~ Garry paced back and forth, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. Okay it's 7:26, I think it's time I call someone.

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and clicked the '9'.

At that exact moment, he heard a knock.

"Yo, Garry! You up?" Ib's voice chirped from the other side of the door.

He chucked his phone to the ground and lunged for the knob.

He whipped the door open to see a disturbed and startled Ib.

"You okay there?" She walked cautiously inside, not breaking eye contact with him.

"IB?!" He threw his arms around her, feeling her flinch at the sudden embrace.

"What's wrong?!." She slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, dubious of his sanity.

"Your Dad didn't hurt you, did he?" He instinctively brought his hands to both sides of Ib's exasperated face.

"How'd you know?" She clutched his wrists, trembling a bit.

"I guessed. God… I thought you were dead." Garry felt her face, testing her actuality.

Ib took a deep breath and composed herself, "why'd you think that?"

"Because your Dad…"

"He wasn't there." She smirked reassuringly.

He kept running his fingers over the smooth contours of her face, staring with worried eyes.

After a minute of this, Ib started, "Alright, Gar. You need a drink." She chuckled and broke away.

He followed her into the kitchen, almost like an anxious puppy would its owner.

She brought down two mugs from the cupboard and turned to face him, "I have to find a dress."

"What for?" he leaned against the counter. He could tell Ib wanted to change the subject.

"I'm going to a gala with Dan."

"Dan? That kid you hang out with? Why?" He stiffened.

"Dunno" she filled the tea pot with tap water, "but, he asked, so I might as well go, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so." He gripped the edge of the counter, his fingers were pulsing.

Why should he care if Ib went to a silly dance with this "Dan"? They were just friends; it was immature of him to be so angry about something so miniscule in importance.

Wait, no. He wouldn't. It was on the tip of his tongue. No. NO. "Do you like him?" he coughed out desperately.

Ib lit the stove and averted her crimson eyes to him with a look of apprehension, maybe discomfort or even annoyance. "No."

"Oh, okay. Does he like you?" He mentally slapped his forehead at the stupid question. He had to make everything awkward…

"Yeah, I don't know. Marcus told me he did, but that was a while ago." She placed two earl grey tea bags into the cups.

"Oh." Was all he could say.

There was a long pause where the only sound that filled the small kitchen was that of the boiling water.

"Why do you ask?" Ib broke the silence.

"You know, just want to make you uncomfortable." He attempted to cover with a grin.

"Well, you succeeded, ya goof." Ib gave a light chuckle.

"Good."

"Can we go tomorrow? It's in two days."

"Oh no, you don't mean… going into town, do you?" Garry gasped dramatically.

Ib played along, "I'm afraid so, it's the only way."

"Damn. Well I guess we'll have to. Where should we go?"

"I know a thrift shop not far from "Guthrie's"- we could go there." She brought the mugs to the kitchen table.

Garry made his way over, "Really, Ib?", he asked accusingly.

"What?" She took a seat.

"I know you wear really weird stuff, but I don't think a granny dress will do you any good." He judgingly looked her up and down before taking his chair.

"I do what I want; galas can suck it." She replied before blowing on her tea.

Garry simply stared at her- Her bangs were swayed and pushed aside, exposing her porcelain forehead. He cast his gaze down to the rings of the wooden table and felt his lips curl into a smile. He soon shook with a small snicker, not completely sure what he found so hilarious.

"What?" Ib looked up from her tea and smirked curiously.

Garry simply answered her with an increase in his laughter.

Ib began to shake with a small giggle herself. Both laughs escalated into uncontrollable howls. Ib's suddenly cut off into a small snort. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth as she stared wide-eyed with disbelief. Garry's chortle grew as he threw his own hands to his stomach and his forehead. Ib resumed her laughter with full force from the absurdity of her own snort.

He felt sorry for whoever lived above or below him- not because they were probably disturbed by the ruckus he and Ib were causing, but because they were missing out.