AN: Here's chapter two! There will probably be one more chapter after this, and possibly an epilogue. Thank you for reading!
Chapter Two
Ja'far was not quite sure how much time had passed while he was being coddled by the man he could now tell was Hinahoho, though he didn't feel up to opening his eyes and checking. He didn't want to ruin the feeling of calm and security that he had taken refuge in. However, no good thing lasted forever. A door squeaked open, the sound causing Ja'far to flinch even further into Hinahoho's embrace.
"Uh, am I interrupting something?"
It was Sinbad. Of course it was Sinbad, the man was the king of being where he was not wanted. Ja'far hated it when Sin saw him lose control like this. He despised showing weakness, especially in front of his king. It awakened the old fear that if he wasn't good and useful and perfect he would be killed. He often had to remind himself that this was Sindria, not the Sham Lash, and that Sinbad would never have him executed for something as petty as that. It was a totally irrational fear, but that didn't seem to matter to his subconscious.
"Is something wrong?" Sinbad asked. A hand touched Ja'far's shoulder. He jerked violently away from it before he could stop himself. The hand quickly retreated.
"Easy, Sinbad," Hinahoho cautioned, "He's just having a bit of a rough day. Aren't you, Ja'far?"
He wanted to respond, but it was like all the tension in his body had gone to his throat and tied his vocal cords in knots. He settled for nodding meekly against Hinahoho's stomach, realizing only then that his face was damp with tears. He unclenched his fists and winced as the drying blood tugged at his wounds.
Sinbad gasped. "Wait a- is he bleeding? Why is he bleeding?"
Ja'far opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like hours, blinking the salt from them as he glanced down at his hands. It did look pretty bad, though it was far from the worst injury he'd ever gotten. His fingers and palms were dyed a dark, sticky red, the same color as the four crescent moons carved into each hand. Each one throbbed in time with his overly-fast heartbeat, sending stabs of pain shooting up his arms. He noticed that his sleeves were also stained, and a small, numb corner of his brain started fretting about how hard it is to get bloodstains out of his robes.
"Sinbad, will you please go get some bandages?" Hinahoho asked, holding Ja'far a little closer. He sounded calm, but Ja'far could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing up, like he was trying not to pull the injured man into a literally bone-crushing hug.
"Of course," Sinbad answered. He also sounded calm, but Ja'far knew it was an act, though a well-practiced one. He had served under his king long enough to know the tone Sin used when he was panicking but didn't want to show it. If he was feeling less weak and miserable, he would be scolding Sin for getting upset over something so minor when there were much worse things happening. Ja'far wasn't worth his worry when Sindria was on the verge of war.
The door banged shut as Sinbad left, leaving Ja'far alone with Hinahoho once more. He squirmed in the larger man's grip, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He must look so pathetic, clinging to Hinahoho like a fretful child. Hinahoho refused to let go though, instead maneuvering him over to a chair and only releasing him when he had collapsed onto it.
Ja'far let his head droop, utterly worn out despite it not even being noon yet. He rested his hands in his lap, resisting the urge to clasp them together as he usually did for fear that they would start bleeding again. Hinahoho knelt beside him, still the taller of the two even though he was on the floor.
"Are you feeling better now?" Hinahoho asked, his voice a soothing rumble. Ja'far hesitated a moment, then nodded.
"Do you need anything?" he asked. The answer this time was a shake of Ja'far's head. The only thing he needed was bandages, and Sin was already dealing with that. He hoped the king would hurry up though. The way the day was going, the sight of his own blood might trigger something, and he was too tired and frazzled to deal with anything else today.
"Do you feel like talking about it?" was Hinahoho's next question. This was one that probably couldn't be answered with a simple gesture. Ja'far swallowed, his throat tight and dry. He wiped his sleeve across his face, suddenly self-conscious of the tears and snot on it. Of course, he probably just made the whole mess look worse and might have even smeared some blood onto his cheeks. He cleared his throat, and nervously cleared it again. He felt Hinahoho's hand rest on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"Not yet," Ja'far rasped, his voice almost a whisper. It was humiliating how weak he was, not even able to speak properly. His face flushed, drowning out his freckles in a wave of pink. He fiddled with his sleeve, past caring about the blood staining it. He waited for Hinahoho to speak again, ask another question he didn't want to answer, but the larger man didn't. He just starting rubbing Ja'far back, tracing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Ja'far felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, letting go of tension he didn't even realize was there.
"It's okay, you don't have to talk now," Hinahoho murmured, "How about we wait until Sin comes back with the bandages, okay?"
Ja'far nodded and slumped down in his chair. At least he had some time to think out a decent explanation. Sinbad was probably still panicking, and would demand an explanation as soon as he came back. He sighed and wiped at his face again before he remembered that it wouldn't help. This was going to be difficult.
