Good day to you! Thanks once again to all readers, reviewers, supporters, well-wishers and Naomily fans :)

Thank you for sticking with me as this story develops. I hope this next chapter does not disappoint. If it does, I apologise, and can only offer you the solemn promise that it will improve as the story progresses. Hopefully in the next couple of chapters I can draw together some of the threads I've been hinting at.

Please keep on reading, and just generally doing what it is you do!

Once again, positive or negative or somewhere in between, let's have that feedback!

Emily leaned heavily on the stone wall, the brick coping warm against her backside. She inhaled smoke gratefully, her brain calming down momentarily as the chemicals percolated through her system.

Naomi fucking Campbell. She snorted smoke out at the absurdity.

Ever since primary school that girl had managed to work her way into the fore-front of her mind, scraping away at the surface of her consciousness, feeling completely under her skin. Then there was that brief time in her life when they'd been together. It felt odd to Emily now, that that had happened. It felt like a dream, or like something that had happened to somebody else a long time ago. Everything was so much more sensible now, so much easier. She understood everyone in her life, every single one of her friends selected for the most sensible of reasons. They were good for her. What she had now was good. A chance meeting of several minutes with Naomi fucking Campbell was going to erode away that stability.

Her phone buzzed from inside her pocket startling her so much she dropped the cigarette that hung loosely between her fingers.

She looked sadly at the little stick before retrieving the phone and sliding it open.

'Hi,' Emily said, absent-mindedly scraping her fingernails along the bricks.

'Emily,' said Katie importantly, 'Where the hell have you been? I've been ringing you all morning.'

'Yeah I had to turn my phone off, I had that graduation ceremony, remember?' Emily shook her head at her sister's inability to register that other people had things to do that didn't necessarily involve her.

'Oh right,' Katie said, not remembering at all, 'what's that got to do with the library?'

Emily sighed, 'They needed help, and I'm their new paper-work monkey. You know how it is,' she said, knowing that Katie didn't know at all.

'Right, whatever,' Katie verbally brushed it aside, 'Look, Nat's been calling me all day.'

Emily cringed, 'Why's she been calling you?'

'Yeah that's what I want to fucking know, Emily,' Katie told her, 'She's been calling me asking where you are, when I think you'll be back, what you're doing, if you're free tonight, and there's only so many times I can tell her that I don't fucking know.'

'Couldn't you just say I'm ill or something?' Emily asked.

'Fuck off,' Katie told her, 'I'm not like ... your secretary or something, here to ... fend off lezzer advances.'

'I think you've been grossly misinformed about secretaries,' Emily noted.

Katie ignored her. 'Besides, Nat's ... you know ... nice,' Katie said, 'I think you should go out with her again.'

Emily snorted, 'Yeah sure, nothing to do with the fact her cousin plays for Arsenal.'

'It wouldn't hurt you to network, Ems,' Katie said testily.

'I just don't really, you know ... like ... feel it with her,' Emily tried to explain.

'Ew,' Katie remarked, 'I don't want to know what you feel up with her.'

Emily sighed and shook her head.

'Look, just tell me when you're going to be back,' Katie said.

'At about five, when I've finished up here,' Emily said, clutching the phone between her head and shoulder and fumbling around for another cigarette from her packet.

'Great, if she calls me again I'm telling her that,' Katie said finally before hanging up.

'KATIE!' Emily shouted, but too late. The bitch had gone.

'Fuck.'

Emily irritably stuck a cigarette between her lips, shaking the lighter in frustration when it refused to spark. Her phone bleeped once more. She let out a noise of utter exasperation as she read the message from her sister: 'Nat's coming over at 6 xxx'.

****

Naomi had artistically draped herself across on a bench outside a café of a university building. She had dropped her mum at the station a few hours ago, leaving her with the parting words 'Get a car you fucking hippy,' and was now free to wallow in self reflection, or more precisely, in undiluted Emily Fitch.

She found her mind happily and carelessly scampering down paths of possible engineered meetings: like accidentally bumping into her at the library, accidentally taking out loads of books and letting them become overdue, accidentally having to pay her a nice fat fine, accidentally telling her she'd work the fine off in other way, accidentally winking suggestively at her.

She stopped herself abruptly as a remembered image of a very sad, very defeated Emily was slapped onto the canvas of her mind. You just can't rebuild someone once you've fractured them like that, thought Naomi. Not once you're the cause of that look, that heart-wrenching look. She'd known it four years ago and she knew it now.

What bothered her was, the two times she'd seen Emily today, she'd seen nothing in her eyes but surprise. She could read no other emotion. Whereas she was sure her own eyes were an absolute analogy for longing, despair and heartache. Naomi's eyes were always what gave her away.

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of the situation. Here she was, once again reduced to obsessing over Emily Fitch. Had she not grown up? Had she not moved on? And why was it bothering her so much? After all, as her brain harshly scolded, she'd ended it in the first place; and with good reason. Why fixate on an old decision that was made for the best.

She stared through the window of the university building, trying to see beyond her own scowling reflection, desperate for any mindless nonsense that would fill her whirring mind with visual slush. She closed her eyes in frustration at her own absurdity.

'Okay, fine I'll go,' she said suddenly, as if she'd been having a long debate, and had conceded failure. She stood up and made her way to the front entrance of the library. She probably won't even be there, she thought, unsure if she found that prospect comforting or disheartening.

Naomi was all too familiar with the arts and social studies library. She had spent most of her university life within its walls, frantically typing essays to meet deadlines, feverishly researching philosophic theorems, becoming well acquainted with the political theorists of the early twentieth century, learning the ancient and carefully guarded craft of printing without having to pay, a tradition passed down from third years to freshers if they deemed them worthy.

For several of these reasons, Naomi felt that it was perfectly feasible for her to be back in this library, innocently looking through the book stacks. She was doing research, she would say: research for her important journalism job that she would quickly make up if asked about it.

A low feminine voice cut through the hushed silence of the library, 'Okay, they're due back on the 23rd,' said Emily before smiling sweetly at the greasy looking student at the front desk, his trousers hanging well below his arse, his dirty blonde hair scraped back into a pony tail. She handed him his books, which he took with a muttered, 'Yeah, got it.'

'You're being too nice Emily,' said a tall boy that stood next to her behind the desk, 'You've got to be firmer and meaner, or they just don't take you seriously.'

'Oh yeah?' Emily asked, already tired of his advice, which he was giving more to make her feel inexperienced and inferior rather than to be helpful. She knew the type. He reminded her briefly of her mother. 'So how would you say it then Kyle?'

'I'll show you,' he said, clearly thrilled at the prospect of displaying his advanced book-lending skills. He took a book from the hands of the next customer, scanned it and handed it back saying, 'Listen love, this is due back on the 23rd. Do not be late, or we will fine you.'

'What the fuck is your problem tosser?' Naomi demanded, her expression incredulous.

Emily's hand quickly darted to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Kyle looked stunned. He looked at both women, before flouncing off from the desk to the trolley of returned books, wheeling it away to get over his embarrassment with some simple, therapeutic shelf-stacking.

'Poor Kyle,' Emily mused, 'He had no idea who he was dealing with.'

'Yeah he's a twat, he's kicked me out of here once before,' Naomi answered, narrowing her eyes in his direction.

'Why?' asked Emily.

Naomi smiled at the memory, 'Oh it was really funny. It was really late one night and I was –' Naomi caught Emily's disapproving look. She cleared her throat, 'erm ... studying. I was studying.'

'He sent you out for studying?' Emily asked.

'Studying ... too hard,' concluded Naomi, 'I was becoming a danger to myself and others.'

'You're a terrible liar,' Emily said.

'And you're a stuck up cow,' Naomi replied.

The two girls let the silence between them linger for a few seconds. It was Emily that began to giggle first, Naomi joining in half a second later. It lifted the thick atmosphere they had both been ignoring since the graduation ceremony. Naomi watched Emily through eyes crinkled with laughter, stopping when she noticed how beautiful Emily was when she laughed.

Emily's laughs slowed to a halt when she realised Naomi was gazing at her. The silence returned.

'So, other than clearly stalking me, why are you here?' asked Emily, breaking the delicate quiet.

'Er, hello?' Naomi said, waving her newly acquired book in Emily's face, 'Here to partake in the radical new practise of borrowing a book from a library.'

Emily narrowed her eyes at Naomi.

'Stop squinting at me you weirdo,' Naomi said, trying to regain the light-hearted mood they had managed to scrape together.

'So what's the book for?' Emily asked.

'Research,' Naomi answered quickly.

'Research for what? You've finished your degree haven't you?'

'Research for my job. I'm a journalist,' Naomi said, her eyes flitting away from Emily's, conscious of lying.

Emily took the book from Naomi's clutch and read the title out loud, 'Seeking equity for women in journalism and mass communication education,' She snorted softly, 'You don't change your tune do you?'

Naomi rolled her eyes, 'Whatever,' she snatched the book back.

'Who do you write for?' Emily asked, with genuine interest.

'I'm erm ... freelance,' Naomi said. 'So,' Naomi shifted from foot to foot, her mind quietly but insistently requesting that she asked Emily something, her mouth remaining firmly shut, not willing to let anything of the sort escape from it.

'So,' Emily repeated, intrigued, despite herself, as to why the blonde hadn't left yet. She tried to tell her body to stop reacting to Naomi's presence, tried to tell her brain to stop insistently yelling at her 'Naomi Campbell's talking to me!', tried to quell her quickening heart beat with memories of heartbreak. It wasn't working. Emily knew that the seventeen year old version of herself was stirring within her, tugging at her arm, demanding that she paid some attention to what it was asking for. The difference was, this time she wasn't going to let it take over her life. She was stronger, more sure of herself, and definitely wasn't going to allow herself to be played with and tossed aside by Naomi Campbell.

'What time do you finish?' Naomi finally asked, after what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence.

'Five,' replied Emily.

'So ... um,' continued Naomi, unsure of what to do with that information, 'I could buy you a coffee?' she asked quietly, her eyes down, staring intently at the book in her hands. She looked back up at Emily after a few seconds, as if trying to pretend her mind had been elsewhere.

Emily looked at Naomi, fragility peering through the girl's forced expression of indifference. 'I can't,' she said softly, 'I've got plans with ... someone.' Emily felt instantly awful that she was using her date with Nat as an excuse. But she knew she put herself is far less danger if she let Naomi believe she was seeing someone.

'Oh, okay,' Naomi said, looking back down at her book. 'Another time maybe,' she said, with a small half smile.

'Maybe,' Emily said, with a simple nod, but no accompanying smile.

Naomi felt the barb. And she understood. Her hopes lay splintered on the floor around her. She left the desk with a head-bob instead of a goodbye, walking quickly, as if she thought that if she left quickly enough she could go back in time and the whole conversation would have never happened.

Emily watched her go.

It's for the best, for both of us, she told herself mentally, her brain echoing words that Naomi had tearfully spoken to her, four years ago.