Page 132 of Storm and Sea

Atreus paused his poking, letting the edge of the stick burn. The orange glow reflected in his abalone eyes.

“We weren’t friends before.”

The warmth now filling Nyel’s chest had nothing to do with the fire. “Thank you,” he said, but it felt inadequate for what Atreus just gave him.

Nyel hugged his knees, letting himself get lost in the dancing flames and thinking about the days ahead. He’d been looking forward to the end-of-season festival since the first one. But would it feel the same now? Would Marina keep their secret?

Nyel was so consumed by his tempestuous thoughts that he didn’t notice the day slipping away. He hadn’t had a bite to eat but couldn’t bring himself to feel hungry. It was late now, and Atreus hadn’t spoken a word for hours.

If Nyel were on his comfy mattress at the pescheria, he’d be asleep already, probably with a full belly. But too many scenarios raced through his mind to allow for that. Atreus leaned on one arm, similarly lost in thought.

What’s going through his head? Is he angry? Regretful? Does he want me to leave?

But asking any of those questions would only make things worse. So he settled on simply watching the man beside him.

Nyel’s gaze trailed over the sun-bleached strands hidden in Atreus’s curls, tracing down his neck to his prominent Adam’s apple. His freckles were more pronounced along his neck and shoulders. While his face bore only a light dusting across the nose, a trail of them traced down his neck like footprints in the sand, skittering across his bare shoulders as if marked by the sea’s gentle spray. Nyel’s eyes followed the trail lower, lingering on the curve of Atreus’s muscled arm before finally resting on the hand splayed against the wooden floor. It was big and calloused from hours working the docks. A few scars dotted his knuckles.

Nyel knew those hands were warm. That they closed around his perfectly. He scooted his hand closer until their pinkies barely touched. Instantly, Atreus flinched, pulling away from the contact.

“S-sorry,” Nyel said, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

“No, it’s okay. Surprised me, is all. I’m not used to… ” Atreus looked down, and Nyel was surprised to find him flushed.

“Not used to what?”

“I’m— I’m not a touchy person.”

Nyel thought back to his childhood, filled to bursting with a smothering mother, a doting father, and recently, an aunt who embraced him on every occasion. He’d grown up in a home with kisses, swishing tails, and playful flicks on his fins.

Atreus spent the majority of his life alone. And when he wasn’t alone, he was with humans, whom he carefully kept at a distance.

“Sorry.” Nyel apologized again.

“I don’t hate it,” Atreus quickly amended, “It’s just⁠—”

“New?”

Atreus nodded. “Yeah. Different.”

Atreus placed his hand back on the floor, slowly sliding it across the smooth surface until, once again, their pinkies brushed together. He held it there, sucking in a breath while Nyel stopped breathing entirely. Tentatively, Nyel lifted his pinky finger, placing it over Atreus’s.

“Is this okay?” Nyel whispered like he might frighten the moment away.

Atreus nodded, then lifted his hand and rested it over Nyel’s. It closed around him perfectly, as he knew it would.

And it’s warm.

“I’m sorry about hugging you earlier. I didn’t realize.”

“I saw you coming and braced for it. Otherwise, I might have knocked you into the wall,” Atreus said, keeping his gaze on their overlapping hands.

But the curtains were drawn, and it was pitch black. A memory resurfaced from their early morning adventure—how Atreus had complained about the flashlight, which he didn’t need.

“How do you see so well in the dark?”

“Rusalki blood,” a voice said directly behind them.

In an instant, they sprung apart, and Atreus had a sharpened stick in his hands before Nyel even realized what was happening.