"Four years." Oliver contemplated stopping and walking home, leaving her to run all by herself. He wasn't sure what that would accomplish, though; after all, if she was fighting this hard to keep pace with him, what was to say that she wouldn't simply follow him home?
"Funny, isn't it?" he went on, panting as he continued to push himself. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. "If we put the conversation back together again," pant, "it'd be 'I love you', 'oh', 'bitch'."