Waking up in his own bed again feels like a dream.
Soft, worn sheets that smells like detergent and the sun; the small crack making its way from the bottom right corner of the ceiling; curtains that don't quite block out the morning sun. It's the same dream he has dreamed many, many times when he fell in and out of consciousness in that place.
For a moment he isn't sure if he is actually awake. Maybe him being back home and the familiar footsteps coming closer and closer are just another illusion created from his mind's desperate attempt to cope.
"Sin, are you awake?" The familiar footsteps turns into a familiar voice. The same voice in his dreams.
"Yes, come in."
Ja'far closes the door behind him, and paces towards him carefully. He gives Sinbad a once-over, quickly averting his eyes when he finds himself staring at the scar on Sinbad's neck. Sinbad doesn't move his gaze from him once.
"May I sit?" Ja'far asks for permission but doesn't wait for Sinbad's nod before sitting down at the foot of the bed.
He ignores the way his brain compares this Ja'far to all the other dream Ja'fars and tries to make conversation, "I heard from Rurumu that you tried your hardest to get me back. Thank you, you are the best subordinate I could ever ask for." He smiles and the Ja'fars in his dreams can never see through the facade.
"Sin, you idiot." Ja'far sighs, "stop pretending to be-" he takes a deep breath and tries again "you don't have to be okay. It is fine. Nobody expects you to come back and look like nothing's happened. You need time to heal." He looks sheepishly at his hands, "I've told the others you are not to be disturbed. I should leave, too."
"No, stay." Sinbad reaches forward and grabs Ja'far's wrist before he can think (and that point of contact is exactly what he needs to feel awake).
"Okay." Ja'far looks relieved.
They sit silently for a while. Occasionally Sinbad would doze off, only to wake up and feel that his hand is still being held. They eat together in bed, and Sinbad feels that he seems to be able to keep the nausea down better now. Then Ja'far brought his work in, and Sinbad dozes off again to the sound of quill against paper.
Ja'far leaves for the night, and Sinbad wish he didn't, but he sleeps more soundly than he has in a long time.
The next day, Ja'far comes in with a bucket of warm water and a wooden brush. He works through Sinbad's tangled hair slowly and wordlessly. Even though one of the first things Sinbad did upon his return was to scrub himself clean of that place, the gesture was comforting nonetheless. Ja'far continues to brush his hair long after all the strands have properly separated and Sinbad wonders what it means.
The days go on like this, and in the slow change of weather Sinbad starts to feel less like a vessel of repetitive dreams and more like a man with flesh and eyes and mind. He tells Ja'far (the real one) that he wants to go outside. He looks in the mirror for the first time since he came back and doesn't detest the mocking smile aimed back at him. He ties his hair up himself.
They go to the beach to be away from the bustle and hustle of the town. The feel of sun on his skin is welcoming and the scent of sea even more so. He still trembles at the feel of ankle-deep water, but he is okay this time because Ja'far never lets go of his hand. He kicks water up at Ja'far, and Ja'far retaliates by jabbing him in the ribs. They stay until sun down.
"You know, you can ask me about what happened." He says as he draws small circles in the wet sand with his toes, "I know you want to."
"Frankly, I don't particularly care." said Ja'far, "you are back, and that's all that matters."
"Then, it is okay to leave this part out of the Adventures of Sinbad and call it artistic liberty?" He tilts his head at Ja'far, "Maybe I'll write a romantic subplot instead."
Ja'far finally lets go of the strange deliberation in the past few days and laughs. Sinbad misses the sound of his laughter so terribly he could probably kiss him. They go home and the sunset stretches their shadows forever.