Walking on sand is best enjoyed without socks on. Which is why he'd always take them off as soon as he reached the beach. He'd arrive before dawn, when the sky was still full of sparkling lights and the sea, an endless mirror reflecting the equally limitless firmament above. It was a common mistake to think the world went quiet at night. It didn't. In fact, without disturbances caused by activities — whether human or divine (though one could argue every single soul around here had some divinity in it) — the realm roared with alternate life, the kind that knew no end, much less commencement. The kind that was, is, and will be, no matter what. And it was loud. Like the waves crashing on an empty shore under a moonlit sky.

Feet bare, digging into the cold sand, he'd close his eyes and let the waters beat time. Once he'd caught on to the rhythm, his feet would start moving, slowly at first (for rising above the dunes required a little warm-up) before picking up speed, kicking the loose silt high in the air, creating arabesques as his dancing turned acrobatic. Lost in a pulsating trance, he'd open his heart to the universe and only then would he hear it.

The Song of the Ocean.

A melodious voice coming from the deep, low and husky, as if unused for the longest of times. Almost hesitant to be heard. It sang in a tongue unknown to him but conveying emotions he could very much relate to. Longing mostly. For what? That he couldn't tell. And he'd dance some more, encouraged by the mysterious tune which he feared would turn quiet the minute he'd stop moving. He'd focus on his steps, increasingly complex, savouring the feeling of floating above ground — be it celestial or mortal — something that always brought him immense satisfaction. That's how he'd dance away the somnolence, the burdens, the duties and the heartaches which, thankfully, had not followed him into the great beyond.

He would only stop once the sun rose from the abyss. Pale. Shy. A little fuzzy on the edges as it soared into the fading dawn. Rays would catch the light of his sweaty brows and make him glow in the day's timid splendour. Sometimes, he'd hear a heavy sigh. But he knew his ears were playing tricks on him. As were his eyes every time he looked for his socks for they always went missing. He'd sworn he'd placed them on that rock by the sandy trail. The wind hadn't been blowing. They couldn't have just vanished. Or could they?

It was his mistake to think the ocean was empty. Had he focused less on his dancing and more on his surroundings, he would likely have noticed the silhouette of an ancient sea spirit floating nearby, serenading him while summoning the mighty aquae to fetch him — a pair of socks. The only thing the human was kind enough to leave behind. They'd soon join the rest of the sea numen's extensive collection, one he had started the day he had first spotted the dancing being, mesmerized by his moves, his grace, to say nothing of his dark-wavy locks.

One day — no. One night, he'd muster sufficient courage to show himself and perhaps, the man would let him get closer, close enough for him to gently move those loose strands aside and watch the night lights sparkle in the other's round doe eyes which, like the sea, mirrored the world around him, filling them with wonder.

One night.

One night —

—

There was a writing challenge doing the rounds on Twitter. What you have just read is the product of brainstorming about four random words I got: two words for the roles of persons A and B, one for a prop, and one for the setting. Can you guess what these four words were?

If you feel like trying it out, here the link:

https://twitter.com/taetaeggukkie/status/1274327424176664576