You feel blind for all the things you never realized happened right in front of you, for all the things you never saw coming.

Yet, here you are sitting on a strip of sand by the ocean not able to peel your eyes off the horizon. The golden evening colors have already morphed into a warm orange light and you're watching it in awe as if this sunset is your first, as if you don't already know that the orange will eventually pull with it a dark blue blanket over you, as if you don't know the stars will eventually twinkle on that dark blue canvas, as if you don't know the moon will rise too.

You feel sober. Scratch that. You are sober. You feel... Like you got drunk on tequila shots but somehow feels awkwardly sober despite of it.

There's clarity.

There's cloudy too.

It's like you've never been more sure of anything before but at the same time, you have absolutely no clue what's going on.

There's hurt.

There's anger.

There's relief, even.

There's the lullaby of sleepy waves crawling up on shore, softly rumbling against the wet sand.

There's the breeze sliding through your hair, cooling down your heated skin, leaving a translucent layer of salt barely there in its place. You don't feel it as much as you taste it on your lips and smell it in the air around you.

There's the sand below you, cradling your crisscrossed legs carefully, it feels nice against your fingers as you draw stars in the grainy substance.

There's you.

What's left of you.

There's sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch.

There are all five senses present. They're all active, and here you are, with a beating heart fully functioning, but you don't feel anything at all. Scratch that. Here you are, painfully aware of your bleeding heart, and you have no band aid.

What's the point.

It's a stupid metaphor anyway.

The view is nice, though. Spectacular, actually. If you had a canvas and the right paints you'd immortalize this, and you'd do it with a singing heart pumping stars through your veins, and you'd feel alive.

Not numb like you are right now.

You run your fingers through the sand to dig up stones. A few of them look like good skipping stones, so you give it a shot. You swing your arm backwards, and then forward swinging the stone towards the open sea.

One splashy plop, no skips.

Oh well, you were never good at this. If you were you'd probably never skip stones from a sitting position.

"It's easier standing up," a female voice interrupts your self torture session. It's a nice voice, it's soft and confident. You can appreciate a nice voice.

You shrug, assuming she's watching you. She's probably right.

She walks by you, shoes hanging from one hand, her jeans folded up under her knees. You can appreciate nice legs too.

She continues forward until the waves lick her toes. She then spreads her arms out to the side causing your eyes to roam upwards, her loose button-up and long wavy hair gently dancing in the breeze. You can appreciate a nice body too.

You go back to the spectacular masterpiece you were painting in your head. This would add magnificence, this woman's flawless silhouette would be elegance against nature's forces.

She's probably a force of nature herself.

"Shit, this is cold," she gasps, backing out of the merciless ocean. "That sun," she shakes an accusing finger towards the culprit, "is deceitful."

You scoff.

You know deceitful and that sun is not it. It rises, it slides across the sky, it sets. Then again, over and over again.

She turns around and looks at you with curious eyes. "No? Look at them bright warm colors!" She throws a hand its way, "Look at that inviting thing, luring you in... And what for? My toes nearly fell off," she gasps dramatically before sharing an amused smile with herself, it seems.

If this was yesterday you'd probably smile back at her. You can appreciate a charming woman too.

"Do you mind if I sit?" She asks.

You shrug.

She takes a seat next to you, a half an arm's length away, respectably. "Mh..." She hums and that's all she does.

The silence that has been comforting you all night seems to have lost its magic touch. It tickles your anxiety so you follow the urge to break it.

"First time by the ocean?" You mean it as a joke because you've never met anyone who hasn't seen the ocean before.

"That obvious?" She chuckles.

"Really?" You look at her, surprised by her answer. Her eyes are still glued to the spectacular canvas in front of you. The artist in you appreciates her prominent jawline.

She nods, as if she recognizes you're finally looking at her.

Then she looks at you too, and you definitely appreciate her green eyes. They're the brightest of forest greens with a layer of golden specks and they remind you of sunlight cutting straight lines of gold through treetops.

Your canvas suddenly lost its importance – its grace – to this woman, these green eyes, and words like spectacular and magnificent are no longer good enough.

She smiles at you, and words like beautiful and gorgeous don't seem enough either.

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow.

"Lexa... My name, it's my name. Lexa." She stumbles over the words, her eyes still holding yours in a tight grip.

"Clarke," you say.

"That's a boy's name?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Well, there's an e at the end..." You shrug.

"Ah," she says, as if that e holds the key to unlocking the meaning of life. "There's an a... At the end... Of mine." She blushes, averting her eyes.

You can appreciate her adorableness too.

"Never would've guessed," you tease her, and she seems to appreciate that because a bright laughter escapes her lips, and it's sweeter than music.

You look back onto the once spectacular canvas, the orange belt creeping away on the horizon. It's not lost on you that the subject of your hypothetical masterpiece has gone from the horizon, to the silhouette of a flawless female body against said horizon to the contours of Lexa's face, just her face. It's not lost on you that a woman named Lexa who's never seen the ocean before has made you smile for the first time in... You don't remember.

It's not lost on you that your heart flutters in your rib cage when she looks at you.

It's not lost on you that you haven't thought about him since she showed up.

"Are you running too?" She asks you.

"That obvious?" You say, finding her eyes again.

"This is paradise, Clarke." She looks behind her as if checking it's still there. "The hotels, the bars, the nightlife, those who live, and you sit on the beach, alone, moping around, skipping stones like a girl. I'd say that was an easy one."

"I don't skip stones like a girl," you huff. Her grin is something to appreciate as well.

She looks towards the last remains of the sunset and sighs heavily. "Ex-girlfriend found someone else, I had to get away," she confesses.

You nod, you don't offer her your apologies because you don't want hers either.

Instead you say, "boyfriend, now ex, moved up here six months ago, haven't seen him for two, decided to surprise him with a visit and caught him in bed with someone else."

She looks at you, you look ahead at nothing in particular.

"That was yesterday," you add.

"I can make him disappear unnoticed," she jokes.

"Mh... No, he's not worth it. Can you make me forget?" Her eyes pull at yours until they find each other across the half-arm's length between you.

"If you'll let me, I can try," she promises.

"Okay," you accept.

She pushes herself up on her feet and dusts the sand off her jeans. Then she offers you her hand. "Come on," she says.

You slide your hand into hers and let her pull you up, and you're quite certain that poets have written sonnets of how soft her skin is and how perfect her hand fits into yours.

You reluctantly let go of her hand to dust the sand off your shorts. She grabs both of your pair of shoes with one hand and starts walking along the shore, as close to the water she can get without getting wet.

You smile at the realization that you already know this about her. She likes her water warm.

"So, where are you taking me, stranger?"

"Well, straight ahead, I suppose." There's a tenderness to her voice, something that makes that unstable heart of yours flutter again. Suddenly you find your own hand sliding into hers and she gives it a squeeze as if to say 'I've got you'.

"Let's hope we don't run into any corners, then," you joke and she snorts, and something tells you to entwine your fingers with hers, so you do.

She smiles shyly into the night and you wish she'd smile shyly at you instead.

"Okay... I have a confession to make," she says and you stop walking to look at her.

"You're a serial killer luring me in with your charm?"

"Depends... Is it working?"

"Maybe."

She grins and your heart does somersaults. You take a moment to admire her eyes again, convincing yourself that you can see the stars above reflected there.

"No, that's not my confession, sadly." She feints disappointment.

"You want me to keep guessing?"

"Please do.”

"You skip stones like a girl too," you say cheekily.

She raises an eyebrow at you before searching the sand around you for a skipping stone. She holds it up on front of your face.

"This one is at least six," she says confidently.

"I call your bluff."

"Oh really, let's make a bet. Six or more then I win and I get..." She bites her lip thoughtfully, "to kiss you."

Interesting...

"What happens if you lose?"

"Mh..." She bites her lip again and it's driving you a little mad. You could totally appreciate kissing–

"You get to carry our shoes the rest of the way," she interrupts your train of thought.

"Where to?"

"Be patient, Clarke. First I'll woo you with my skipping stone skills, then I'll collect my prize and then I'll reveal my confession."

"Well, get skipping then," you smirk at her.

"Alright." She places your shoes in the sand and flips the stone a few times in her hand. You take a stand next to her and watch her bite her upper lip, fully concentrating on the task ahead. "Watch and learn," she says before swinging her arm forward.

You hold your breath while watching the stone float through the air but it's too dark now to be able to see anything except for a bit of moonlight reflecting off the waves.

"Well, that's anticlimactic," she says.

"I definitely heard a splash, which means you lose," you say matter-of-factly.

"Well, I definitely heard seven skips before that splash, which means I win," she grins.

"It means," you draw out the last word as you walk up to her, close enough to feel her breath against yours. Her breathing is shallow, or maybe that's yours, it's hard to tell them apart. You hook both index fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and tug gently until your bodies meet in the middle, your lips colliding.

Your eyes are closed but you see the stars behind your eyelids as her fingers run up your arms, up, up, up until both her hands entangled in your hair. They tug lightly, tugging you closer.

Your lips melt against hers.

The tip of your tongue gets a taste of her lips too, and it makes her gasp against you. It rumbles in her chest and it settles in yours.

Your heart beats a rhythm so intense you've never felt anything like it. You don't remember the last time anyone ever made you feel this alive.

You let your hands slide under the back of her shirt, gently scratching your fingertips along her skin. She's soft and warm and delicate, and she arches into your touch as if she's craving this as much as you.

Kissing someone never felt this exhilarating before.

Kissing someone never felt this familiar before.

Kissing someone–

You feel it a split second before she reacts, the ice cold water sucking at your feet. She stiffens against you and gasps against your lips, not from pleasure this time.

The wave is gone as fast as it came and you're afraid it'll take her with it, you're afraid you'll lose her, so you cling to her, your hands still against her bare skin.

"Clarke," she whispers as she brushes her knuckles against your cheek. She looks at you, follows the line of your nose, down to your lips, up again, and when she meets your eyes she looks right into your soul.

"Yeah?" You whisper back.

"I have two confessions now," she smiles.

"Go on," you say, leaning your forehead against hers.

"One, that was an even better kiss than I hoped it would be," she confesses breathlessly.

You chuckle against her breath. "Okay, Casanova... And two?"

"Two," she says and then nudges her head in the opposite direction of the water. "You see that neon sign over there?"

"Yeah?"

"That's my hotel."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"What? No!" She blushes and you can't help the smirk that grows on your lips. "I meant to say that the walk from there to where I found you is all I've seen of this place."

Flustered suits her. Even in the dim moonlight. Well, maybe particularly in the dim moonlight.

"I don't know where to take you," she then admits defeatedly as she pulls away from you. Your entire body frowns upon losing all physical contact, any physical contact with her.

"You don't have to take me anywhere, Lexa."

"Are you suggesting we stand here all night?"

"Well, we could, but maybe two steps that way so the waves won't touch you again," you tease her.

The soft smile you earn in return is something you wish you could see again, and it suddenly hits you that you're strangers to each other, that after tonight you probably won't see her ever again. It feels like a stab to the heart.

"Can I kiss you again?" Her voice is softer than silk, and you want her to keep talking to you like that.

"Well, it depends..."

"Oh, on what?"

You find a stone in the sand and hands it over to her. "Six or more and you win," you repeat the rule.

She smirks as she throws the stone towards the water without breaking eye contact with you. That fire in her eyes is sexy as hell. She waits for the splash and then says, "seven again, must be my lucky number." She swallows your laughter in a kiss that steals your breath away. You can't be entirely sure, but it feels a little like she steals your heart too.

She pulls you closer by the waist and you melt against her, into her.

"Lexa," you breathe against her lips.

"Mhmm?" She hums distractedly as if kissing you keeps her incapable of forming any words.

You keep melting.

"Hotel... Now."

She stops and looks at you. "That's not presumptuous?"

"Three, two–"

You never get to one before she grabs your hand and starts running towards her hotel, pulling you along with her.

The sand sticks to your wet feet, and your side stings because you were never a good multitasker; breathing and laughing at the same time isn't easy. None of it matters because Lexa is holding onto your hand like she never wants to let you go, and every time she looks back at you she grins as if she just won the lottery.

The world around you is a blur and Lexa the only clear object in your view.

You trust her to catch you if you fall.

She leads you across the street, into a hotel building and into an elevator. She presses a button, never letting go of your hand and you catch her eyes in the elevator mirror as the doors close behind you.

She bites her lip, and she smiles shyly at you when she realizes that you're watching her.

She looks nervous.

You're nervous too.

"I've never done this before," she confesses, raw and vulnerable, and you admire her honesty.

"Me neither."

"Clarke?"

"Lexa?"

"We forgot our shoes on the beach" she whispers, eyes wide.

You look down to check for yourself. Your feet are covered in sand, clinging to your skin, itching between your toes.

"Oh... Yeah... Should we go back?"

The elevator doors slide open with a ding. "No," she says, tugging you out of the elevator. It feels important and exhilarating, forbidden even, as you walk down the hall, and you wonder if this moment would've slipped through your hands if you did go back to the beach. You can't tell for sure, but maybe that's the reason behind her no.

"Clarke?" She stops in front of a door, still holding on to your hand.

"Lexa?"

"Did I succeed... Did I make you forget?" Her voice is gentle, more gentle than you'd expect of a situation like this.

This situation being a one night stand with a stranger you just met by the ocean.

This situation being you running with someone else instead of alone, at least for one night.

This situation being you feeling something good for the first time in a long time.

This situation being you finally realizing that you gave up on your relationship with your ex long before you found out he cheated on you.

This situation being you realizing that neither you nor Lexa wants this to be about rebounding your exes.

You don't know what tomorrow will bring, but right now all you want is more of the magic Lexa seems to dazzle you with.

Because you know you'll regret it if you were to walk away.

Because so far this has been the best night of your life.

Because yes, despite all odds, she did succeed.

"Forget what?" You say, allowing a subtle smirk onto your lips.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says, grinning proudly as she unlocks the door.

You always pictured hotel hookups a little dirty. Being a stranger far away from home is the perfect opportunity to let your alter ego loose, allowing yourself to explore some of your wild fantasies that doesn't fit into your otherwise boring, normal life. If it's terrible you can always say 'what happens in this hotel room stays in this hotel room' and never have to see that person again.

You always pictured the hotel door desperately being slammed shut, the back of it being the perfect platform to initiate whatever shenanigans you've been conjuring up in your secretly dirty mind.

You always pictured coming halfway undone before dropping any piece of clothing and you always pictured being halfway naked before even getting to the bed.

You always pictured these hotel rooms as penthouse apartments on the top floor, with big panorama windows with a stunning view over your surroundings. It seems like the perfect spot for a second round of sin, naked bodies wrecking each other apart, sweat drenched skin against cold glass, the idea of someone being able to see you through it bringing out the beast in you.

When Lexa gently closes the door behind you, you know that this experience will be something else entirely.

When she looks at you with careful eyes, her lower lip trembling under your gaze, you know that it will exceed any expectations you may or may not have had.

When her index finger lifts your chin, your body is free falling, her fingertip the only thing holding you up, completely at her mercy. You hold your breath until she dips her head to capture your lips.

It's nothing like sin.

If anything, it's a miracle. It awakens your heart, it shoots oxygen into your lungs and life into your veins.

The way she kisses you, slow, intense, you don't need a plan or any fantasies to outlive. This is enough. This is more than enough and not enough at the same time. You're entirely hers to do whatever she wants with as long as she keeps kissing you like that.

It's not desperate.

She takes her time.

She breaks the kiss and leans her forehead against yours as if she needs the physical contact to stay where she is, to make sure you stay where you are.

"I... Uh... Please don't laugh at me, okay?"

"No promises," you tease.

"Clarke," she whines.

"Lexa," you imitate her.

She looks at you with pleading eyes and you can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips. "Look," you say, "you tell me anything and I may or may not laugh at you. I don't care as long as you promise to kiss me like that again."

You bite your lip as to prove a point and her eyes drop to your lips. "Okay," she sighs before grabbing your hand, pulling you into the bathroom.

"Let me guess, you want filthy bathroom sex and you're embarrassed to admit it?" You joke, getting a feeling that you know her well enough to know that she's not the type.

"No!" She says, maybe a little too fast, "I mean... I'm not opposed to it, but that's not it," she blushes and yeah, you laugh. Just a little.

"You promised," she reminds you.

"I promised you could kiss me like that again," you elaborate.

"Okay..." She guides you towards the bathtub and gestures for you to take a seat on the edge, feet into the bathtub. She takes a seat next to you and turns on the shower head.

"Come on come on come on," she rants under her breath as she holds her fingertips against the stream of water. You assume she's waiting for it to be warm enough for her liking.

"Okay," she says as she begins to wash off the sand from her feet and yeah, you laugh again.

"Clarke," she scolds you.

"I'm sorry, you're worried I'll laugh at you because you need to wash off the sand?"

"Well, you're laughing at me right now," she argues.

It's true, you are. Not because she needs to wash the sand off, though, but because she's making it such a big deal. It's... Adorable.

She pouts and it makes you laugh even harder until your laughter becomes you screaming her name instead.

Because she just splashed you with the shower head.

You look at her and she grins like an idiot. "Oops, sorry, I missed," she says as she continues to wash the sand off your feet too.

"You did not just do that!”

"I did," she says, puffing her chest and you realize that every new thing this girl does seems to make you want to kiss her even more.

"My clothes are wet now." You pout dramatically. "Now what?"

"Take it off," she says cockily as she turns off the shower head again.

You raise an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs nonchalantly, as if it's the only normal thing to do in this situation.

Two can play this game, so you get out of the bathtub. You slowly peel your shirt over your head and throws it at her. It hits her chest and falls to the ground. She's too busy staring at your shirtless torso, mouth agape and by the looks of it, not breathing. You unbutton your jeans, but before you get to the zipper, she's out of the bathtub too, clumsily finding her balance as she falls into your lips.

You're so done. Lexa's kisses dissolves any self control you may still have left.

Her hands slide over the skin on your back and leave goosebumps in their trail. She lifts you up, her hands on the back of your thighs, your legs naturally wrapping around her waist. It feels effortless when she carries you out of the bathroom and towards her bed.

You're free falling again. This time you cling to her because you want her to fall with you. Sucking on her lower lip, entangling your fingers in her hair, your legs securing their hold around her waist you let her dip you onto the bed.

The sheets feel soft against your back, and she chuckles against your lips when you sigh.

"You okay?" She asks.

"Kiss me," you demand.

So she does.

She teases your lips never letting you fully capture hers and it drives you mad. She nips along your jawline, explores the spot behind your ear you didn't know was so sensitive. She runs her teeth against your neck, and you can't believe the girl who was afraid you'd laugh at her is so confident.

You always had a thing for enigmas.

"Lexa... Take it off." You tug on the collar of her shirt helplessly. She chuckles against the crook of your neck.

"Okay, but you need to release me," she says, a hand squeezing your thigh.

You let her straighten up onto her knees, she pulls the shirt over her head without even bothering with the buttons.

She proceeds to unzip her jeans and you watch her as she stands up to pull them off. You watch her pull off your pants too. You watch her stand by the foot end of the bed, in her black boy shorts, a black lacy bra. You watch her unsnap it and it's one of the most graceful things you've ever witnessed as it falls onto the floor.

You watch her watch you.

"Breathe, Clarke," she smirks.

"I don't think I can," you confess. There are a lot of things you can't do right now. Not stare being one of them. Because she's got a surprisingly well trained body, and you definitely appreciate that.

"I want to draw you," you whisper.

"You're an artist?" She asks.

"Yes. No... It's a hobby."

"Huh..." She scrunches her eyes half shut clearly measuring you up. "I don't think I would've guessed."

"What, you don't think me half naked in your hotel room screams artist?"

"I've never been with an artist before, I don't know how one looks like half naked," she says, climbing onto the bed again to straddle your waist.

You sit up to snap off your own bra. You fling it off to some unknown destination as you lean up for a kiss. You wrap your arms around her torso and pull her closer wanting to feel as much of her skin against yours.

"How about you?" Now she knows something about you, you kind of want to know something about her too.

"What about me?" She says between stolen kisses.

"What's your hobby?"

"Soccer."

"That's so cliché."

"I know," she grins. She guides your hands to her chest and pushes her torso against them. She keeps pushing until the sheets meet your back again.

There are a million things you want to ask her. What does she like to eat for breakfast, does she have siblings, any pets, what's her favorite color, if she had a million dollars what would she use it for, what does she dream about accomplishing...

You want her to never stop kissing you.

There are a million things you're afraid to ask her. Where is she from, if you'd met under different circumstances would she say yes if you asked her on a date, would she maybe want to exchange numbers, would she maybe want to meet you again, what happens tomorrow when you go back home... Will she forget you...

You want her to never stop touching you.

Her fingertips are dancing along your skin, and it already feels like something she's done a million times before. She already knows it drives you mad when she leaves kisses against your hip bone, and that you forget to breathe when she trails fingers up the inside of your thigh.

You already know she loves to nip at the skin below your navel, that she, too, has a weak spot that drives her mad just between her collarbones.

"Clarke?" She whispers against your navel. She sounds vulnerable, and you feel an urge to pull her into a hug, to comfort her.

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay to admit that I don't want tonight to end?"

You cup her cheek to make her look up at you. You nod as you pull her back up for another kiss.

This one is different from the others. It's like when you first met her eyes on the beach and she set a new standard for spectacular things.

This kiss feels like gravity pulling at you.

It feels like both of you stopped running, subconsciously deciding you both want to stay put, right here.

It feels like worlds colliding.

Explosive.

Earth shattering.

Lives are destroyed, new ones begin.

Collapsing against Lexa, sweaty and exhausted feels like a new beginning. Like something deep inside of you knows your life has changed its course and there's no going back.

It breaks your heart, because you're going home tomorrow.

You're torn between this being the greatest night of your life and wishing you'd never had a taste of it to begin with, because you're not sure you're strong enough to let go of something like this.

You're not sure you want to.

Lexa sighs next you. It sounds as heavy as the weight of your thoughts. She turns off the tiny lamp on the bed side table and then snuggles into the crook of your neck. You pull the sheets over the both of you, tugging her in closer.

"Will you stay?" She whispers.

"Of course," you tell her. The truth is you never considered leaving.

"I don't want to fall asleep," she admits.

"Then talk to me instead." (I want to stay awake too).

"About what?"

"Whatever you want to talk about." (You. Tell me about you).

"I'm going back home tomorrow." She sounds as crestfallen about this as you are.

"Me too."

"I don't want to"

"Me neither."

Lexa's arm tightens around your waist and you run your fingers through her hair.

"I want to ask you something but I'm afraid of what the answer might be," she whispers.

"Me too."

She places her hand on your chest, above your heart, and you're not even ashamed of the fast thudding you know she can feel.

"That's what you do to me," you tell her.

She presses her lips against your heart and says, "You do that to me too."

"Lexa?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to ask you something and you're allowed to not answer, okay?"

"Okay."

"Where do you live?"

"Polis," she says.

"What? You're on the flight to Polis tomorrow?"

"Yes?" Lexa repositions herself onto her elbow to look at you.

"Me too." You have absolutely no control of the grin that grows on your lips.

"You're going to Polis? You live in Polis?" Lexa's voice is laced with the kind of hope that is blooming in your heart right now. Maybe she wishes this is more than a one time thing too.

"I need to catch a train from Polis, I live in Arkadia." That means you and Lexa lives a car ride apart, about forty-five minutes, actually, and about an hour by train.

"Arkadia?"

"Yes."

"Clarke, don't joke about this."

"I'm not. I live in Arkadia."

"You promise?"

"I promise!"

"So... If I were to ask you on a date sometime, would you say yes?"

"I would."

"Good to know, I'll consider it," she says. It's too dark to see, but you can hear she's smirking.

"I'll make you consider alright" you say, a playful threat, as you push her onto her back. You straddle her and tickle her below her ribs, and she part screams part laughs as she tries to fight you off.

"Clarke... Clarke, stop, I can't breathe!" She squirms underneath you and you release your grip.

You seek both her hands in the dark and lift them up to press a soft kiss into each palm.

"Thank you," you whisper against her soft skin.

"For what?" She's still catching her breath.

"For finding me on the beach."

She straightens up to steal a kiss. "Thank you for skipping stones like a girl," she murmurs against your lips.

"I did not!"

"You so did," she chuckles.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, please."

When Lexa kisses you time stands still. Scratch that. When Lexa kisses you like this, all consuming, seconds become minutes and minutes turn to hours and you don't even notice.

"I can't feel my legs," she whines as she lays down behind you, pulling you closer. Her kisses grow lazy against your spine and her hand finds rest on your hip.

You can't feel your legs either. Hours of miracle sin aches in your body and you didn't even need a panorama view for that.

The thought makes you chuckle and her lazy kisses tiptoe onto your shoulder.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing... I uh... Yeah, I can't feel my legs either."

"Good," she says.

"Good?"

"It means you're not going anywhere."

She pulls you in closer and snuggles against your shoulder.

You feel safe.

"Lexa?" You whisper.

"Mh?" She hums, sleep still present in her voice.

"Do you think our shoes are still on the beach?"

"I kind of hope they're not." She sighs.

"What? Why?"

"I mean... Imagine having to travel home without shoes on... If that's not a grand story for our future grandchildren, I don't know what is."

You're not entirely sure if she's joking or being serious, but when your heart does somersaults in your ribcage it somehow doesn't matter at all.

Maybe losing your shoes doesn't sound so bad.

You found Lexa instead.

Part two: click right here