Little Pink Starfish

Upon seeing Nyne, Amon let the flower in his hand fall into the pond—an act so casual it seemed indifferent. The flower that had resembled a piece of the moon the night before now fell with the bright yellow glow of the sun. As the blossom floated along the surface of the water, Amon asked Nyne:

“Do these kinds of things fall into the category of childish things you like?”

Nyne couldn’t answer right away, distracted by the countless flowers before him. His head spun and his chest stirred, as though struck by something unseen. Only after a long pause could he finally reply, “Yes.” But the joy didn’t come purely, and a thought escaped him before he could stop it:

If only Gwen hadn’t come… I could’ve truly been happy about this.

The sudden thought startled even himself. How could he be so ungrateful, thinking such things when Amon had done this for him?

But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t control his emotions. If he opened his mouth, he feared words even he didn’t expect might spill out. Unable to compose his expression, Nyne instead threw himself into Amon’s arms and clung tightly to him. Pressing his face against Amon’s firm chest, he spoke in a trembling voice.

“I’m very happy and grateful that you’ve done this for me, Amon.”

Amon still didn’t understand the childish things Nyne loved. Even so, he had gathered flowers and waited under the sun until Nyne came to find him. When Amon’s overheated hand gently stroked his hair and the nape of his neck, emotion surged through Nyne’s chest.

Why did you never understand human emotions? And why only now? Why do you keep making things harder for me?

Why… why does even your pure affection feel so painful to me?

The thought he’d had before returned—Maybe everything changed because I changed. Maybe I’m the cause of all of this.That guilt was suffocating.

Trying to shake off the thought, Nyne lifted his head. Amon’s eyes, usually like cold metal, looked different now. Nyne whispered:

“Amon… you’ve changed.”

Amon paused. Only after hearing the words did he seem to realize it himself. A look of realization spread across his face. But seeing that, Nyne felt no joy—his heart sank instead. Amon cupped Nyne’s face and replied:

“Yes. Maybe it’s because you’ve changed.”

A sigh escaped Nyne before he could stop it. He hurried to compose his expression, fearing Amon might notice.

“I see. So I… I was the cause of everything.”

His face smiled, but his voice trembled with despair. Amon, however, accepted only the smile.

“Yes. Could anything else—other things, or mere humans—ever be the reason for what I do? You are the reason for everything.”

Amon’s gaze passed by Nyne’s flushed ear. His hand, which had been around Nyne’s back, rose to brush aside his hair and touch the skin marked with his own traces. It suddenly stopped at a spot. Amon’s golden pupils narrowed for a moment, then returned to normal.

Nyne, burying his face once again in Amon’s chest, didn’t notice where that gaze had landed. In a desperate voice, he pleaded:

“Yes. I’m your reason for everything. So please… do anything for me. If I wish for something—anything at all…”

—

“How was that, Amon? It’s a piece I’ve just learned.”

Nyne asked with a smile after playing a fairly challenging tune on the lyre. It was one often performed by priests during the Flood Festival.

A yellow flower rested in his hair—one he had picked himself that morning from the pond. This time, he hadn’t dared place a flower in Amon’s hair again. As Nyne played, Amon sat quietly, listening. Finally, he gave his verdict.

“It sounded pleasant.”

“I’m glad it matched your taste. It was worth the effort to learn.”

Hearing that from Amon—who never lied—Nyne couldn’t help but smile genuinely. He had indeed struggled with the piece. Setting the lyre down, Nyne sat beside Amon, closer than usual. He knew well that guilt was part of the reason for his uncharacteristic warmth.

Among the snacks brought by the priests was a dish of honeyed petals. Nyne picked one up and put it in his mouth. Though beautiful, it didn’t taste great. He shifted his gaze, and Amon brushed his cheek with the back of his hand, saying:

“You don’t look well.”

“Maybe it’s the heat. With the rainy season approaching, I’ve had trouble sleeping.”

He answered with a smile—but it was only half-true. The real reason he wasn’t sleeping was the dreams—no, the fragments of lost memory surfacing again.

Nyne had thought that stopping Osen Iyad’s rituals would prevent further memory loss—but he hadn’t expected to begin recovering them. And yet, he wasn’t sure last night’s dream was even a memory.

In the dream, he was walking into a lake. The dark water rose past his waist and chest to his head, but he didn’t stop. Holding a heavy stone, his body sank to the bottom without resistance.

He stayed there, on the lakebed, holding the stone as the water filled his lungs. It lasted far too long to be realistic—surely it wasn’t a memory, just a dream.

Shaking off the lingering unease, Nyne tried to move on. Without thinking, he fed Amon one of the honeyed petals. He panicked briefly, but Amon swallowed it without complaint. Watching him, a question occurred to Nyne.

“Amon… is there anything you can’t eat?”

Amon slowly licked the honey from his lips before replying:

“I can eat everything—except you.”

“I… shouldn’t be eaten in the first place, should I?”

Normally, someone might say “there’s nothing I can’t eat,” but including Nyne in that list was… unsettling. Nyne forced a smile. And “everything but you” surely included humans too. Was this a joke? Amon didn’t deny it. He simply stared at Nyne, unblinking.

Feeling uncomfortable, Nyne looked away and turned to the view between the temple’s columns.

It was now the fifth day of the Flood Festival.

Every night, Nyne tossed and turned with dreams or memories—he couldn’t tell which. Every day, he spent long hours in languid intimacy with Amon. His body ached all over. His skin, bitten and sucked so often, was barely intact. Yet people outside continued to sing and dance for rain as if tireless. Some priests had sung so much their voices were hoarse.

Amon wrapped his arms around Nyne from behind and kissed the nape of his neck. Though the day was hot, Amon’s skin was cool from the shade. His cold lips clamped onto Nyne’s skin, sucking and lightly biting. It was a stimulation balanced perfectly between pain and pleasure.

“Haa…”

A breath escaped from Nyne’s parted lips. Amon’s rough tongue licked his skin like he meant to consume him. Nyne shuddered—his body hypersensitive after days of constant sex. Though the Festival encouraged such acts, he was nearing his limit.

Still, his mood was surprisingly calm. Maybe because, unlike the last festival, Amon had ordered all the priests out before touching him. Without eyes watching, Nyne’s tension melted.

And yet he hated himself for it. If I had just spoken up sooner, could things have changed before? He’d known it was blasphemous to demand things of Sha Amon, but maybe… maybe he should have anyway.

But maybe this, too, was just a passing whim—limited to the festival. After all, Amon didn’t seem to understand the emotion of shame at all.

Nyne turned to face Amon. His lord was suckling on Nyne’s swollen nipple with unrestrained lewdness. The sensation of his tongue pressing against it sent a jolt up Nyne’s spine. Amon’s golden eyes, heavy-lidded and dangerous, looked ready to devour him. Nyne quickly lowered his gaze and said:

“…Last night, I thought hard and reflected. I’ve been terribly disrespectful to you lately.”

He hoped that some reprimand, some rebuke, might ease this gnawing anxiety.

But what came next was nothing like a rebuke.