Ocean Eyes || Freminet

3

The day I finally caught him was one of those perfect summer days, the kind where the sun paints everything in a golden hue and the world seems to slow down.

I was sitting on the beach, my sketchbook in my lap, the soft scratch of my pencil against the paper blending with the rhythmic lullaby of the waves. I was trying to capture the beauty of the setting sun, its vibrant colors dancing on the canvas of the sky, but my thoughts kept drifting towards him.

I found myself glancing towards the water more often, hoping to catch a glimpse of the diver boy emerging from the depths. But seeing no sign of him, I resigned myself to the thought that today would be just like any other day, with the boy leaving the ocean long after I had gone.

I decided to pack up early, before my aunt arrived to scold me for staying out too late. I carefully closed my sketchbook, capturing the unfinished sunset within its pages. I brushed off the sand from my sketching pencils and placed them back into their case, each one sliding into its designated slot. My gaze lingered on the ocean one last time before I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned to head home.

As I continued up the shore, I suddenly felt the urge to look back over my shoulder, one last time.

I turned to look, and there he was, a lone figure emerging from the water, his silhouette illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun.

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and he was carrying his diving helmet under his arm. Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, everything else faded away. 

It was just him, me, and the gentle whisper of the sea.

The silence was broken only by the distant call of a seagull and the soft rustling of the wind. I watched as he walked towards me, his footsteps leaving a damp trail on the sandy beach. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze still locked with mine.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his gaze dropping to the sand. A wave of uncertainty washed over his face. 

This was the first time he had ever made an effort to speak to me, and I cherished the moment in the years to come.

"Hello," he finally said, his voice low and steady, as if the word was unfamiliar in his mouth.

"Hello," I replied, a slight tremble in my voice.

His hands, usually so steady when handling his diving equipment, were fidgeting with the strap of his helmet. His gaze, usually so focused on the ocean, was darting around, avoiding my eyes.

"I..." he began, his voice a whisper. He swallowed hard. "I noticed..." His voice trailed off, the words seemingly stuck in his throat.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to continue. But the words wouldn't come. He looked down, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

A small mechanical penguin, made of metal and gears, peeked out from behind his legs. It seemed to study me for a moment before its little beak opened and emitted a series of short, mechanical chirps.

It bore a striking resemblance to the small figurine that the blue-eyed boy had left by my side, complete with the matching hat. Only, this one was larger and seemed almost... alive.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight, finding it adorably endearing. "It's beautiful," I said softly, hoping my voice wouldn't startle him. 

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in them. Surprise, perhaps, or maybe relief. I couldn't quite tell at the time.

He gave me a shy smile, the second I'd seen from him. "Thank you," he murmured. "His name is Pers."

I glanced down at the little penguin, who was now nudging at the boy's leg, as if to reassure him.

"Pers?" I asked, curious about the strange name.

The boy nodded, a faint blush coloring his freckled cheeks. "It's short for persistence."

I couldn't help but laugh softly at the admission. The name suited the mechanical penguin perfectly, and it made me wonder how the boy's mind worked, creating such intricate designs.

"Pers, huh?" I repeated, the name rolling off my tongue. "It's unique. Just like him," I added, gesturing towards the mechanical penguin.

Freminet's blush deepened, but he didn't look away. "I thought it suited him," he admitted, his gaze dropping to where Pers was now playfully circling his feet.

We fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the distant crash of the waves and the occasional chirp from Pers. 

I remember feeling victorious in that moment. It was a feeling akin to finding a perfectly intact seashell amidst the countless broken ones scattered along the shore. The more you stare at it, the more beautiful it becomes. And it was this same way with the diver boy.

As the last rays of the sun disappeared, leaving behind a sky full of stars, I found myself not wanting to leave. I wanted to learn more about the boy whose eyes carried the sea, about his love for the ocean, and his passion for creating such beautiful machines.

"I'm Y/n," I offered, extending a hand for him to shake. "Y/n L/n. We can be friends, if you'd like?"

He stared at my hand, his eyes wide and uncertain. A moment passed, then another, but he made no move to shake it. Instead, he simply stood there, looking as if he was caught in a battle with himself.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammered quietly. He quickly pulled his hands behind his back, his gaze dropping to the sand.

I would later learn why he had refused to shake my hand, but in that moment, all I felt was a pang of disappointment and I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt a twinge of hurt, like the sting of a sunburn, but I quickly pushed it aside.

"It's alright," I said, pulling my hand back and offering him a reassuring smile. "We can still be friends, even if we don't shake on it."

He looked up at me, surprise flickering in his ocean-blue eyes. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Friends..." he whispered, as though the word was foreign on his tongue. "I would like that."

"Then it's settled," I smiled. "From today on, we're friends, Ocean-eyed boy."