Chapter 8: A Hiding Place

May 19th. 4:03 PM.

Sinbad wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was slightly out of breath by the time they both swung over the windowsill that Ja'far had led them too. Damn, but he moves fast. And this little jaunt throughout the city had confirmed two things: One, that Ja'far knew this city very well, from how he used every little fissure and crevice to bound around, and two, that he was hot. Okay, maybe Sin was just being silly with that last one, but still.

He pushed his long hair out of his eyes as he looked around. The room they were in was little and poorly-lit, but bore the signs of having be habituated for a long time. There was a thin pallet on the floor in the corner with a dark grey sheet pulled haphazardly over it. Next to it was a little set of drawers, made of some sort of dark wood. A cupboard and countertop stood along the wall opposite of where they both sat. Otherwise, aside from the pile of books next to him, the room was mostly empty.

Sin tipped his head back as Ja'far stood up and pulled a thin curtain over the open window. "Is this... your home?" he inquired, watching Ja'far turn and stride toward the cupboards, pulling down his hood as he did so. This was the first time that Sinbad had seen him without the hood. His hair was so pale that it seemed to glow in the dim light.

"Yes... of a sort." Ja'far pulled two chipped ceramic mugs out of the cupboard and reached for the pitcher sitting next to him.

"It's... quaint." Sin wasn't really sure what else to say, as the only other thing to comment on was the lack of decoration. The other shrugged and brought him one of the mugs, before turning and striding over to kneel beside the bed. Sin studied him as he moved to sit on a corner of the pallet and sipped at the water he'd been brought. Ja'far seemed... less imposing like this. Softer.

Ja'far looked across at him, eyebrows drawing together a little as he noticed where Sinbad was sitting, but he said nothing aside from, "Were you hurt?"

"No, luckily." Sin frowned slightly as he watched Ja'far unroll a length of cloth. "... How bad is your arm?"

"Shallow. Nothing serious." Ja'far frowned at Sinbad. "Stop watching me. It's a little unnerving."

Sin dipped a shoulder in apology and turned to look at the pile of books in the adjacent corner. Curious, he padded over and picked up one of the battered titles. He opened the book and flipped through a few pages, eyes skimming over the fine print. Huh. Didn't peg him as a fictional-story kind of person. He turned, intending to ask Ja'far a question, but the thought died on his lips.

Ja'far had his back turned to him and was winding the bandage around his upper arm. He had shrugged out of the top half of his uniform, letting it slump around his waist. Underneath, he was clad in a loose black undershirt that emphasized how thin he was. Red wires were wrapped around his forearms, and Sin could also see the faint shift of muscles in his back as he moved. He hoped Ja'far didn't turn around, because he'd probably get a knife to the face for his staring, but he really couldn't help himself. It felt oddly... natural, to slump back against the wall and just drink in the presence of the other. Sin said earlier that he trusted Ja'far, and that was true, even though for the life of him he couldn't accurately explain why.

As Ja'far bent forward to replace the remainder of the bandages, Sin finally forced his eyes away as he stretched his arms above his head. He had to consider how to send a message to the palace.. although, that shouldn't be too difficult to do. And... he was tired. The adrenaline from the fight and the running had worn off, and Sin just wanted a nap. Sleep...

He considered the bed. Then he considered Ja'far. Then he looked at the bed again. Ja'far. Bed.

And he flopped face first onto the bed.

He could feel the other's 'raised eyebrow' expression without even looking. "What are you doing, idiot?" The bed smelled nice. Like books. And a faint undertone of some other spice that Sin couldn't identify right away but was determined to figure out. He should... probably answer Ja'far.

"Sleepin'.

"No, you're not. Not if you're answering me. What are you, four? And get off my bed." Sinbad hummed and flopped onto his side, facing the other. This only served to annoy Ja'far further. "Act more like your position, idiot. You -"

"We're not going anywhere for a bit, right?" Sinbad yawned, interrupting him. "And replenishing energy is good. So that means a nap is good." Sinbad knew how to logic just fine, thanks. He patted the space next to him. "C'mon, Ja'far. Naps are good."

The look he received could have pierced steel. "No. It's still daytime, and I'm not sleeping next to you. Someone has to keep watch." He ignored Sin's outstretched hand. "Go to sleep if you want, then, idiot. Don't hug me. I don't do the hugging thing - Sinbad. You are not acting very kingly right now."

Sin "hmmed" in reply, rubbing his face against that strangely soft white hair and thinking that Ja'far could nag at him all he wanted because he liked the way Ja'far said his name. "You looked like you needed a hug." Ja'far was tense against him. Didn't he know how to respond to affection?

Ja'far turned his head, glowering at Sinbad. "No. I don't give hugs. Or receive them. Do you make a habit of hugging strangers?"

"You're not a stranger. And everyone needs hugs sometimes." True story. Sin felt Ja'far sigh and slowly relax against him.

"I'm... not going to win against you, am I," Sin heard Ja'far murmur. Sin grinned to himself triumphantly and pulled the other down with him.

"Nope. Goodnight, Ja'far."

He received and elbow to the face. "It's still the afternoon, idiot."

Sin chuckled. "Good afternoon, then. Sleep well."

He closed his eyes, and the last thing he heard was an almost inaudible, "... you, too."