Stavanger Bay give in to me

A shiver chased it way down her spine as his muzzle made its way toward one of her sensetive, satellite-dish ears; and at the thrum of his voice, her eyes flickered shut without her knowledge or permission. The world seemed to slow, and to condense itself into small, simple things. The distant, lethargic sound of the ocean's crashing waves. The warm sand beneath her. The brush of cool, salty wind against her heated cheeks.

And Szymon. Szymon, with his whiskers brushing her ear, his breaths sweet-smelling and sweeter-sounding. Szymon with his body pressed steady against hers - heart to heart, side by side. Szymon with his lashing tail. Szymon with his garrulous eyes. Szymon with salt and sand hanging in his fur, looking at her like it's okay to be Doe. Szymon with his beautiful voice. Szymon speaking soft words into her ear, like she belongs there - like she deserves to feel this way.

Szymon. "Szymon," she said, dizzy in his presence and not yet sure she hadn't heard his thoughts, hadn't heard her own thoughts, because that happens, too.

Blinking her eyes open, she pulled back to better see his face, and she determined at once that he had spoken, had said words to her that he wanted her to hear. And it's stupid but she felt like she'd done something - like maybe she wasn't pretending to be whoever he had her confused with, or maybe she doesn't have to. Maybe she belonged there, and maybe - if she could just keep looking into his eyes, keep hearing his voice - maybe the answers would come.

But they didn't come. Nothing came - she just kept looking at him, and that was all. She looked at him, and nothing changed. She was still happy, still terribly confused, still aching for something she didn't quite understand. And she was still Doe. He was still her Szymon. With him, she could always count on that.

"Show me," she said, though she remained where she was.