A/N: I've always thought that Judal must be really beautiful with his hair down, and I like to think that Sinbad would think so too.

(The song, "Mutter" by Junichi Kamiyama was really nice to listen to while writing this. It was hard to find, but very pretty if you can.)

Sinbad had never seen Judal with his hair down. Aside from when he was very little, the only person who had ever seen it like this was Kougyoku, who he tended to trust with his hair more than most anyone else; not that he really trusted her very much at all. Judal took great pride in his long hair; he'd never once dared to cut it, but he didn't like to be seen with it unbound. It came across as careless and sloppy for one thing, and Judal spent a lot of time and effort styling and caring for his hair, so he should at least look like he did. But it was so pretty like this, Kougyoku had insisted, and Judal had met her with a snort and complained that he looked too much like a girl. There was nothing wrong with that, Kougyoku assured him.

Judal wasn't sure what possessed him to allow Sinbad permission to handle his crowning glory. He didn't like anyone to touch his hair to begin with, and he was certain that Sinbad still had doubts about where his loyalties lay. That was okay though, Judal told himself, Sinbad wouldn't intentionally ruin his hair just for the fun of it. Judal sighed and heaved a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" Sinbad asked, feeling Judal shudder as the tie was slipped from the end of his braid.

Judal nodded too quickly. "Peachy," he grumbled, sitting cross-legged on Sinbad's bed. "A little nervous."

"You don't have to be nervous," Sinbad said with a chuckle, and tried to hide his smile when Judal turned around and glared at him. "You know that I won't hurt you, right?"

"No. Yes? I don't know," he stammered, staring into his lap whilst wringing his hands together, a habit he'd developed since he'd started coming to Sindria. He didn't know why he always came to Sinbad like this, but sometimes Judal found solace in his company, and Sinbad didn't seem to mind him very much either. "I've hurt you a lot. I would deserve it."

"I'm not that kind of man, Judal," he said, carefully beginning to unwind the silky hair from its heavy braid.

"I know," he murmured, without conviction. Judal could feel the weight of his hair as it came unbound, spilling over his milky shoulders in shiny black waves. He vaguely understood that he would have to learn to trust Sinbad eventually, if they were to keep doing this, whatever 'this' was, but Judal did not really trust anyone with his hair. In the Kou Empire, Judal learned very quickly that disobedience was easily punishable. He did not cherish many things, but those things he did were quick to be made examples of. Judal was almost surprised that Al-Thamen had never thought to cut off his hair, but if they did, he didn't think he would have been able to bear it.

The feeling of Sinbad's fingers combing through his abundant, glossy hair drew him from his thoughts. It did seem like Sinbad was trying, or at least that he cared enough not to damage his hair intentionally. He would occasionally snag on a tangle or pull a little harder than he should have, but he was gentle and tender, and Judal could not bring himself to complain.

"You have beautiful hair," he said after a while.

"Do I?" Judal asked with no small amount of attitude, though if his blush said anything the comment had touched him.

"You do," Sinbad answered, smile audible in every word. "You should wear your hair down more often. It is your most charming feature."

"So the rest of me isn't charming?" Judal shot back, and instantly regretted it. Of all the times he could have chosen to provoke Sinbad, now would not be the time, what with his greatest pride left in his care. Judal briefly entertained the thought that he should learn to be nicer, and immediately decided against it.

Sinbad didn't seem to take offense though, only continuing to part through the waves with an ornate comb of silver and pearls. "No, you are, believe me. It's just very striking, such long, dark hair against such soft, pale skin. And what a lovely color, deep and untouched like the night sky..."

Judal was silent for a moment, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks and heart. Judal rarely received such kind words from anyone-and rightfully so-if he ever had in the first place. No one could make him feel like this, and no one had dared to try. However Judal knew that Sinbad's offhanded comments rarely held any weight, and Judal couldn't stand the thought of being led on. Not by him.

"Those pretty words won't work on me, you know."

"That's fine," Sinbad smiled, and leaned faintly closer so that his lips were beside Judal's ear. "You should still get to hear them."

Judal startled at the warm breath on his neck, and when he glanced over his shoulder at Sinbad there was no trace of insincerity in his striking golden eyes, only warmth and tenderness that he'd never seen there before. Judal remembered too clearly the contempt those eyes once held at the sight of him alone, and the coldness in them pierced like daggers through his heavy heart. But this look could melt him, could melt every layer of ice within him until all that remained was calm, still water. Suddenly there was a 'what if' in Judal's mind, for the first time there was more than just darkness and Al-Thamen and self-lament, there was warmth and kindness, and this. Judal felt something warm springing at the corners of his eyes and stubbornly turned away, gnawing at his lip.

"Whatever."

To his relief Sinbad did not say anything else, for Judal was scared that if he were to answer back his voice would be choked with tears. It was one thing to let Sinbad brush his hair, and another entirely to show his inner weakness. Judal was certain that the shame would kill him, if Sinbad ever saw him cry. It wasn't something that Judal had ever wanted anyone to see; it would ruin his makeup, for one thing, but worse still it would ruin the reputation he had so carefully built for himself. Judal didn't need anyone to know that he was tired of war and hurting and everything else, and that he he had grown to hate the stench of blood (especially when it was his own). He'd been close once, that time in Sindria, but he assured them all that it was just fine as long as he could keep doing what he wanted. And yet, Judal could not recall a single time in his life when he had ever done exactly what he wanted.

He distracted himself from the painful drumming of his thoughts with the sensation of the comb dragging gently through his tangled hair. It was quite soothing, he thought; Sinbad was far better at it than Kougyoku. It could be like this forever, he realized, and disregarded the idea as soon as it came to him. No matter how kindly Sinbad might treat him, and no matter how Judal may have loved it, whatever this was could never amount to anything. Come morning, Judal would be halfway back to the Kou Empire, back to energetic talk of war and depravity and all the other things that his weary heart was too tired to carry any longer. Sometimes, he just wished that he could stay.

"Judal?" Sinbad's low voice interrupted his train of thought. He'd set down the comb, and tenderly tilted Judal's face to look at him. Sinbad lifted a calloused hand and drew it tenderly down his cheek, and Judal was horrified to feel a wetness there that he hadn't noticed before. Judal's hand flew up to the other side of his face and he felt the unmistakable dampness of tears rolling down the curve of his cheek. Panic was already rising in his chest, he silently berated himself for showing such weakness around anyone. He didn't know how long he had been crying, he couldn't believe that he didn't notice sooner. He looked to Sinbad with horror, only to find his brows drawn together in concern and, worse yet, eyes clouded with pity. Hot shame burned Judal's cheeks and he tried in vain to run, but Sinbad was faster and took his other hand before he could.

"Let go!" He shrieked, fighting against Sinbad's hold, though Judal was no match for his iron grip. The only thought in his mind was that of escape, he couldn't allow anyone to read this deep into him, not after all those years of repressing every human emotion left within him. Years of hiding his tears and suffering in silence, all in vain, and simply because Judal couldn't hold it together around this awful, horrible man, who made him feel things he didn't think he knew how to. Never again would another sweet and carefree night be spent in Sindria; he could never allow Sinbad to see him again, not after this. He struggled in vain to tear his hand away, sure of the purple bruises that would rise on his wrist come morning back in Kou. Just as he was sure he'd broken away, Sinbad pulled Judal into his arms and held him tight against his chest.

Judal was too stunned to move, trapped there in Sinbad's safe iron embrace, gazing up into his hardened features with awe. Sinbad wasn't smiling, not like before, but there was still that warm, forgiving glow in his eyes, gleaming with the sort of light that could swallow up any bit of darkness that Judal had left within him.

"Sinbad..."

"Stay," he whispered, lips low down beside Judal's ear.

Judal's breath caught in his throat, pools of scarlet growing wide with incredulity. "What?" Sinbad's naivety was comical to him, how simple he seemed to think things were. He made it sound as though all Judal would have to do was say the word, and with that he could bury everything he'd seen and done, living his life as though it were some sort of fantasy here in Sindria. Judal didn't know how he could think it was that easy. He didn't know how Sinbad could possibly think to ask. He didn't know how he could be considering the offer.

"You don't have to leave," Sinbad tried, softer this time, as he brushed back the dark shadow of Judal's feathery black bangs, features softening when Judal couldn't help but lean his head into the gentle hand. "Stay with me."

"You... know that I can't," he forced out the choked words, hiding his tortured expression in Sinbad's heavy robes. "I can't."

"Please, Judal," he whispered, and cupped Judal's cheek in his hand, forcing scarlet to meet gold. "Stay."

Tenderly, he put a finger beneath Judal's chin and angled his delicate pale face upwards, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his pink rose petal lips.

Judal froze. His heart was in his throat, and he knew that salty tears still welled in his eyes, but the only thing he could feel was warmth. There was no lust behind this, no deceit, no cruelty nor ill will, only a kiss, wrought in the purest innocence either could imagine. Judal wound his slim fingers into Sinbad's silk robe and leaned up into the kiss, eyes clenched shut in such an earnest effort that it made Sinbad want to melt, though Judal couldn't possibly know it.

Never before had Judal been touched like this. He had never felt this before, this soft tenderness, this love and compassion-if he could dare to call it that. Judal had never felt cherished like he did now, with Sinbad's lips capturing his own, warm and unrelenting. His heart fluttered against Sinbad's chest and he tried to stifle his own soft murmur of protest when Sinbad pulled away, just barely.

"Stay."

Judal felt the warm, desperate breath graze against his lips, and began to tremble in Sinbad's strong arms. A soft, rosy pink flush colored his cheeks the longer he gazed into those shimmering golden eyes.

Stay. He forced his mind to make sense of the word, drilling it into his brain in some vain hope to gain an understanding of just what it meant, just what it could mean for the two of them.

Stay. Judal's pulse was quickening; his heart skipped a beat. There would be no more Al-Thamen in this world, gone would be the torture and suffering of years upon years wasted. He would always have the memories, but wounds could heal, he considered, and those deep, intellectual scars would fade, given time. Judal didn't know how he could consider this, dropping everything as though it were nothing at all to live a dream.

Stay. Life for Judal had been an impossible, never ending nightmare. Darkness was all he knew; it was all he had ever been taught. But here, that didn't seem to matter. Here there was only light, and laughter, and this.

And for the first time, he could stay.

Judal sucked in a deep breath when Sinbad offered him a smile, bit his lip and felt the rush of tears when they came, as he buried his face into Sinbad's chest and cried. Sinbad's arms grew tighter around him.

Judal couldn't remember the exact moment when he'd drifted off into sleep, but when he cracked open his eyes there was early morning sunlight filtering in through the curtains. He shifted soundlessly in the silk sheets, but the heavy arm draped over his midsection made that harder than it should have been. His hair, still loose from the night before, spilled like ink over the sheets and over Sinbad's sleeping form as Judal studied the calmness of his features, an expression he'd never quite worn while he was awake. The night before was still fresh in his mind.

'Stay.'

He felt the word pulsate through him, reverberate in his core, felt that deep longing in Sinbad's voice and the kindness in his eyes. Judal's shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh, and his sleepy gaze softened.

Judal buried his face into Sinbad's chest, breathed in his ocean breeze, and closed his eyes.

A/N: Please Review!