Hey guys! So, I am Nickirem, but please call me Rem for short! I recently got into the Ib fandom and of course, became obsessed. XD I read the story by Fatalnightmares, and fell in love with it. Sadly, they decided to discontinue the fanfic, and put it out for adoption... Which, as you can see, came to me. The credits of the idea belongs to the admins of Fatalnightmares, and I do not take any credits for it. The first two chapters of the fic's ideas will belong the the admins, though I did major editing on it... So yeah! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the fic idea, Ib or Durarara. Each belongs to their respective owners. This will apply throughout the whole story.

Garry blinked, confused. It was as though he had just emerged from water. His breathe was irregular and his mind felt foggy. It was strange, to say the least. Wasn't he in front of a painting a while ago?

"What are you looking at?" A voice interrupted his thoughts, the violet-haired man whipped around; his heart thumping at the sudden noise, coming face-to-face with a young girl. She wore a red dress, and her chocolate brown eyes looked strangely familiar. Garry raked his memories of a girl such as this one but could not seem to recall anyone like her. How strange.

"Hm…" he murmured, "Let's see… It's a rose sculpture I guess, for some reason, whenever I look at this I feel…" Garry trailed off, trying to find the right word, "Sorrowful, I wonder why?" He stared at the artwork before him, as though it would tell him the answer if he looked long enough. "I'm sorry if I said anything to trouble you, Ib…" he said, the name coming out of his mouth almost naturally, as if he had spoken the word countless times before, but he hadn't, Garry knew that much. He does not remember that name no matter how hard he tried for whatever weird reason. "Wait, who's Ib?"

The girl looked up at him, her puzzled expression mirroring Garry's own. "I'm Ib," she said, her voice a mere murmur. Another sense of de-ja-vu struck the man; he know this person, he does. But why can he not remember her?

Garry could only stare, "Wait, your name's Ib? Your name is really Ib? Do I… know you from somewhere?" He blurted out, not caring about how rude he sounded; he only wanted answers. Something in Garry told him that he had had enough of mysteries and puzzles for a long time. The girl, no, Ib, nodded her head, looking unfazed. Garry shook his head; he was going insane, and at this rate, he would not be surprised if the girl reported him for harassment. Deciding that he should get out of the place before he got into more trouble, Garry plastered a smile on his face, "Oh, look at me. Asking you such strange questions, never mind what I said, well… goodbye." He said in a rush, flushing slightly at how weird he sounded.

Turning around and shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Garry touched something with a foreign softness. Mystified, he pulled the object out to see a handkerchief, pure white and made out of silk. "Huh?" he muttered to himself, "When did I get this?" It was yet another blank in his memories, Garry mused to himself.

A soft tug on his sleeve jerk him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at Ib, who was staring at the piece of fabric in his hands. "That's mine!" she said, reaching for it, and Garry hastily gave in to her when he caught sight of the two letters of Ib's name sewn neatly on the silk.

"How did it come to my pocket?" Garry muttered, "There's blood on it!" Suddenly, memories struck Garry like lightning as everything came back to him. "I was wounded, on the hand…" he recalled, "And a girl gave me this handkerchief… Ib! It was you!" He realized, eyes wide. From the look on the other's face, Garry guess that she had too, remembered. The urge to hug Ib suddenly engulfed Garry as he swept her into a choking hug, and he buried his face into her hair. He could feel the girl returning the gesture as he felt small arms wrapping themselves around him, and a smoothing murmur in his ear.

They remained like that for a few minutes, ignoring the looks that other people gave them as they walked by. And reluctantly, Garry parted with the girl, explaining that he had to pick something up from the post office, and left the gallery, the silk handkerchief in his hand, and the promise to meet again ringing in his head.

Garry looked at the sky, feeling as though nothing could drag him down. Humming slightly to himself, the man made his way out onto the open streets, not for one single moment noticing the scarlet orbs of Orihara Izaya following him like the eyes of an eagle.

I always love feedback on how I've done, so please reveiw!