The silence isn't uncomfortable as they drive. It's not one he feels pressured to fill with meaningless conversation or with radio noise; it's just there. Ja'far's glasses are perched atop his head, his chin resting in his palm as he looks out the window, and Sinbad wonders what he's seeing, if it's just a kaleidoscope of color or maybe he's not even really looking at the world, but beyond it. Sinbad keeps having to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road and not his companion.

It's not a long drive. Their interaction at the school had allowed most of the early afternoon traffic to bypass them, and they were able to get out smoothly. It wasn't until halfway there that Sinbad realized he was supposed to be taking Ja'far home, and that he had no idea where the other lived. He slowed the car, an affordable and reliable Jeep that had been his college graduation gift from his parents. He'd never had the heart to replace it, given how much he knew they had to have saved for it; his family had never been wealthy, not to say they were terrible poor, but money was something they definitely had to keep on eye on, and luxuries weren't often in the budget for them, so he cherished their gift, even if he'd long been able to acquire something a little more fuel efficient and a little less faded.

When his mind focused again, he realized they were very nearly in his own apartment complex, and he made a decision. Though, he probably should have consulted Ja'far first, he figured he was more likely to be faced with stubborn argument rather than any real objections to his idea.

He pulls in, and he's determined at this point that Ja'far is not in fact paying attention to what they're doing, or he's still not feeling well enough to care. He figures it's more likely the former, but both seem rather unlikely considering how guarded Ja'far typically is. He shakes his head, squinting as the sun burns brightly through one of the gaps in buildings and shines right into his eyes. He's reaching for his sunglasses when he catches the way the sun is hitting Ja'far, making his hair damn near luminescent, and his normally dark eyes shine through with their forest green strains, his pale skin given a warm glow by the rays of the setting sun. It'd be a beautiful picture, minus the obnoxious glare coming off the top of his sunglasses; that he could do without, though there's a beauty to that too, with the way the light is refracting off the windows and mirrors, it nearly forms a broken halo atop his head. Sinbad can't help the small chuckle that builds up at the thought of Ja'far as an angel, well, as the hallmark version anyway; he's too fuel of passion and spirit, too willful to pass for one of those. A wrathful archangel serving as a warrior of heaven, more likely.

He's passed his building by the time he's paying attention again and damn his brain for being so distractible. His eye for the world always had that kind of effect, it always drew him in a little too deep; he was always looking at the world, but not really getting what other people got, what other people saw; he was always going beyond that, experiencing beyond that farther and deeper. It doesn't happen all the time, and lately, well, lately as it pertains to since before he met Ja'far, it hadn't even been frequent. It's like he'd rekindled a spark that had gone out and he hadn't even realized it was gone. Maybe dimmed was a better term than gone out, because he did still have moments, they just weren't as captivating, weren't as mesmerizing, and he was able to write them off more easily. Instead, he was imagining the paint colors he would mix, the layers he would form, the lines he would blur, the hues he would darken, and there goes his apartment building again.

He finishes a circle, and notices someone walking their dog giving him a wary look, and he waves his hand sheepishly at them as he drives by, knowing he looked like some kind of criminal scoping out the place. It's not until the car is pushed into park that Ja'far looks up, his glasses sliding down and plopping on the edge of his nose with the motion, and appears confused.

"Where are we?" He asks, looking around, though Sinbad is happy to note it seems like more curiosity tinted with a bit of apprehension than straight fear, which was the worst case scenario he had extrapolated while concocting his plan, which he is now beginning to doubt again.

"This is where I live, I uh, wanted to grab some stuff. Didn't want to leave you alone just yet since you still weren't feeling good," he's fibbing, seeing as he's planning on throwing together an overnight bag just in case he manages to not aggravate the other into throwing him out on the street. "And I figured you might want some help with that grading if you start feeling up to it," he mumbles as an afterthought. Ja'far looks skeptical, his eyes narrowed slightly behind the glasses he had now positioned properly on his fair face. His cheeks are still somewhat flushed, though nowhere near the degree they had been back at the school.

They sit there a moment, just looking at each other before Sin realizes Ja'far is probably waiting for him to make the first move and he fumbles with the door handle before managing to get the thing open.

His apartment is newer, and he'd only moved into this one a couple years ago. They had amenities he hardly ever used, like the pool or the weight room or the dog park. There was shrubbery lining the buildings and the stairs were metal and concrete - sturdy. He led Ja'far up to the second floor, to his un-decorated and unremarkable green door; there were green buildings and there were blue buildings, he just happened to be in one of the green ones. The complex itself was massive, buildings upon buildings lining up like an army on the hill, just waiting for battle.

They don't spend much time in his apartment. Sin pours a glass of water for Ja'far, and seats him in the living room. Ja'far fiddles with his phone and then Sinbad disappears into his bedroom to grab the necessities he wants.

All in all it probably takes ten minutes before they're throwing his stuff into the car to join their work bags and move back onto the road.

After navigating their way into the smaller part of the city where Ja'far lives, the sun has set and harsh winds have pushed in, driving the vehicle to bounce between the white and yellow lines like some sort of disproportionate ping-pong or Atari game.

They pull up and Sinbad leaves the car in park, headlights looming on the apartment building with it's sole flickering light illuminating the wooden stairs leading further up into the complex. It wasn't decrepit by any means, but it was definitely one of the older complexes in town, and it did look less than welcoming. Regardless, with a sigh, Ja'far pushes the door open and steps out into the weather just as rain begins to pelt the windows, a gentle sprinkle, but biting with the force of the winds gliding in.

Sin follows him, quickening his pace so that he beats the other man to their bags in the backseat, snatching both of them up in his grasp. He meets Ja'far's eyes from across the seat and is surprised to see a fond annoyance playing on the other's features. He smiles back, and the look goes on probably a bit longer than is really socially acceptable but he can't be bothered to care; it's just the two of them there anyway.

The rain picks up to a steady stream and he laughs at himself, feeling his shirt fall victim to the water and begins clinging to his skin. He pulls back and kicks the door closed before gesturing for Ja'far to lead the way. He shakes his head, a smattering of water falling from his bleached hair before he heads to the stairs in a light jog.

Sinbad follows suit, only feeling a little stupid running through the rain, that they could have pretty much completely avoided if he hadn't been staring like a blind man seeing color for the first time, with his bags smacking against his sides. There's already puddles in the poorly paved parking lot, pooling at the curb, which he just happens to misstep into, throwing gravely grime up to his knees and sloshing up into his shoes. Instead of feeling annoyed though, he just smiles, near relishing as the rain continues to fall against him.

They slow when they reach the stairs, the upper floors shielding them from the wet. He's led to the 3rd floor, the top in this complex; Sin's own building has six floors, but three was common in the older structures, the ones build before the town was so desperately pressed for space. The wood is solid beneath his feet, no rot betraying it's stability, for which he is thankful. Ja'far pulls his keys and goes to unlock the door while Sinbad's eyes wander to watch as the rain trespasses onto the edge of the balcony, pulled by the wind to dampen the sheltered zone.

When he hears the third lock fall back with a plunk he turns attention back to his friend and notices the modified security Ja'far has in place at his home. Dark eyes turn to meet his, and the question is on the tip of his tongue until he sees the masked embarrassment as Ja'far turns the knob and ducks inside, and the words feel like ashes in his mouth.

He toes off his shoes at the entrance, wincing as his wet socks hit the ground, and watches as Ja'far does the same. He grimaces sympathetically when Ja'far's damp pant legs tuck under his socked feet. Ja'far grumbles something unintelligible before continuing down the hall and turning into one of the doors lining it, the light flicking on and illuminating his shadow back into the hall until the door closes behind him, leaving only a sliver of luminescence to shine under the door.

He stands there in the hall awkwardly for a moment, taking in the apartment. The furniture is sparse, the "dining room" table is a fold out piece of furniture with two small chairs that don't match around it. The kitchen has white cabinets and black appliances. The stove and oven look unused, and the microwave door is hanging open. The clocks aren't set in the kitchen, and there's no pots or pans in sight. There's no couch in the living room across from the dining room. There's a small desk in the corner of the room, a laptop that looks like it might be the most expensive item in the apartment sitting on top of it. He's starting to rethink his "plan" when the door opens with a small squeak of protest and Ja'far is walking back up the hall with a bundle of fabric in his arms. Sin raises his eyebrow at the pile, and Ja'far thrusts the pile out in front of him with his eyes downcast.

"Here. Didn't think you'd want to stay wet." He pushes them into Sinbad's chest before turning on his heel and retreating up the hall. He makes it halfway there before stumbling sideways, his hand darting out to grasp the wall, slumping against it minutely. Sinbad is about to rush to his side when Ja'far collects himself, shaking his head and moving purposefully onward, determined not to look back, slamming the door slightly, and then two clicks echoing through the heavy silence.

He unwraps the bundle in his arms, finding a towel, sweatpants and socks. He looks around, not sure how to proceed, and not wanting to wander unwanted into some private space in the apartment, so he does what any (well, probably not any) man would do, and unbuckles his belt.

He's drying his hair with the towel, stripped down to his boxers and socks, when he hears the unmistakable sound of a lock clunking back into place, and a metallic click. Dumbly, he doesn't even try to cover himself, he just turns to look over his shoulder, towel still draped over his head, and waves.

Ja'far is beet red, and Sinbad hopes it isn't out of anger. After too many seconds of prolonged silences he turns to face the other man. For a brief moment, one short enough that Sinbad isn't sure if he imagined it or not, Ja'far glances at the only part of Sinbad that's still clothed, and thankfully, standing down, before he doubles over in laughter.

His laughter is the best sound, and Sinbad finds it is DAMN contagious. He's clutching his stomach and laughing, a full bodied, freeing, rumble of pure happiness. He glances down by chance, and realizes what's so funny. He had been way behind on laundry, leaving a pair of neon mismatched socks and about the only pair of boxers clean a gag gift he'd gotten at the school Christmas party the previous year. They were Disney boxers with Pinocchio's face, and his nose over the fly. He's too happy to even care enough to be embarrassed, and for too long than is socially acceptable they just continue laughing, the sound escalating till it's near hysteric giggles, each of them feeding off the other.

They probably would have continued laughing longer if another wave of nausea hadn't overcome Ja'far, the man paling and stopping abruptly before taking off down the hall.

Sin's upstairs brain must not be working very well because he runs after the other, finding Ja'far hadn't shut the door behind him, and is met with the image of him emptying WHATEVER is left in his stomach into the toilet. He crouches next to Ja'far, his hand resting on a far too bony shoulder, and is met with a violent flinch that makes him pull back. He notices now that his fit of laughter is over that Ja'far had traded out his long sleeved, impeccably buttoned appearance for a lax tee-shirt and sweats that are so long they're covering his feet.

His glasses are on the floor beside him, laid there haphazardly as he heaves into the commode. He pulls away, turning and slumping against it before startling at how close Sinbad was to him. In this position, Sinbad was damn near straddling him, Sin's flushed face just inches from Ja'far's paled one, able to see the freckles and sweat slipping down his cheek.

"Are you alright?" He asks, noticing his voice is a hair rougher than normal, the pitch a little deeper. He tries not to think about it too much.

Ja'far nods, coughing weakly. His eyes slip shut and he looks downright exhausted. He starts fumbling around for his glasses, and Sin grabs them up off the linoleum. He unfolds the, fingers brushing the sweat dampened fringe away from Ja'far's face before sliding the glasses onto his face, booping him on the nose when they were placed.

He freezes when it clicks with him what he's done, and Ja'far is just staring at him, his wide eyes greener in the harsh light of the bathroom, but the dark streaks are still prominent throughout. Sin coughs awkwardly into his hand before pushing back onto his heels and standing. He starts to hold out his hand to Ja'far, and then pulls it back in an abortive motion. Sinbad shakes his head, realizing he's overthinking the situation and outstretching his hand again to the other male.

Ja'far looks at it for a moment, and Sin is about to pull it back when a cold hand grasps his, though in a manner weaker than he would have expected. He blames the strain of the day.

"Thanks," Ja'far mumbles when Sin pulls him up, though he pulls a little too hard, and Ja'far damn near stumbles into his bare chest. Ja'far fumbles away, tripping over his feet and over long pants in the process, grabbing onto the shower curtain to keep from losing his balance completely.

Sinbad at least has the decency to look sheepish after that disaster of an interaction, and turns away, heading back down the hall to clothe himself, a task several minutes overdue. He's just finished pulling on his damp undershirt when Ja'far makes his exit. He's still a little pale, but nowhere near the ashen shade he had been in the bathroom and at school that afternoon. He frowns at Sinbad's shirt, and wordlessly ducks into his bedroom for a few moments before emerging with a faded purple tee held a little too tightly in his grasp. With a small amount of hesitation, he hands it over to Sinbad, eyes dropping meaningfully at the wet spots on his shoulders when he makes no move to take the shirt.

It's a little tight, especially over his chest and shoulders, but not nearly as ill fitting as he would have expected considering their difference in size; Ja'far being a bit shorter and much slighter in frame, much more slender strength, whereas he himself is bulkier and broader built - though he imagines hand to hand, they'd be pretty equally matched, though if they were unevenly matched, he has the sneaking suspicion Ja'far would be the one with the upper hand. He's got a finesse that Sin lacks, and this constant energy that seems to by thrumming just beneath the surface that he feels could unleash something powerful and frightening. He has little actual reason to believe any of that, but he just gets those kinds of vibes, those kinds of projections from people, and he's very rarely wrong. It's like a sixth sense almost, which is part of the issue with Kouen.

Kouen threw him off. Generally people he doesn't get along with give off an almost pungent aura. There was a man he'd met in grade school that had the foulest sense about him. It damn near made Sin nauseous just to be in his presence. It had been the first time he'd met someone like that, so at first he thought it was a physical smell, like the man had poor hygiene or something, and wondered why his friends didn't seem to notice it.

It clicked for him when they had been underground, around the boxing ring he had lured them to, and the air conditioner had been blowing away from them, but he could still feel that disgusting projection as if the man were breathing down his neck.

He'd been goaded into fighting, and most of it was a blur. He got a nasty blow to the head that had given him a concussion and left most of the memories of that night foggy. He remembered winning, but it didn't feel like winning. His opponent had been tiny, child sized, and fast. His friends had congratulated him, saying he'd broken his opponent's flawless streak. He remembered shattered white, something pure, something not unlike what he felt around his closest friends, what he felt around Ja'far, and he remember that stench pure as day.

He's broken out of his reverie by the sound of Ja'far's voice, disgruntled mumbling about how Sinbad was going to stretch that out and it was never going to fit again. Sinbad wasn't sure it ever fit in the first place, but he apologizes anyway.

The rain is torrential outside, pounding on the windows, and thunder rolls distantly, lightning illuminating the sky incrementally, too far off still. He briefly considers checking his phone to make sure nothing severe is coming, but he decides against it. It's not like it would make him want to be anywhere else anyway.

It occurs to him that he never actually accomplished what he had set out to do that afternoon, his plans so far derailed by whatever had made Ja'far so sick.

"Some friends and I are going to get together after the last day to go over grading before final submissions are due. Did you want to join us?" Ja'far looks at him blankly for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, I'm alright." There's something about the way he says it, the forlorn glint in his eyes that makes him push, makes him try and get the other to agree.

"I'm sure Yam could use all the help we can muster up," he offers. It gets a small smirk out of Ja'far, something that makes Sinbad's inner self do a little dance of victory. "I'll still help you tonight, but we'd all love to have you join us."

He's hoping, and maybe he's being too insistent over something so menial, but he wants Ja'far to be part of his life, to be a part of his friend group. He wants him to know he's welcome, by the others just as much as by Sin himself. Well, maybe not quite as much. He knew Ja'far shared lunch duty with Yam before, and that he and Masrur had hung out before school on occasion, though he can't imagine that's a very talkative event. He obviously had a connection of some sort to Hina and Rurumu, but he wanted more. He wanted them all to be close, he wanted his friends to be Ja'far's friends, to be support for him too, the way they all have been to each other through the years.

"Alright," Ja'far concedes. If his inner self was doing a dance over the smile, he was jumping for joy now. He still sounds reluctant, and Sinbad feels like Ja'far is concerned he's unwelcome, and Sin thinks he may try and back out later, but it's something. He considers having Yam invite him as well to try and dispel that notion.

"You want a second set of eyes and hands now?" He says, wiggling his fingers in the air. Ja'far rolls his eyes at him before grabbing the bag he had discarded at the door. He frowns at his sparingly decorated living room before going left and into the open floorplan of the dining room and kitchen area. He flops the bag down on the table and sits in one of the chairs; it's not a comfortable situation but it'll do.

Sinbad goes for his own bag, sitting by the heap of his wet clothes.

"You can throw those in the bathroom," Ja'far says, pulling papers out of his bag, his expression schooled and serious. Sin takes the clothes and his other bag that Ja'far thankfully has not asked about, discretely into the bathroom. It hits him then that he could have worn one of the shirts he had brought instead of forcing Ja'far's to accommodate his too large frame. He grumbles to himself, disparaging his thoughtlessness.

"Sin?" Ja'far calls down the hall. Sinbad heads back down the hall in time to hear Ja'far mutter, "you better not be snooping."

"Not snooping," he says, making Ja'far jump slightly. "Sorry, just distracted." He takes the seat opposite Ja'far, leaving his own bag on the floor beside him.

It's companionable and relaxed, the two of them working, not really in collaboration but still together. It's something he could get used to. It's something he could really get used to…

Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed reading as those motivate me to keep making content.

You can visit me on tumblr at cassiel-of-thursday , I answer questions, post about stories, and take prompts on fandoms I'm in (Magi and Supernatural are the big ones right now).

3

Cassie

(Aside, I would just like to take this second to say this story DOES have a happy ending, and that * spoiler * there is NO MCD.)