she doing nowadays? Rarely did Garry allow himself to dwell during his trip/holiday, always immersing himself in nature or a woodcraft workshop or something interesting of the sort. He took a sip of his tea...

"What gold hair! She looks pretty enough to come from a painting!"

... And almost spit out his Earl Grey. The comment he heard shocked him. Garry swiftly located the sound of the noise and discovered an old woman cooing over an infant wearing a forest green dress. She had curly, golden hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled like the sea. The most significant feature that struck Garry was her uncanny resemblance to Mary. She was a perfect replica. The demon-spawn turned and smiled at him. His head snapped back to his table.

'Don't be ridiculous, Garry. Blondes, pictures and pretty girls are common and universal, I would find them anywhere. You're being paranoid.'

"What's her name?"

He tensed.

Not... not... not...

"Sarah."

Garry mentally chastised himself for being so paranoid. He looked back... and blinked.

What the hell was wrong with his eyesight?

What he thought was a younger, human version of Mary looked completely different now. Her golden hair was a much lighter shade, an almost platinum white blonde. Her eyes weren't sparkling or electric or anything ridiculous like that, just a nice, normal shade of blue. Even her dress colour was just an ordinary turquoise, not forest green like Mary's. The sweet infant was still smiling at him, a big toothy grin, while the two women still chatted. He returned a hesitant smile.

Garry looked back at the rose on his table and instead of Ib, thought of Mary. He always thought he did the right thing that day, since Mary wasn't even human, and she tried to threaten them with a palette knife. They didn't have much of a choice. His conscience wouldn't leave him alone though. 'Just a little girl, just like Ib... Just a sad, lonely, little girl who wanted a friend and wanted to be loved...' If there was a way for all three of them to get out, together, he would have taken it.

He shook his head and continued eating his cake, uncomfortably trying to ignore the image of Mary in that little girl again.

xIxBx

France, 1999

-7.5 years after the Guertena Art Museum-

The fates were not kind to him that day.

The beautiful Ib takes Europe by storm! Be enchanted by the piano and enjoy her exquisite playing at her non-profit charity concert. Details are listed below...

Garry was a perceptive person. He liked to observe things and think about life and beauty from the smallest ladybird to the vastness of the universe. He liked to watch how people interacted with each other and the world around them. Ever since the gallery though, this acute sense had been dulling slowly, sapping away from his until he was completely oblivious to even large posters decorating the concert hall next to him.

If he had seen it, he would have cancelled his plans, seen her perform and tried his utter best to meet Ib after her concert. She would have been overjoyed, finally meeting the kind phantom of her memories. It would be oddly romantic, meeting again in the streets of Paris, after a piano concert... alas, it was not meant to be.

Garry's mind was set on the macaron shop at the corner of the street, very close to the busy market. Headphones snugly fitted, the man in dark sunglasses was enjoying the crisp, autumn air fluttering around him while listening to Vivaldi. He had been saving quite a bit that week so he could enjoy the macarons while strolling by the beautiful Parisian architecture. Garry couldn't wait to enjoy himself, he only had three days left in Paris before taking a train ride to Germany.

He entered the shop, took off his headphones, spoke warmly to the lady behind the counter in French and ordered a box of macaron to take with him. They looked beautiful. Satisfied with a box in hand, he paid and placed his headphones back on his lilac hair. Garry exited the shop, heading towards the market to buy some apples.

On the way though, he sees another interesting looking bookshop. Enchanted with the beautiful designs, he decides to go in and have a look.

The fates were not kind to her that day either.

After staying too late at the dinner party yesterday night, the young lady kept sniffling underneath her large bulky coat and knitted hat. Her business manager, Ellis, roped her into a high-class dinner party for more publicity after her concert. Her father kept his arm tightly looped around her and gave her a kind smile. The young lady's garnet eyes were incredibly expressive, saying thank you, while her mouth remained shut and face remained emotionless.

"Ellis is tough, but he means well. I've known the young man for several years, darling. He's an incredible businessman and agent, very hardworking, and you should listen to him. Don't be afraid to tell him your opinions though, or if you're tired either, love. He'll take care of you."

"I know, Daddy. He's just a little demanding."

Aside from the sniffle, she also had a sore neck from sleeping oddly on her mattress (she curled into a ball, head missing the pillow) and a slight limp from falling over on her high heels. Looking at a large Rottweiler nearby, growling at her, walked by its owner, and her poor health, it just wasn't her day.

Snapping out of her self-pitying thoughts, Ib gave herself a big smile, hidden by a large scarf, and looked up to cheer herself up with the thought of macarons. She started humming Edward Elgar's Salut d'Amour. Last night, she had another little snippet at the mysterious man of her dreams, seeing his back standing in a bright, orange sunlight.

"Ib, have you heard of macarons? They're these pastries shaped like hamburgers and just the other day, I had one at a cafe and it was soooo tasty! It was really, really good! Even the cream wasn't too sweet. So, uh, if we get out of here, could we go there together? ... No wait, we WILL be going there! And we will get out! Promise!"

He's unbelievably sweet.

In the morning, she wanted to try macarons for the first time.

Until now, she still couldn't quite picture him, but she had a vague idea of what he looked like. She was absolutely positive now he was connected with the man she talked to at the 'Embodiment of Spirit' sculpture. How many people had purple hair? They could be the same person... She didn't know his name, she didn't see his full face at her height and yet she felt so connected to him. She doesn't remember his face now, but she hopes she does soon. Ib was certain his face was the key to unlocking the rest of the memories, not just his voice, or his smiles or his kind actions.

'Goodness me, I sound like a girl with a crush.'

She blushed.

'A crush on a complete stranger...'

She stopped humming.

In the middle of her thoughts, a man exits the macaron shop. He had headphones on and large sunglasses covering his face but his hair was clearly visible: Light purple with dark streaks at the top. Something clicked in Ib's mind. Purple hair, that coat he's wearing, the tattered design... he was unmistakable.

"Ib, what are you doing!?"

She ran off and headed towards what she saw, not stopping to think about the traffic or the vicious, hulking dog that looked ready to chase her. Her heart was pounding and her breath quickened with what she thought was going to be an extraordinary find.

Almost there...

She stopped at the end of the corner and Ib's large smile dropped when she saw nothing. The street was filled with Parisians going about on their business, entering and leaving shops and just enjoying the beautiful day. The market was jam packed with people and yet she didn't see anyone with her description in mind.

"IB! Young lady! Honestly!"

'Why...?'

"Don't go running off like that! It's dangerous!"

She was forcibly dragged by her hand. Her father was much stronger than she gave him credit for. Ib was forlorn, continuously looking back, feeling like crying out of frustration.

'But... he was there... just...'

At the macaron shop, Ib ordered in fluent French and her father went to sit down; she then quietly conspired with the lady behind the counter.

Was there a man with purple hair and a tattered coat here, earlier?

Yes, mademoiselle.

Ib clutched at her sweet locket and frowned, relieved to hear she didn't imagine him and again, dejected with the lack of said person. What she did just then was based purely on instincts. It felt like she was about to come face to face with an old friend, or a dearly beloved. She fiddled with her necklace and wondered who exactly her friend in the gallery was.

Someone special...

Someone extraordinary...

She vows to find him again someday, soon.

xTxBxCx

COMING SOON:

Without warning, he lurched forward. The teenager grabbed a handful of his shirt and brought Garry closer. The emotions on his face were hardly decipherable. Their position made him seem dangerous, but there was a shred of concern in his eyes. He didn't appear angry, but he was definitely intense.

"They're going to get both of you."

"What—?"

"When she remembers the full truth, you remember this; Six, two, nine, five."

AN: The fates were not kind to them, hmm? ;) Does anyone know Garry's cannon eye-colour? Some say brown, blue, amber etc... In the game drawings it's pretty much black so my head-cannon for this story is brown :P If the cannon really is something else, then I'll change it again. If there are any grammatical mistakes, spelling errors or inconsistencies in our lovely story please let me know C: Thoughts on this chapter? Thanks for reading! C: Take care! I'll see you in 4 days ;3

**History lesson time: YouTube was founded in 2005, then quickly grew into one of the largest websites in 2006. Facebook was founded on February 24, 2004 by Mark Zuckerburg. Myspace was launched in August 2003. Therefore, this was the age of pure romance and friendship before technology came in and people became glued to laptops and computers ^_^ You couldn't stalk people as easily as now, so Garry genuinely wouldn't know about Ib becoming all cool and famous unless she was on TV, the papers or the internet. He's too busy gawking at everything on the Champs-Elysees to notice anything else ;D