Hello there everybody. I'm actually putting up a story! WHOA!

So, I was introduced to this amazing computer game, IB, a while ago, and I was hooked! So I decided to make a fanfiction for it! For those of you who have never played IB, I suggest you go download it (Especially version 1.05). It is a wonderful game!

It will probably take me a while to complete this story and I'm going to probably be making a lot of edits along the way, so please just bear with me.

So without further ado, Together Forever...or Not...

"G****? …G****? Why are you sleeping G****?" She asked, brushing tiny fingers against the man's ashen cheeks. The lack of response was confusing; he had never failed to answer her before...

And yet he remained silent. He looked so tired and pale, and she really didn't want to wake him. But they were so close. So very, very close. She could feel it. To wait here would be dangerous and they could lose their only chance…

"G****? Please wake up…I looked ahead like you said…I got your rose back G****…" She tucked the stalk into his hands, shuddering at the clamminess of his palms. Ignoring the rapidly growing fear in her chest she wrapped his fingers gently around the delicate plant.

She waited for him to look at her and smile in that kindly way of his, waited for him to pat her head and chuckle, assuring her that everything would be alright. She waited for a long time…

He didn't respond…

"G****?" She whimpered, gingerly tugging on his tattered coat. To her surprise, he fell limply to the side, the rose stalk landing a few inches from his outstretched fingers. This reaction frightened her more than his silence. She scooted towards him, petting his head gently.

"G****? Please…wake up…please? Why are you sleeping? We can go home now…we can go home G****…" She sniffled anxiously waiting.

Why wasn't he waking up?

Why?

Ib gasped as she lurched forward, the last remnants of the vivid dream slowly fading from her head. Clutching the side of her bed, she clenched her teeth unhappily.

"That man again…this is the fifth night in a row…" She muttered, brushing stray hairs away from her perspiring face.

She had been having these dreams off and on for ten years…ever since she was nine. Dreams about the mysterious lilac haired man who looked so familiar and yet not…

The same man whose painting hung in the museum she visited every weekend with her sister. The same face she would stare at for hours, wondering why he visited her so often in her sleep.

The dreams were so real...

Sometimes he would be running, clutching her tightly in his arms as terrifying roars and screams echoed behind them. She never knew what he was running from, but she felt his fear so strongly it made her heart pound as she woke up.

Other times he would be reading, his recognizable tattered coat gone. But he didn't look happy. He looked so sad and worried, as though he was waiting for something or someone.

More often than not, he would be asleep, and she would desperately try to wake him. Ib felt uneasy about that dream for reasons she could not understand. He looked so peaceful and yet she sensed that something was wrong.

Then there were the rare dreams where he would be smiling at her, comforting her, laughing and brushing thin fingers lightly through her hair. She could even recall when he had been showing her a Milk Puzzle, explaining in a rather amused voice that he would rather do a puzzle with a picture.

"It feels much more worth it to do a puzzle of a picture you like."

She loved those dreams the best. He seemed so cheerful and carefree.

Always happy to see her…

But who was he? She could never catch his name; somehow it was always cut out of the dream. Had she met him before? Or was he just what Mary said he was? A simple painting.

She had yet to find out, but maybe someday…she would uncover the truth. Maybe even today.

She stretched, getting out of bed. Yes, today was the day she and Mary would go visit the museum again. Mary hated the place, especially the painting of the man, but she obliged Ib's wishes. She was a good sister.

She dressed quickly, donning a simple red dress with a white short sleeve jacket. Brushing her waist length brown hair and putting on a red headband completed her outfit. Since mother and father were never home on weekends, she could afford to dress a little more casual.

Then she opened a drawer. There, nestled underneath her socks, was a lighter. She slipped the device into her side pocket, looking around quickly to see if anyone had seen. Satisfied no one had watched her, she went to join her sister downstairs.

Mary was waiting for her, blonde hair up like usual and dressed in her "I really don't feel like going" clothes. A light green skirt and white short sleeve.

"Well it took you long enough Ib!" She teased. The brunette laughed lightly, piling toast onto a plate before sitting next to her.

"Sorry, I had another dream…" The blonde started, blue eyes widening.

"Again? What about this time?"

She closed her own eyes, picturing the man's face, serene yet sad.

"He was sleeping again…I was trying to hand him some kind of flower stem…but he was sleeping…" A long silence followed before Mary shook her head.

"I think you need to see a doctor about these dreams Ib…before…" She paused, irises flashing angrily. Ib ignored her, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Mary always worried whenever they discussed the painting or her dreams. She never understood why Mary hated them so much…they didn't hurt her.

"I know you're worried, but don't be m'kay?" Ib smiled comfortingly at her, "It's not like these dreams are keeping me awake. They're just frequent is all…" Mary looked annoyed, but nodded.

Breakfast continued in silence, each girl lost in their own thoughts. Ib pondered her dream again and that strange day at the museum when she was little. She remembered asking her mother if she could look at the art while they were busy. She could recall looking at the statue of the red rose, a second favorite of hers.

She had also been looking at Guertena's International Mural. She had tried to avoid that particular painting afterwards. Seeing the canvas filled her with a sense of unease that she just couldn't understand.

It was much later on, she had found the painting of the man. She could remember vividly that she had thought she had known him somehow. But that was all she remembered; she had found her family a little later and gone home, Mary eagerly bouncing around asking if they could go to a café.

Then there had been the lighter...

She absentmindedly reached towards her pocket, fingering the small metal device. She had found it along with a lemon flavored candy after she came down the steps. Mary had quickly taken the candy, munching on the sweet with gusto, but Ib had hidden the lighter from her, some inner instinct warning her not to let her sister take it.

When Mary went upstairs to finish getting ready, Ib took the lighter out.

A G in fancy lettering was etched into the smooth surface. She traced her finger over the engraving then opened the top. When she flicked it, the flame danced, blue and red waving together happily. She watched the tiny flare, fascinated, before quickly clicking the top shut again as Mary came back down.

"Well…you ready to go?" She asked gruffly. Ib nodded, pocketing the lighter as the other turned towards the door. Taking a deep breath she followed.

She could tell something was on her sister's mind as she drove. Mary was incredibly distracted and more than once had to be reminded to watch the road.

"Mary! You passed another stop sign!" Ib scolded, wagging her finger.

They screeched to a halt at the museum, her sister glaring fiercely at the doors. With deliberate slowness, she pulled in and parked.

An awkward silence followed before the blonde suddenly whirled on her.

"Ib. Why do we have to come here every weekend?"

Ib blinked, startled. She knew Mary didn't like the museum but she never though she had minded that much.

Reaching out, she grabbed her sister's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"If you don't want to go in I'll just go and you can pick me up later." She offered, flinching as Mary slammed her fist on the steering wheel.

"NO!" Breathing heavily, she wiped her forehead.

"Look, I just don't understand your fascination with this stupid painting and the man from your dream. Why can't you just forget about him?"

"I…I don't know…that's what I'm trying to find out…why I keep dreaming about him."

"Well then go to a doctor Ib! I'm damn well tired of coming here every weekend! Forget about him already! Garry's…" She stopped, biting her lower lip.

Ib's heart jumped. Why was that name familiar?

"Garry?...Who the heck is Garry?" Mary eyed her, smirking wryly.

"No one…Look, why don't we just leave the stupid painting and go to a café or something? That'll be fun right?" She smiled hopefully, frowning when Ib shook her head.

"I can't just give up sis, I need to know."

They stared at each other fiercely before Mary lowered her eyes. With a defeated sigh, she opened the door.

Ib smiled back, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I just wish you would forget about going. I feel like I'm losing you…."

Ib laughed, "You'll never lose me. Together forever, okay?"

"Yeah," Mary grinned, "Together forever."

They both chuckled. That had been their private joke ever since they were little. Mary had started the saying in the museum, gripping on to Ib and asking her with the utmost seriousness if they could stay together always. Since then, Ib had used it to calm her sister's fiery temper whenever she got out of control.

They hugged before getting out of the car, Ib fairly dancing in excitement. She loved this museum, loved the paintings, especially her painting.

Paying the fare, she half ran half walked upstairs and slid to a halt.

There he was; The Forgotten Portrait. A young man leaning tiredly against the wall, head hung low as he slept. His purple hair, streaked through with even darker purple, hung in a rather fashionable peek a boo style, covering his left eye. A small smile hung on his lips, but there were traces of sadness hidden in that smile, making him look melancholy. Ib could never quite make out why, but he was a beautiful painting all the same.

Mary stood next to her, glaring at the painting hatefully. With a huffy sigh, she tilted her head at Ib.

"Well, I'll be at the gift shop if you need me." She waved, and then left. Ib nodded distractedly before turning back to the painting. Taking a deep breath, she gently touched the wooden frame.

"Hey," She whispered, "I'm back. Did you miss me?"

The painting made no response, but Ib thought that the smile seemed happier.

"You've been visiting me a lot lately." She murmured. "I wish I knew why…I wish I knew who you were."

There was no reply.

"It's silly," She continued, "to think that a painting can talk back like a regular person…but I almost believe you could." She touched the edge again, sighing.

"You look so sad…like you've lost someone you cared about…How can a painting look so sad and forlorn?" She stared at him, taking in his face. "I wish…I wish that you would open your eyes…and say what's wrong." She sighed, scolding herself for such childish fantasies. She was nineteen, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

And yet…

She still believed, with all her heart, that this painting was somehow alive.

She turned for a second, wiping her eyes.

'Goodness, why am I crying?' She wondered. With a shake of her head she turned back.

Her heart stopped as the man suddenly lifted his head.