A/N: A promise is a promise...this weekend it is! I'm tired and have been writing all day...but mswitsend, I will send you details this week, also as promised. Same goes for Marsupial...and Irma? Travel safe. I'd also like to apologize to FragrantLily, who I'm pretty sure didn't have nearly three months in mind when asking for more frequent updates. Oops? I'll try and do better, I swear. And a shout out to Heartsnevermend; I'm not sure if you're new to the fandom or not, or if you're reading this story too, but I'm so glad you enjoyed TUC! Speaking of shout outs...dammit naomily, where's that second story at?! Looking forward to it! Whoever reviews first will have the high honor of being my first triple-digit review on a single story, and even though most of the writers I just name-dropped reached that, like, AGES ago...I can't fully express how much it means that there's still people reading out there, so thank you. Thank you so much. And if you ask me anything in your review (whether you're number 100 or 103 or whatever on this chapter), I'll answer it. *I may really regret this...

Without further ado...I don't own 'Skins.'

Naomi craned her neck around the row of seats in front of her. "Who'd you reckon he is?"

"Will you just, Christ c'mere," growled Emily as she tugged Naomi in for a chaste kiss. "After the way my sister's acted around you recently, why are you so concerned with whom she sits on a train?"

"Because any fodder for getting under her skin is good fodder."

The younger brunette twin groaned. "You two are like primary school children, I fucking swear."

"Ah, come on, you know you love it." Internally, Naomi added a rushed 'Shit.'

Emily froze just long enough for Naomi to notice the discomfort; she blinked and nibbled at her thumbnail. "I often find your wit of the highest quality, yes. Your penchant for needing to one up my sister's insults...surprisingly not my favorite trait of yours."

Naomi laughed awkwardly, attempted to steer the conversation back on stable ground. "And what would some of those be, then?"

As she slipped white buds into her ears and began scrolling through her phone's music library, Emily snorted. "I'll think about it and get back to you. Gives me something to think about on those long sets."

The blonde laughed, thumbed open her novel. "Alright, have it your way, Fitch."

A slight smirk and a whisper accompanied her picking an album (Bastille's fresh debut Bad Blood) to pass the time to London: "I will."

Katie shriek-laughed in protest, pulling the large round headphone away from her ear and throwing it at her row-mate.. "Abso-fucking-lutely no! That's pure shit, that."

"I'm actually quite proud of it, when I can fit it into a set." Thomas picked up the expensive set and offered it back to her. "If you had been dancing for a couple hours, would you really pay attention to the words, or would it just be the beat that matters?"

The older Fitch sibling pressed the headphone to her ear, nodding her head slowly. "It does have a hot beat. And how do you know I even go clubbing? Maybe I just stay in and swim and study?"

The young man—Thomas, he'd introduced himself as upon the train's departure from Bath—flashed a toothy smile at her coy protests. "I know when someone has the dance inside of them. You, Katie Fitch, are very much a dancer...and probably quite good, I imagine."

"The type you can't take your eyes off," she insisted with a wink. Genuinely curious, she shook her head. "I don't get it. If you're such a good DJ, why run?"

"Because I run very fast. So fast. Like—"

"—A dog. Yeah, you said that like, five fucking times, uh, Thomas?"

"Yes, that is my name. And you're Katie. A very pretty name; it suits you."

The train eased underneath the glass dome ceilings of Paddington Station, slowing to a stop with a slight jolt. She handed back the glossy white headphones. "You know you don't have to always turn every sentence into a compliment, right? I mean, like, I'm not complaining, but most people aren't so openly honest."

Thomas's brow creased as he wrapped the headphones around his neck and stood up. "Have I given you a reason to think I'm not honest?"

"No! No, just...it's not something I'm used to." Katie glanced along the aisle of the train car, watching her sister and teammates plucking swim bags from the cramped overhead storage rack or out of their seats, slinging them over one shoulder at a time. She pushed her way off the train, aware that Thomas followed her trailblazed path through the hesitant crowd lingering on the platform. "Are you planning on follow me, or...?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, no, I..." Thomas shrugged. "I wanted to make sure I could invite you to my shows; I am playing somewhere every night this week and—"

"KATIEKINS!" Cooks' euphoric greeting pierced the steady background buzz of the packed Paddington platform as he made his way forward and hugged her. "Our train got in, like, fifteen minutes early, so 'course Freds decided to get a nap in 'fore yous all arrived."

Katie and Thomas both stared, miffed, along the vector suggested by Cook's outstretched finger. Between the sea of travelers, they spied Freddie sprawled out on a bench, his swim bag substituting for a pillow.

"Is he comfortable like that?"

"I have slept in worse places. In the Congo, where I was born, we slept on the ground before we moved into the city."

"Who the fuck're you, mate?"

The hand shot out immediately. "So sorry. My name is Thomas; so good to meet you."

"Right..." Cook said with confusion.

"He's, like, a really famous DJ and was just about to invite us to, like, all the best clubs, weren't you?" Katie supplied helpfully, eyes widened pointedly.

Thomas blinked, rapidly remembering their conversation. "Oh, yes, of course! Any of Katie's friends are my friends too. And my friends never stand in the lines, yes? Or pay cover."

"Tip-fucking-top! Cheers, mate." Cook clapped him on the back before he caught sight of the rest of the team and his attention shifted. "Ef, Muff Monkeys!"

Katie elbowed him in the side, whispering, "Fuck, have some discretion," but he bounded away to embrace them. She felt something slide into the back pocket of her jeans and whirled around, her hand snatching the small card out. Katie smiled faintly at Thomas's handwritten business card complete with mobile number, and finally found the back of his head bobbing through the crowd, headphones clamped in place as a beat transported him out of the station.

"Can you get sports PTSD?" Cook asked pointedly, standing on the knubby pool deck and staring across the still teal of the Aquatics Centre pool.

At his left shoulder, JJ shook his head. The rest of their teammates trod past, flip-flops smacking obnoxiously in the cavernous space. On Cook's right, Freddie gazed pensively towards the rafters. He whispered just loud enough for the other two to hear, "Anything's possible."

"Well, statistically that is highly inaccurate; not everything is possible. But it is improbable that the act of practicing in the same pool where they were disqualified two years ago would have a tangible, detrimental effect on their performance. It is actually more likely that the memory motivates them to work harder."

Cook pointed towards the figure walking out of a door on the opposite side of the pool: their coach emerging from the small area converted into coaches offices. "And how does that factor into the equation?"

JJ paused, shaking slightly despite not having to get in the water himself. Freddie answered for him. "We're so fucked."

Darrick strode confidently along the pool deck, a warm grin partly shrouded by his curly beard, clutching a pile of papers in his hands. A simple graphic t-shirt and jeans never looked so threatening. An unsettled ripple of whispers coursed through the assembled team as they stretched behind their respective lanes of the pool. "Good morning, children."

"Darrick, mate—

"Or Coach, you know, for the rest of us who understand proper team relationship dynamics," snarked Naomi as she adjusted her swim cap.

Cook pointed in her direction, mockingly grateful for the correction. "Right, Coach, you do know we're all adults, yeah? Or nearly so."

Their coach paused, slowly turning in a circle between lanes five and six as he handed out the sheets delineating the practice sets. Fifty-seven faces stared back at him; Emily did not, engrossed in the practice.

"You're right, Cook—"

"There's a first," Katie muttered as Cook preened.

Darrick handed out the practice to the final couple lanes and leaned on the metal rails of the pool ladder"—you're all semi-responsible young adults and extremely talented teen swimming prodigies, which naturally means I'm expectin' a lot of complaining to drown out anything I say starting...now."

"You mean, complaining about how you're wearing your Tennessee shirt ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE SPRING TRAINING TRIP?!" Katie ripped the practice out of Zelda's hands and waved it at him. "Should I even bother reading it, or, like, just roll over and die now?"

"On the plus side, it's not Joe." Naomi chimed in from lane 2, referencing a previous brutal practice during which Darrick first unveiled the Tennessee shirt, as she pressed the paper to a kickboard and dunked it in the water to adhere the paper to the board, smoothing out wrinkles as she did. "But, Coach, the first day, really?"

Darrick's warm smile evolved into something a bit more maniacal. "Too much fun! Let's go. In the water, children. Practice started exactly one minute ago, so we're already behind. We'll need all three hours to get through this. Oh, and Katie? Your 'best stroke' on sets today had better be butterfly."

"Fucking hell," she groused, tugging goggles in place and jumping in both feet first.

Seventy-three minutes later, Effy coasted into the wall of lane four, laconically drifting towards the lane line so that one of their teammates could execute a flip turn and finish the set after being lapped by both Effy and Naomi, who leaned against the red-and-blue plastic discs of the lane line as she squinted at the practice board in her hand. Effy peered down at the sheet.

"Rainbow set, lovely."

"Do you really not read ahead in the practice, ever?"

Effy frowned. "I can't swim multiple sets at once. Why stress about something I can't do yet?"

Naomi let the kickboard float in the lane, reaching instead for a bottle of water. After a quick swallow, she shrugged. "Because you can be more efficient with effort in the other sets."

Her teammate and childhood friend upturned a palm. "A good coach builds a practice so that we don't have to think like that."

"Thank you for that coaching theory lesson, Elizabeth," Naomi said dryly. She placed the kickboard back on the deck. "But we will need to think on this set."

"And swim fast," Coach Mercer provided, towering over the pool. He handed down a laminated table streaked with colors, moving from lane to lane distributing them. After providing the chart to the entire team, he introduced the set. "Yes, I'm wearing the shirt today. No, I'm not sorry. It's main set time. You all have a pace chart in front of you; that first column is your threshold, alright? What can you maintain over and over—that is also your red. Blue and purple then build off of that."

"And if we're colorblind?" Cook joked in poor taste.

"You could always just quit now," Emily said cheerfully.

"If it's easier, think about each color in percentages," Darrick intoned, pacing back and forth. He used his hand to show in the air a hypothetical spectrum of effort. "Red is 90%; blue, 95; and purple, 100% effort. 90% is hard but shouldn't hurt unless you do it over and over. 95% is close but not quite all out, and should hurt."

The coach paused for effect, stared at Cook. "100% should kill you."

"This is going to suck up the arse," Katie whispered to her twin as they peered up at the practice sheet on a kickboard wedged into the bars under their lane's starting block. She pointed at the set:

4x200 free red on 2:25

Rest :30

2/4/6/8x100 free blue on 1:20

Rest :30

1x100 free purple on 1:45

Rest 1:00 between rounds

"Well," Emily attempted to downplay the extreme difficulty of the main set in their practice. "At least we only have to die four times in the set."

"I'm not Catwoman, Ems," Katie protested through gritted teeth as her sister began laughing uncontrollably. "I don't have nine lives. Besides, how are we supposed to party properly in London if our practices are like this every day?"

"We leave on the top," Darrick called out, pointing at the digital clock as it counted off the seconds; twenty-one, twenty-two...around towards the top of the minute. "If you all can't move or get in trouble this evening, I'll feel like I did my job today."

Katie Fitch pressed her goggles into her eye sockets as the clock approached double zero. "He and I have very different understandings of what his job is."

And so they began.

"And so..." Emily leaned against the shower tile for support as her core tightened in pain from a mixture of laughing and the rigors of their first training trip practice. In the corner, Katie stood under a stream of hot water, petulant, with arms crossed; elsewhere, the other members of the women's team continued their post-practice routines patiently waiting for Emily to finish her story. "So she goes, 'I'm not Catwoman...I don't have nine lives.'"

Peals of laughter echoed around the locker room much to Katie's vehement protests as the tension and exhaustion from the practice abated for a few moments. Naomi mockingly thanked her for the ridiculous comment; Effy's lips threatened a smile at the corners; Zelda wiped tears away from laughing so hard.

"And then she absolutely destroyed the set," concluded Emily. "So, dear sister, in honor of being both the practice 'winner' today, not to mention being insufferable when we don't let you set our social calendars, where are we headed tonight?"

The older of the two Fitches grinned. "I have a couple ideas."

"She's going to be a hellion when she gets to uni," Naomi commented astutely, watching their younger teammate interact with two of their male peers from City, University of London's crew team near the bar. The majority of the National Team reclined around a table along one wall of the club, multiple bottles and empty classes littering the smooth surface.

"I'd like to think I've rubbed off on Zelda," Katie said proudly.

"I'd like ta think—"

"Don't." Freddie interrupted Cook before he could suggest something suitably crass about his teammates.

"I'm just saying...they're both fit and if Katiekins wanted to dabble, I'd encourage it."

"Tosser. I don't dabble." She appraised the two guys again and made to slide out of the booth. "I go in for the kill."

"Yeah, you go get the taller one, Catwoman," Naomi chirped after her; Katie whirled, giving her the finger.

"I don't want to hear it, Campbell."

"What about your new boyfriend?" Effy asked innocently. "From the train?"

Katie faltered, eyes glancing down and away from her friend. Her hesitant doubt lasted only long enough for the beat to drop on the new Iggy Azalea single. "We're not married or anything. It's not like they'd write, like, a magazine article about our torrid romance. I can have fun tonight and still pull Thursday at his gig."

"Her stamina in trying to get in boys' pants is exhausting," Naomi avered, frowning in frustration at her snide comment about the article published earlier in the year highlighting she and Emily's relationship..

Cook started laughing gleefully, oblivious of the tension; in unison, the rest of the team mimicked Freddie: "Don't."

On Tuesday, Darrick appeared on deck wearing a white Polo and a subdued grey ballcap emblazoned with a distinct orange 'T'; a withering hour-long kick set followed. Wednesday, brought a pair of creamsicle checkerboard trousers to the Aquatics Centre and an individual medley main set, which sent Zelda, Cook, and Katie across the pool deck to puke in a rubbish bin. Throughout the week, an afternoon weight room session concluded the day's training before Coach Mercer released them to enjoy exploring London; however, after Monday's excursion, that exploration each night consisted of a group effort to find the nearest comfortable bed or sofa upon which to collapse, exhausted.

Emily awoke Thursday morning nestled comfortably next to Naomi, though the comfort lasted just long enough to seem like a torment instead of a relief. The blonde squirmed again, eyes still squeezed shut in the throes of a dream, her elbow pressing into Emily's back. Goosebumps erupted on Emily's neck as a desperate, incomprehensible words spilled out of Naomi.

Dreaming-Naomi seemed to sob, and without warning the words became far too coherent. "Why won't you say it?!"

Bolting out of the bed, Emily threw off the sheets and fled into the loo, slamming the door; Naomi awoke with a start alone in bed. Peering around the morning grey of the hotel room, she heard the shower head activate and resolved the mystery of her disappearing bunkmate. The blonde's eyebrows drew together; her shaking hand brushed across her hairline. It came away wet with perspiration and the fretful dreams of her night bubbled back into her consciousness. Naomi let her body fall back against the too-hard mattress and pulled the sheets over her head. Cocooned from the sounds of the shower and the voices of her nightmare alike, she swore urgently. "Shit, shit, shit."

"So, trouble in paradise?" Effy asked nonchalantly as the team stretched behind the starting blocks, goggles and swim caps dangling from their hands, or resting on the mesh equipment bags at their feet.

Staring across the expanse of the pool, Emily pulled her hair into a messy bun. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hmmm. Suit yourself."

Hazarding a peek at where Naomi and Zelda were helping each other put on their swim caps, Emily worried her lip in silence. She turned to find Effy staring at her knowingly. "It's nothing!"

Before Effy could eviscerate her evasive protest, their coach stepped out of the offices. The entire team fell silent as he got closer. Murmurs spread from swimmer to swimmer. "Thank fuck."

"He's not wearing anything orange today."

"'Bout fucking time he gave us a reasonable practice."

"Good morning, team!" Darrick wove through the group, glad in jeans and a white National Centre for Swimming quarter zip, placing practice sheets on each starting block face down. "You're going to need your whole bag today. Yes, Naomi, even trainers."

"Why'd he have to single me out?! We all hate trainer sets. Shoes do not belong in the water."

"Too right," Zelda agreed. She raised her voice, imitating Naomi's frequent protest regarding one of their coaches signature practice elements: having to swim with a pair of ratty trainers on; their added waterlogged weight made fast kicking nearly impossible. "It's cruel and unusual punishment, Coach. Mafia tactics."

Coach Mercer laughed. "And what would you know of mafia tactics, Zee?"

"Intimidation, harassing innocent people, insisting on bribes and tribute payments. Like, basically the entirety of Snatch."

"Hey!" Cook punched Freddie in the shoulder, thickening his accent. "If I win, I want a caravan."

"A caravan?" Freddie replied in the same tone."

"Aye, a fuckin' caravan for me degs."

"You had to mention Snatch," Naomi bemoaned, pressing her hand to her forehead.

Before permanently losing the attention of the team, their coach pursed his lips and sent a piercing whistle through the natatorium. The good-natured (at least on Freddie and Cook's part) quoting of Guy Ritchie movies petered out as Darrick shook his head. "Let's warm up. Why are y'all in such a good mood?"

"'Cause you're not wearing that ghastly orange today," Katie said with disdain.

"You mean, this orange?" The coach tugged his sweater over his head revealing the hated Tennessee shirt. A chorus of groans and expletives floated over the water. Laughing, Coach Mercer pointed at the pool. "Ah, too easy. C'mon, warm up folks. You'll need it."

Twelve hours later, Emily stood in front of a mirror in her sister's hotel room tugging at a matte black skirt, bottom lip twisted between her teeth. "You're sure?"

From the loo, while touching up her eyeliner, Katie responded. "Positive, Ems. On fucking fire. Why'd want to look so good tonight anyway? You don't have to try; Naomi's coming back with you, whether you're looking almost as fit as me, or whether you wore sweats and flip-flops. Me, on the other, hand, I have someone to impress."

"Seeing as Effy's liable to end up in our room so you can shag this Thomas guy, maybe it doesn't matter how my night ends, but I have my reasons."

"What's going on between you two, anyways? I don't have to kick her in the arse, do I?"

Emily chuckled while teasing her hair. "No, you don't need to..." She trailed off, frowning at her reflection. Softly, unsure, she asked, "Katie, have you ever told a guy...and meant it? Not just to get him in bed?"

Her twin's head popped into the well-appointed hotel room. "Told a guy what?"

"I mean, it's not like we've just met, yeah? It's been over a year, for Christ's sake. And I know that we haven't exactly been serious that entire time, but...am I imagining things?"

Next door, Effy shrugged while toying with the plethora of bracelets on her left wrist.

"It's just...I'm not the kind to commit to something immediately, you know that." Effy looked up in disdain. Naomi rolled her eyes, sat on the edge of the bed clenching her shirt in both hands. "Okay, I never commit to anything. But this is different, isn't it? Fuck's sake, the team has a word for us like we're a celebrity couple in Katie's Twitter feed. So why wouldn't she? You don't think..."

Effy appraised Naomi silently.

"You don't think she's waiting for me to say it first, do you?"

"Is that too much to ask?"

Katie snorted, returned to applying lip gloss. She pressed her lips together, evaluated her makeup in the massive mirror. "Of course expecting it to come from Naomi is asking too much! Let me ask you something, Emily: What did it take to make her even be open to kissing you in the first place?"

"The irresistible Fitch charms?" Emily made eye contact in the mirror; Katie scoffed predictably.

"It took gallons of the world's most alcoholic juice and—"

"It wasn't fucking gallons," protested Emily. She shook her head. "What's your point, Katie?"

"My point is, even if Naomi knows what she wants...maybe she doesn't know how to show she knows what she wants."

"You're not making much sense, you know," Naomi complained as she adorned herself with a pair of silver earrings. Effy, invisible in the narrow closet as she selected a suitably provocative shirt-dress for the evening, responded with a silent raise of her eyebrows. The blonde continued her monologue, "But I think you're trying to preach patience, and we both know that's, like, the very last of the virtues I may possess in any capacity."

Effy strolled back into the hotel room proper.

"I shouldn't even have to say it, should I? Ultimately, that's the point, right? She should just...know."

"Naomi, if people just...'knew,' we'd have solved love a long time ago."

Blue and purple lights dazzled, spinning and whirling through the club as nozzles shot fog into the air and bass drops rattled teeth, vibrated nerves. Foregoing a table this night, a group of swimmers dominated the center of the dance floor nearest the DJ's booth, most of the team, at least. Emily peered up through the lights and smoke towards where Zelda and Katie were dancing hypnotically on either side of the boy from the train—Thomas—spun an eclectic but infectious blend of house, dancehall, and Afrobeat tracks with a smattering of immediately recognizable earworms. Her sister swayed closer to her new acquaintance, distracting him from the turntable.

Lowering her gaze, Emily realized she too had an admirer. Naomi stared hungrily towards the twin from across the impromptu dance circle. Katie does pick out a killer club outfit, Emily admitted to herself, but her quick thoughts disappeared as someone nudged her into the middle of the circle. Effy waggled her eyebrows, amused at her own efforts; a second's hesitation on Emily's part, and she embraced the beat. She slowly spun, gyrated, and swayed her way closer and closer to Naomi, noting a heavy swallow before pressing against the blonde just as the song changed and one of their male teammates jokingly replaced Emily in the circle. The brunette girl snaked a hand around Naomi's neck, leaning back to press lips to neck just below her ear. Opposite, Effy sipped a vodka water through the tiny stirring straw, watching the exchange as Naomi and Emily kissed briefly, though with extreme urgency, and danced together.

After another couple songs (and a near-nauseating view of her sister using the turntables as leverage to grind against the DJ's crotch), Emily spun in Naomi's arms. She slipped her leg between Naomi's and drew them even closer; she took a fistful of the taller girl's shirt and tugged her down into a fierce kiss. Emily broke it after several cat-calls, lingering millimeters from Naomi's lips. Her brown eyes found blue counterparts nearly midnight-hued with desire.

"Naomi...there's something I need to tell you..."

The blonde, four drinks deep, felt the haze of music, drinks, and dancing shatter in Emily's halting words, broken in a thousand pieces by an irrational panic. "Em..."

"Naoms, I..I.."

"I have to get out of here," Naomi interrupted, turning away in shame, pressing through the crowd towards the exit.

"What the fuck!" Emily shouted, her voice drowned by the music and swelling tears as Naomi disappeared. The younger Fitch twin turned back to Effy, desperate for help, but found an equally disappointed look in her friend's eyes. Effy nodded her head towards the back of the club; Emily nodded in agreement and tried following in Naomi's retreating footsteps.

Crashing into the silence of the night as the door opened to Thursday night London, Emily whirled around in the street. At the nearest corner, she saw Naomi approaching an Uber and nearly sobbed. Regaining her voice, she shouted along the queue, "Naomi! You fucking...stop right there!"

The blonde looked up, one hand on the door handle, eyes shining with tears. "I can't."

"NAOMI! Don't..."

"I have to get out of here." Naomi opened the door and slipped into the sedan; it pulled away with red tail lights blurring in Emily's swimming vision; she started running after the car, drunk and in heels. Six steps later, Emily felt her foot catch on a crack in the asphalt, and the world tumbled around her, ground rushing towards her face far too quickly.

The door again shattered the night with pulsing music escaping alongside Katie, Effy, and Thomas—his turntable abandoned when the older Fitch twin made, without warning, a sudden movement for the exit. The trio ran to assist Emily in sitting on the kerb, her sister hugging her tightly.

"Where'd she go? I'll fucking kill her."

Sniffling, Emily shook her head. "No, Katie. She's gone." Gingerly, she touched a ruby red scrape on her knee. "And that hurts like a bitch."

Effy took a seat on Emily's opposite side, leaving Thomas to awkwardly stand in front of them. He glanced down the street. "You know, I can run after her. I run very fast."

"S'alright, thanks though. She's just scared." Turning to Effy, Emily sought confirmation as a fresh bout of sobs rose in her chest. "Right?"

The lithe girl wrapped her arms around both sisters and pulled them into a group hug, rocking Emily back and forth as the queue, filing diligently into the club, ignored them completely.

"I am trying to say it! You won't listen! I lo—" The landing jolted Naomi awake from the routinely heartbreaking dream, vibrations from the impact of tires on runway shaking the fuselage of the airplane underneath the pillow wedged between seat and window. Squinting one eye open, she appraised the other passengers in her row: on the aisle, Kieran sat, arms crossed, staring intently at the seatback in front of him, reciting a simple plea: "Don't fucking crash; don't fucking crash."

The passenger separating Naomi from the Irishman peering out the small window into the nighttime lit like a heretical Christmas tree with runway lights and the city skyline in the distance. She noticed Naomi's uncomfortable waking and smiled warmly.

"Good evening, dear. Feeling well-rested and refreshed?"

"Not quite, Mum." Naomi shifted in her seat, clutching the pillow to her lap as she followed her mother's gaze into the desert island night. "So this is Doha?"

"In all its shiny, shimmering humid splendor," Gina confirmed. She paused a beat, then drove directly to the point. "Are you ready to see her again?

You've been avoiding her on a university campus for months; what part of you thinks it's smart to fly halfway around the world to be in close proximity to her? Naomi worried her lip as the plane transited to the terminal. She focused on the blinking red aircraft warning lights on the spires of skyscrapers in the distance. "I can't run forever."