Little Pink Starfish

“Humans find joy in sharing even the smallest things…”

Only when Amon finally let him go did Nyne release the breath he’d been holding. Tension drained from his shoulders. He forced a smile onto his face and replied,

“Yes, Lord Amon. Of course, it would make me happy.”

Though he answered obediently, Nyne’s thoughts were a tangle. Lately, Amon had begun to express fondness for certain things—cool evening breezes, warmth, the Flooding Festival. Even the occasional faint smile. Seemingly trivial things, but not so trivial when it came to Amon. These changes gave Nyne a strange, unplaceable feeling.

A flicker of complexity passed through his eyes, but when he blinked, it was gone. He soon offered Amon the dish he’d been enjoying, encouraging him to try it. Amon accepted and took a bite without hesitation.

After their meal, Nyne left Amon’s sanctum. His face, as he climbed into the palanquin, no longer carried the bright laughter it had shown beside Amon. Clutching his forehead as though suffering from a headache, he gave a quiet command to a priest.

“Summon Priest Pyra Sero. I intend to entrust her with the care of my garden.”

“Though a little shy, Priest Pyra is diligent and multitalented. She will tend your garden well, Sha Nyne.”

Later that night, when Nyne mentioned the matter of appointing Pyra to Gwen at his secret nighttime abode, Gwen responded with a pleasant smile. That space—private, beautiful, and ever disorienting—was still the same. Nyne took a sip of the coco Gwen had prepared and said,

“Once she completes this task, I plan to promote Pyra as a reward.”

Gwen, who had been rummaging through the cupboard for something to add to the drink, paused with a soft, white something in hand. As he dropped the unfamiliar ingredient into Nyne’s cup, he asked,

“Do you mean to raise Priest Pyra?”

“If she has the will.”

According to Iyu, the Sero family wasn’t especially wealthy or powerful, but it was a respected name. Pyra Sero, the eldest child, had become a priest in hopes of reviving her declining household. But she’d spent years managing flora in the Garden Pavilion—hardly a role to take pride in.

Nyne, having long been confined to the sanctum, knew little about the actual flow of politics in Trastasa. But if anyone could challenge or destabilize Osen Iyad’s power, he was willing to support them. Even if it meant invoking Amon’s name, he’d raise them with all his might… He took another sip of the coco, and a sparkle returned to his darkened golden eyes.

“What is this?”

He chewed diligently on the soft, unfamiliar texture, frowning in confusion. When he glanced at Gwen, Gwen smiled and added more.

“It’s called a marshmallow. Do you like it?”

“It’s… strange.”

But even so, Nyne didn’t refuse the extra pieces. As he tasted the sweetness, the corners of his eyes relaxed, his shoulders eased. During the day, tension clung to him around Amon. But at night, in Gwen’s abode, he let his body rest. It was a contradiction—that someone he’d known the longest still made him most tense.

“Would you like a massage?”

Gwen offered, smiling with that charming, coaxing expression.

“A poor touch is better than none.”

Nyne replied curtly, but Gwen only chuckled and set his hands on Nyne’s shoulders. His thumbs pressed firmly into the tight muscles around Nyne’s neck, slowly working out the strain of the day. The contact made Nyne think of their kiss.

By scripture and priestly teaching, resha existed for the pleasure of the Sha. Amon had the right to claim any of them—and so did Nyne. And yet, Nyne had never even considered doing so. Maybe because Amon never had, either.

Every time he touched Gwen, even in innocent ways, he felt guilt and betrayal. If Amon had taken no resha, and Nyne had always followed his example… what would happen if he broke from it now?

‘If Amon finds out… what will he do?’

Would he react coldly? Or try to kill Gwen? Nyne couldn’t even imagine. As he bit his lips in frustration, Gwen’s fingers gently pressed against them. Startled, Nyne looked up. Gwen, warmly smiling, wrapped his hands around Nyne’s shoulders and asked politely:

“May this servant kiss you, Sha?”

“I…”

As Nyne hesitated, Gwen leaned closer, bracing himself on the armrest. His pink eyes softened in the shadow as he whispered,

“No one will know what happens on this dark night, Sha.”

The words were tempting. But still, Nyne’s hesitation lingered. Gwen backed off a little, knelt politely before him, and offered another suggestion.

“If you will not allow a kiss… may I at least touch your hair?”

“…If it’s just that.”

Nyne nodded. After all, even the attendant priests touched his hair every day. What harm was there in Gwen doing the same?

Gwen gave thanks and sat beside him, delicately reaching for Nyne’s hair. He started near the forehead and slowly ran his fingers down past the ears. The gesture was slow, unlike the routine care of servants. The soft sound of hair slipping through fingers brushed sensitively against Nyne’s ears.

Nyne sipped his warm drink as if unbothered, but inside, every sense was alert. Eventually, even that light touch became too much. Pretending to be tired, he rose earlier than usual.

Gwen didn’t show any disappointment. Instead, he asked,

“Will you visit this servant again?”

“I will.”

The reply came too fast, and Nyne added,

“There are still many strange and beautiful things here.”

“I will always strive to remain strange and beautiful in your eyes, Sha.”

Nyne had been referring to Gwen’s laboratory full of magical oddities, but Gwen took it as a personal compliment. Flustered, Nyne said nothing and walked away, not even glancing back as he reentered his bedroom.

Iyu, who always kept quiet about Nyne’s nighttime visits, subtly checked that he’d safely returned to bed. But tonight, he wore an odd expression. As Nyne lay down, Iyu said,

“Sha Nyne, there’s still a flower in your hair.”

“A flower?”

Confused, Nyne touched his head and found something tucked there. Carefully removing it, he saw an exotic pink blossom in full bloom. Gwen must have placed it there while stroking his hair.

Nyne clicked his tongue softly at the unpermitted touch—but still, he gently set the flower down by his pillow.