It seems the morning sun shines a little bit brighter today. A tad too bright for your liking as it forces you to squint. With a hand you shade your eyes as you look straight ahead. The sky is a clear blue, the awakening sun painting it brighter by the minute. Foaming waves beat a rhythm against the shore, fresh and daring. The high-pitched squeals of a seagull reaches your ears. The smell of washed up seaweed pokes at your nose.

It’s a fine day.

The sand is cool against your bare feet, finding its way in between your toes. The ocean breeze is playing with the loose strands of hair at your neck.

There's a smile on your lips.

There’s a soft hand in yours, fingers entwining.

It's a fine day, indeed.

“Well, that settles it,” Lexa says, her words carried by an amused matter-of-factness.

Under the blinding sun, you stop at a respectable distance from the water’s edge. You'd tease Lexa for her obvious fear of getting her feet wet if it wasn't for the sight before you.

One shoe.

One of Lexa's shoes. The ocean must have stolen the rest at some point with only the moon as its witness.

You look from the lonely sand-covered white sneaker to the girl next to you. Her smile is more blinding than the sun, and it grows wider the more you frown.

“We're going home barefoot,” Lexa elaborates.

She makes it sound like a magical adventure.You can't lie. It excites you. Still, you liked those shoes. They were nice, and your feet felt comfortably at home in them. There's no time for mourning as Lexa starts tugging at your hand. She guides you down the shore, focused eyes searching for something in the sand.

“I want to kiss you,” she explains when you ask her what she's doing. Only when she stops to pick up a flat oval stone do you realize what she's doing.

Lexa weighs the stone in her hand, flips it a few times. She hasn't even thrown it yet, and she's already celebrating with a winning smile. “Same rules?” She asks.

“Six or more,” you confirm.

“Alright.”

In an instant, concentration settles on her face. It was too dark to see last night, but the morning sun allows you to admire its entirety now. There's a hint of a furrow between her eyes as she bites at her upper lip, and just before she swings her arm backwards, one corner of her mouth curls up into a smile.

She counts out loud.

Eight.

Entranced by this beautiful creature, you forget to watch the stone. It’s okay, because you get to see victory overtake her face. Winning suits her, and you don't ever want to take that away from her.

She walks up to you. It's obvious that she tries to apply smugness in her steps, but the excitement of her impressive eight skips shine significantly brighter. The playful child inside her wins the fight, and it reaches your heart when she picks you up and twirls you around. Her lips find yours as your toes find their way back to the sand. It's a shame you have to go home. You wouldn't mind it if you'd stayed in bed all day. Or, just stayed right here kissing Lexa all day. Yeah, that would do, too. You kind of like how your heart expands with warmth every time she kisses you. It's addictive in the best of ways.

“We should go back,” Lexa murmurs.

“We should stay.”

“Our plane leaves in three hours.”

“Ignore it.”

You snuggle into the crook of her neck, your nose finding her warm skin, and her arms wrap around your torso with affection. Her silent laughter is a soft tremble in her chest that resonates with your heart.

“That would be nice,” she whispers into your hair.

Lexa allows you to enjoy this frozen moment for a while. You don't know for how long, but you're sure it's longer than your time schedule allows. As a thank you, you press a kiss to the edge of her jaw.

“Okay, I'm ready,” you say. You don't really mean it, but it doesn't matter because her hand finds yours again, and she doesn't let go until you're back in her hotel room to pick up her luggage.

The arrival hall of Polis Airport is spacious and bright, the buzzing of many voices present. You feel alienated, wishing you were still on the beach. Your beach. You and Lexa's.

In this hall, you and Lexa stand side by side at the conveyor belt waiting for your luggage. You feel small under the gaze of strangers. Your fingers are entwined, but that's not why people are staring. Lexa leans in to kiss you, and that's not why they're staring either.

“You feet are cute, ignore them,” Lexa murmurs.

The soft laughter that bubbles in her lungs when you give her a pointed look is worth it all. The thing is, you're barefooted for her. Maybe also because you kind of like this magical adventure she has taken you on.

You haven't told her you have an extra pair of shoes in your luggage.

You may never tell her.

Not if she keeps looking at you like this: like you're the only person in the room.

Which you aren't – obviously – but it feels like it.

Neither of you move when people start to huddle around the conveyor belts. You don't have any reason to hurry; perhaps Lexa doesn't have one either.

“Oh, there's mine,” Lexa says, still not letting go of your hand as she steps forward.

You’re not sure what makes you smile more. The fact that she’s so soccer gay cliché that she travels in a sports bag – and is comfortably confident about it – or the fact that she refuses to let go of your hand. Or maybe it's the way she spots your bulky metal blue suitcase long before you do and carelessly drops her own to the floor to grab yours – still not letting go of your hand.

She even pulls up the handle for you before offering it to you with a brilliant smile.

“Such a gentlewoman,” you say. Your wink earns you a theatrical bow, outstretched arm and all.

Hand in hand and barefooted, you walk through the airport. And yes, people look, but you don't care because Lexa is holding your hand and it feels a lot like she doesn't want to let go.

You don't want to let go either.

“So,” Lexa says, swinging your hands gently back and forth.

“So,” you repeat, looking at her.

She slows down and meets your gaze. You're standing twenty feet from the escalator that will take you to the train platform.

“I…” She says, then sighs.

You wish you could freeze time. Not just because you want to stay here with her, but because the softness in her eyes deserves to be studied and memorized, and then immortalized as art. You do your best to burn it in your mind. For later.

“You…” You mimic her, and she smiles timidly at you.

Her sports bag hits the floor yet again, and she steps forward, both her hands finding their way to your cheeks. Her eyelashes flutter just before she pulls you in, and you don't care if people are staring now, because Lexa is kissing you and it’s even greater than your first kiss. It's the familiarity of her soft lips against yours, and the way she leans into you as you slide an arm around her waist.

“It's not goodbye,” you tell her when she pulls back.

“I know,” she says, “but Saturday is really far away.”

It is. Six days away, to be exact.

“I'll be the one in the stands cheering the loudest,” you tell her.

She chuckles. “I can't believe you're coming to watch me play. Do you even know the rules?”

“Pfft. How hard can it be? You run, you kick the ball, you score. Easy.”

She shakes her head, a sheepish curl of her lips. “I'm sorry I doubted you,” she says, leaning in for another kiss.

It morphs into a hug, both your arms holding on tight, your suitcase abandoned somewhere on the floor. “Thank you,” you whisper into the crook of her neck.

“What for?”

“You made me forget,” you say.

“Clarke,” she whispers, leaning back to catch your eyes.

You don't even realize you're crying until she brushes tears off your cheeks with her thumbs. “They're happy tears,” you tell her, because she needs to know. Well, you need her to know.

“You made me forget too,” she says and presses her lips against your forehead. “Now,hurry, go to your train before I take you with me.”

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you say, wet chuckles.

“I know,” she sighs. She takes a step back, picks up her bag and slings it across her torso. “Text me when you're home safe?”

“Of course.”

You grab the handle of your suitcase, share another smile with her, and then you walk towards the escalator. As you descend onto the platform, sharp edges of escalator metal cold against your bare feet, you feel light, like you're flying.

Hopefully, those six days will be flying past too.