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All Eyes On Me	By : ibgarry Category: +G through L > Ib Views: 1243 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Previously uploaded on AO3 and FFN. I do not own Ib or its characters, nor do I make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
It was only 7 a.m. when Ib was woken up to the sound of a clatter outside her door. Waking up was disorienting enough with unidentified noise beyond her door before she realized the door and bedroom were not hers. It came to her quickly that it was Garry’s room. The pillows had already begun to smell like her perfume, though.
A few minutes passed before she was able to pull herself up from the sheets. It was dark in the room, but morning light was just coming in through the window as the sun was rising. The digital clock on the nightstand next to the blinded window read “7:12 A.M.” in its blocky green letters against black.
She wondered, then; was Garry cooking breakfast?
Her skirt had been wrinkled from tossing and turning in her sleep. She had worn it to bed, which probably wasn't the best idea. Her undershirt fit comfortably enough, and it had kept her bra from showing through her blouse the night before.
Pulling herself out of bed, a scent hit her, and she realized it was, in fact, Garry cooking in the kitchenette. She tried not to laugh as she pulled her skirt down mid-thigh and smoothed it out the best she could.
The old door creaked open on its hinges, and Garry heard it over the hissing sound of him pouring mixed pancake batter into a pan.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked. He was still in the clothes he had worked in the night before.
“No,” Ib replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes once more. Garry knew it was probably a lie, but he took the answer.
Ib’s stomach growled. She could feel hunger pains coming on, and it smelled good in the room.
“I have a pancake already done if you want it.” Garry gestured to a plate to his left; sure enough, a pancake was sitting on a plate just as he had said.
Had Garry really heard her stomach growl?! Ib guessed it had been a coincidence as she reached for the plate and took the food for herself. Garry smiled at her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, bowing her head. Garry nodded, poking at the half-cooked pancake in front of him with his spatula.
“There’s syrup in the cabinet next to the fridge,” Garry said, peeling the pancake from the pan. He flipped it over. “Do you want butter?”
“No, that’s alright,” she shook her head, opening the cabinet above her. She plucked a bottle of maple syrup from an array of other cans and boxes of food.
“The forks are under you.”
“Oh, okay.” She pulled open the drawer she had leaned against. She grabbed herself a metal fork, something she hadn’t seen in a while; she was all too used to her plastic store-bought forks.
She pulled a chair out and sat down at the dining table. She popped open the cap to the syrup bottle sitting in front of her. Behind her, she could hear batter sizzling and Garry scratching at the pan with a spatula.
It felt somehow so natural to be moving around his apartment and eating his food, though she had only walked in and slept. The apartment wasn’t all that warm and welcoming, but Ib had already grown used to it. It would be a working environment soon, though. She ate quickly.
Garry slid into the seat in front of Ib, a plate in his hands. He had two pancakes stacked up on his plate. Ib watched him sit down, looking up from her food. With her cheeks stuffed and syrup nearly dripping out of the corner of her mouth, Garry couldn’t help but laugh.
“Do you want any more?” He asked playfully.
Ib stabbed at the last bite of her breakfast, gulping down what she had chewed. “No, I’m fine.”
Garry bit his tongue, realizing the offence she’d taken. “Are you sure? I can make more.”
“I'll stick with one.” She finished her meal and stood, taking the plate with her.
Garry’s eyes followed her as she walked to the sink. The faucet began running water, and Garry grabbed absently at the open syrup bottle in front of him.

Garry’s hall closet was surprisingly clean, but it went so far back that it still took him ages to find a portrait canvas to work on that was the right size. He shuffled through clothes and boxes of art supplies until, after a minute of digging, he pulled out a decent white canvas.
Ib had been wondering how a man his age had kept his apartment so tidy, but she didn't ask about it. Garry inspected the canvas, plucking dirt and dust from its surface. “This’ll be fine,” he murmured to himself, closing the closet door with his foot.
He led Ib into the back room of the apartment, a room Ib had yet to see. With the canvas in one hand, he opened the door. The smell of acrylics and wood hit Ib hard, but Garry had grown so used to the smell that he simply ignored it.
A tripod easel was set up towards the back of the room, the floor around it lined by a blue plastic tarp. Both were splattered in places with paint but were mostly clean. There were tupperware containers and cups of pens and brushes scattered around the floor, some labeled with sharpies or stickers.
In front of the easel stood a wooden chair, an apron draped across its back. A stool stood just behind the empty easel frame.
“Have you done this before?” Ib asked. She stepped closer to the easel, and the plastic tarp crumpled under her bare feet.
“A few times, yes.” Garry positioned the canvas. He turned around and bent down, grabbing a few jars of acrylic paint from an array. “I don’t do it very often, though.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have enough free time or enough models.” He moved the paint jars next to the foot of his chair.
“I hope I’m not taking up your working time…” Ib hesitated in front of the plush stool.
He shook his head, still collecting his medium. “No, you’re not! I wouldn't have agreed to it if you were.” He dusted off his hands and gestured to the other seat. “You can sit down.”
“Oh, okay.” She tucked her wrinkled skirt under her lap and sat. The stool was cushioned, but she knew her back would start to hurt after a while of sitting there, that was for sure.
Under the legs of an easel was another plastic box full of black wooden brushes, well-cleaned, but the wood was smudged with paint.
“Do you want me to paint you in what you’re wearing?” Garry asked her, sliding the box out from under the easel. “You wore a blouse yesterday.”
“Would you prefer me wearing a blouse?”
“It’s your decision.”
Ib raked her fingers through her bangs, still stringy. She realized the condition of her hair when she felt it. “I can, but I think I should take a shower before this. I haven’t even looked in the mirror, really.”
“Oh! Okay.”
“Is that alright?” Was asking to shower in his bathroom imposing? Ib wasn't sure.
“Of course! There are towels under the sink.”
Ib stood. “It’s really okay?”
“Absolutely!” Her cautiousness was almost amusing to him. He was tying his paint-stained apron behind his neck, smiling at her from under his fallen bangs.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” She pushed herself up and turned, walking out of the room.
Ib tried to find her sense of direction as she walked out into the den. She guessed the bathroom was next to his bedroom, so she made her way across the floor. Opening the door revealed linoleum counters and white wood. Definitely the bathroom, she confirmed.
The tile was cold under her feet, and she cringed at the feeling under her as she walked in. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the bathroom. It was clean, not something she had expected to see. It wasn't as cramped as hers, but he certainly kept it in order, something that wasn't in-character for a single guy at his age. She didn't dwell on it for very long.
She opened the bottom cabinets to find a stack of white towels. Why was everything white? She grabbed one and set it on the edge of his sink.
She stripped and folded the clothes on the counter. It was already freezing while she pulled the last of her clothes off. Goosebumps began to rise on her skin.

A hot shower was heavenly, especially in December. The water stung her back, and the feeling was almost relieving.
Watching her feet, she let the water wash over her, taking with it the sweat and grime of last night's work. It felt good to shampoo the grease out of her hair and clear her pores in the heat.
She longed to stay in, hesitantly shutting off the water. Left behind was the steamy mirrors and wet tub, and the cold that hit her as she stepped out was unbearable.
It would take her a while to dry her hair, she knew. She wondered what Garry was doing. She scrubbed the water out of her hair with the towel she had left for herself, bent over awkwardly to keep the water off of her skin.
She dressed herself into what she had been wearing that morning and opened the bathroom door again. The cold rushed in from the main room, and Ib shivered. The heat escaped much quicker than it had come.
She searched under the counter for a hair dryer, but struggled. Garry's hair was long, but maybe not long enough for a hair dryer. Ib worried for a moment that he wouldn't have one in the first place before she found one, pressed up against the back of the cabinet.
The dryer whirred as she combed her fingers through her hair, the hot wind taking her hair with it.
A few minutes had passed before her hair was dry all around. Her hair had always been thick, so drying it was such a chore.
She peeked out into the adjoining hall and den. Garry wasn't in sight. He must've stayed in his workshop the whole time, she thought.
Ib went into the bedroom. Her blouse was laying there on the ground where she had left it. It was slightly wrinkled, but not by much. She slid into it.
Garry was in his chair cleaning brushes when Ib returned. An eerie quiet surrounded the room until the tarp on the floor crunched under Ib's feet, and Garry's daze snapped.
"Did I take long?" Ib asked.
"No, not at all." Garry set the thin brush down on the easel. "You ready?"
Ib nodded. A nervous smile began to form on her face.
She took a seat on the cushioned stool, shifting her weight to make herself comfortable. She prepared herself by pulling her hair out of her face and straightening her blouse.
"Wait... here." Garry rose and walked over to her. He took a lock of her hair in his hands and brought it along her cheek. He adjusted her bangs.
Garry backed away experimentally, hovering to see how she looked from afar.
"Turn your head this way." He jabbed his thumb to her left, and she turned just slightly.
"Lift your head a little." When she did, he beamed. "Perfect!" Garry clapped his hands and backed away to his seat. He took a block of charcoal and moved his hand up to the canvas.
Ib’s eyes darted around the room. In the first place, she had no idea where to look. Garry seemed to notice; he stretched out his left hand and snapped his fingers. Ib looked at him, almost flinching.
“Look down for me,” he said. He had held his hand out low, and her eyes followed. “There you go.”
Instruction was all she needed, and she tried not to smile as Garry eagerly sketched the outline of Ib’s face.

“Truth or dare?”
Garry hesitated. “Umm…” Ib’s eyes sparkled, seemingly egging him on. “Fine! Dare.”
She grinned mischievously. “Drink cold soup out of a can.”
“Gross! What the hell?”
“You wanted a dare!” Ib was giggling furiously.
“I don’t even have a can of soup!”
It had taken thirty minutes for the two of them to move from the workshop to the living room floor. It had been Ib’s idea to play truth or dare, something she hadn’t done in years. Neither particularly wanted to quit after they started.
“Lick the bottom of your shoe.”
“You’re so gross,” Garry groaned, but he stood up from the floor, walking over to the foyer. Ib could only cackle maniacally as he trudged his way across the room.
“Lick it! Lick it!” She chanted, shaking her fists.
Garry grabbed the boot by the tongue.
“Don’t be a wimp! Put your whole tongue over it!”
Cringing, he looked at the bottom of the boot. It was clean, although scuffed in areas. He located the cleanest spot and took a quick lick.
“Ew!” Ib screamed, still laughing at him.
“You dared me to do it!” Garry retaliated, dropping the boot on the tile.
“I know, it’s just so gross!” She cried, beaming from ear to ear.
Garry returned to the middle of the den, sitting down with his legs crossed on the carpet. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?”
“I can’t trust you with a dare after that. Truth.”
“What was your first high school relationship like?”
Ib giggled. “I didn’t have one.”
“Are you serious?” Garry’s mouth hung open, and Ib timidly shook her head. The look on Garry’s face was the only thing Ib needed to keep her entertained, but she tried not to smile at him.
“Yeah. No one asked me out, so I never dated.” Ib shrugged, pouting. “It wasn’t worth it.”
“Wow.”
Garry was completely absorbed, so Ib changed the topic seamlessly. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth. I don’t want another dare like yours.”
“Boring!” She booed. “What do you think about me?”
“What do I think about you?” Garry repeated, taking in the question. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking about his answers. “Well… you’re sweet, I guess…”
“I guess,” Ib murmured, teasing him inwardly.
“You have a great smile.” Ib covered her mouth when she felt herself starting to smile again. Garry noticed and scoffed. “You’re cute, too.”
“Aw, gee.” Ib’s cheeks were pink.
“Truth or dare?” Garry continued.
“Truth.”
“Are you excited for fetish night?”
“A little bit, I guess.” Ib smirked and shrugged again. “Truth or dare?”
“Um…”
“I have a great dare,” She egged him on.
“Fine!” He gave in. “Give me your ‘great’ dare.”
“Date me.”
- 8
- 9
- 10
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All Eyes On Me