Author's Note: I felt like writing something that was "Naomily." But I really wasn't too sure how and I'm in America and have basically no way of watching any of series 3 to really analyze their relationship. It is my hope that you, as a reader, can try to look past my errors or ooc-ness. It is not intentional, I swear. I do, however, remember enjoying (and hating) the tension with Emily and her parents. Anyway, I've written some more of this silly little story and would love to post it if anyone would enjoy reading it. Even a little bit. Please review and let me know!

Oh, and this is in Naomi's point of view, at least for the time being.

Disclaimer: I do not own Skins. I wish I owned Skins.

Reiterating Ignorance

I woke to a sudden flood of light in my room. I had been dreaming strange, clouded, unhappy things about Emily, and so I was initially relieved when I recognised her figure at my door. However, my relief quickly turned to concern when I made out her broken expression. She wasn't crying or anything, but I feel like the expression she was wearing right then was much, much worse than crying.

As I became more aware of my surroundings saw the time on my clock – 1:53 a.m. – I gathered the sense to wonder what she could possibly be doing here. She was, most unfortunately for me, supposed to be at her house for the night. (She could only ask Panda to lie to her parents about staying over for so long.)

She saw me sit up in an attempt to see her better in the near-darkness and said in a strangely remote voice, "Oh, shit! Sorry . . . for waking you up."

Of course I didn't mind that. I was actually rather glad she was here. I didn't sleep very well when she was home instead of here with me, where I couldn't help but feel she belonged.

"Em?" I ventured, my voice soft with sleep and worry. "Come over here."

She actually hesitated for a moment, which freaked me out a little. She looked really . . . weird. I couldn't figure it out, exactly. As she slowly walked closer to me, I discerned that she had, in fact, been crying. She had tear streaks on the sides of her face and faint traces of mascara under her eyes. I hoped that I had never done anything in the past had ever made her look this unhappy, though I knew that it was entirely possible that I had.

"Naomi," she whispered in the same voice that scared me.

Defeated, I thought, that's what she looked like.

"What happened? What's wrong?" I questioned anxiously when she sat on the very edge of my bed, looking unusually fragile.

'It's . . . it's nothing," she told me quickly, but her voice broke slightly. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course, Em. But obviously, it's not 'nothing.'"

What the hell was she talking about?

"Yeah," she agreed. "Well, it just . . . doesn't matter. I don't care." It was a little cute that she was totally adopting my personality traits: pretending things didn't matter, faking apathy.

Well, it was cute until a tear escaped her eye and I caught it. Then I embraced her, pulling her close to me and placing one of my hands on the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair.

When we were both laying down facing each other and my arms were around her, I asked again seriously, "What happened, Emily?"

"I'm fine, Naomi. It's stupid. It was just my mum. She was being really - saying really . . . just saying stupid things."

I felt anger rage through me. I'm a generally angry person, I'll admit, but in that moment, it was possible that I was the angriest I had ever been about anything.

Because the one time I'd met Emily's mum, we hadn't exactly hit it off. And while it was perfectly fine that she hated me, I could not handle her hurting Emily. Especially over things she couldn't even control.

"What did she say to you?" I asked immediately, trying to maintain my calm, comforting manner but probably failing miserably.

"I shouldn't even care. It doesn't matter," she said dismissively.

But I disagreed.

"It matters a lot, Emily. What was she saying?" I pressed, my angry curiosity once again consuming me.

"It's just that she's my fucking mother, right?" she said with quiet bitterness as she began to cry again. "She's supposed to fucking give a shit about what I want. She's supposed to fucking love me." Under other circumstances, I would have laughed at her excessive swearing.

Now, though, she was crying hysterically. I didn't know what I should do because I hadn't ever really comforted someone before. Especially not a person who I really fucking wished would feel comfortable.

And I really didn't know what I could say. Because, truly, I was all for some good Jenna Fitch bashing.

Thankfully, I didn't have to say anything right then, because Emily spoke again. "Mostly, it was just that she was yelling at me about you. Saying really terrible things about you, like she knows you or something. And then she went on about how fucking heterosexual I really am, just like Katie, apparently. Like that's what she wants! Another Katie!" She looked sort of weary, like by telling me about these events she had somehow had to relive them. But, then again, it wastwo a.m. and I knew we'd woken up really early.

"I just couldn't stay in that house," she added. She seemed a bit angry, but mostly just hurt now.

I was still angry.

"Emily," I told her seriously, "I don't understand anything about what your mother thinks. And I cannot fathom how someone could possibly want you to be anyone but exactly who you are." I took a deep breath. "But, as wrong as your mum is, I know that she really does care about you." I had to choke out that last part almost painfully.

But truthfully.

I kissed her briefly because I hadn't gotten to kiss her all day because she'd been with her fucking family.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess tonight," she apologized needlessly.

"I love you," I said, just because I'd found that I'd really enjoyed saying that so much recently.

I kissed her hair and ran my hand gently over her face, getting rid of any stray tears.

And I knew what I had to do tomorrow.

AN: Sorry I write so American-ly. Please do review!!!