(And the flashbacks continue!)

Sinbad doesn't mean for things to go wrong, no matter what Ja'far might accuse him of. He certainly doesn't mean for the car to give out halfway to Vegas, smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert, about two hours before sunset. He tries to look under the hood, having some vague idea which bit is the engine and being pretty damn sure which one is the oil-yep, that's hot-but as neither of those are making big smoky problems, he lowers the hood again and pronounces it "Broken or something."

He doesn't like the look of Ja'far being scared, nor does he particularly fancy trying to sleep in the car with all their junk in the backseat, so he grabs a couple of blankets, urging Ja'far off the road. "Come on, we'll sleep here tonight and hitchhike once it gets light. It'll be fun, like camping! And we'll still make the Expo, it doesn't start for three days."

Ja'far exhales a long, put out sigh, casting a rueful look back at the car. This is hardly the first time Sinbad has gotten them into a situation in the past three years that Ja'far has followed at his heels, but it certainly feels like one of the most annoying ones. "… I bet I can fix it." He looks back to Sinbad. "Do you carry any tools around with you?"

Sinbad rolls his eyes, exasperated. "There's no way we're getting into this again-I don't care what kind of shitty creepy kiddy murder daycare you were in, there's no way they taught an eleven-year-old how to fix a damn car!" Along with fishing, wall-climbing, electric wiring, plumbing, and any of the other twenty million things he's been exasperated with Sinbad for not knowing how to do.

Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, deciding not to correct Sinbad about his age for the umpteenth time. "Not a car, specifically, but most of the principles of engineering are all the same."

Sinbad raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. "Can you fix it with a buttplug and some nipple clamps?"

A deadpan stare follows. "The clamps might help." He reaches down, pulling a knife from his thigh and turning around to go back to the car.

"I told you to leave those at home," Sinbad mutters, grabbing a bag of lighting grips and clamps from the trunk, setting it at Ja'far's feet to see if there's anything he can use. "If someone feels you up and gets stabbed they're going to find out your ID is fake."

"… But no one ever feels me up," Ja'far points out, popping the hood back up and waving away the smoke with a sigh. "I'm too skinny, as you enjoy pointing out. And besides, they wouldn't be able to catch me if I stabbed them." There might have been incidents that Sinbad didn't hear about.

"I told you to stop stabbing people! Unless I tell you to," Sinbad corrects himself, irritably fumbling for a cigarette from his pocket. "Come on, there's no way you can fix a fucking car, just come camp with me tonight and we'll hitch into Primm in the morning."

"Will you just shut up and come hold this flashlight?" Ja'far growls at him, shoving the thing into Sinbad's hand as he bends over the front of the car. "I can fix a car, I fixed your heater the night your landlord refused to come out, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah," Sinbad admits, holding the flashlight at as good an angle as possible, all the while keeping an ear out for coyotes and mountain lions. Though really, he's always wondered how hard those were to wrestle….

"I understand why you'd teach a kid to fix a heater, though, and that's all electricity. This is internal combustion!"

"More like a leaky water tank," the younger man mutters, sighing as he drapes himself forward, feet nearly off the ground in the process. "Damn. I'm not sure I can patch this up, and I know we don't have enough to fill it back up properly."

"I have chewing gum and diet coke," Sinbad offers unhelpfully. "It looks like there's a little creek over that way, I could drink all the coke and fill it up with water. Hey, you want me to pick you up so you can see better?"

"Don't be an idiot," he sighs, rocking back onto his heels again and wiping his hands off irritably. "Unless you've got something that can fill and seal a plastic crack tonight, then I guess we really are stuck."

"I said I had chewing gum," Sinbad mutters, and puts the flashlight away, stepping a few feet away from the car to light his cigarette. "Come on, camping isn't so bad, right? Have you ever even been?"

"… Does sleeping out in the snow with a tent made from my own cloak count?" Ja'far shuts the car hood, brow furrowed in irritation. "This isn't camping, this is being stranded."

"It's camping because camping sounds more fun," Sinbad argues. "Besides, it's weird that they made you wear a cloak, it sounds like you were raised in a Renaissance Faire or something. Come on, rich people pretend to be poor people this way all the time, it's like we're successful already!"

"I liked my cloak," is the sullen mutter to follow. "You're going to get eaten by a wild dog or something out here."

"No," Sinbad says patiently, "we are going to get eaten by a wild dog. And no we aren't, we're going to have a nice night thinking about the sexy ladies at AVN this weekend, and the giant beds at the hotel."

Ja'far sighs a long-suffering sigh, and simply sheathes his knife with a shrug of resignation. "Maybe you will be thinking about them. I don't care."

"You will when you're older," Sinbad promises confidently, grabbing everything that looks blankety and tossing it on a smooth patch of desert ground. "Huh, I thought the desert would be….sandier."

"I'm seventeen, I'm not a kid," Ja'far deadpans, and fishes around in the backseat for the bag of snacks and drinks that Sinbad always insists on bringing. "Don't throw it all right there, we need to at least keep a distance off of the road. It isn't safe otherwise."

"But what if someone steals the car?" Sinbad says practically. "Or what if we see a cougar and we have to make a break for it? Or some nice truck full of sexy people shows up to take us to the Playboy Mansion? Definitely by the car is better."

"No one is going to steal a broken down car, I've killed large cats before, and no one is going to show up and take you to the… whatever."

"How have you lived with me for three years and not heard about the Playboy Mansion?" Sinbad demands. "And you are definitely telling me that story about the large cat." He settles down on the blankets, looking up expectantly.

"After we move away from the road." Ja'far scowls down at him, arms folding over his chest. "Don't be an idiot about this, it just isn't safe."

After a glance, Sinbad decides it's not worth going toe-to-toe with stubborn Ja'far, and he stands, slinging everything over his shoulder. "What are we running from, by the way? Drifters?"

"We aren't running, we're being intelligent so we don't have to run." Ja'far heaves a long sigh, shaking his head. "It isn't so difficult to understand, it could be as simple as someone flipping their car on the highway and it crashing into us if we're too close to the road. Use some common sense."

Sinbad looks back at the decidedly empty highway. "Whatever, you're the boss. Not too far, if it gets really cold I want to be able to get back without walking a long way at night."

"The car isn't going to help us from being really cold," he points out with a roll of his eyes. "But fine, not too far. And the cat was boring to kill, they're a lot easier than humans."

"But-wait, what the hell kind of cat are we talking about? It wasn't a pet, was it?" Ja'far doesn't share overmuch, but what he does share is always….creepy.

"No, it was a wildcat. Though I met someone that tried keeping tigers as pets once."

"I tangled with a wildcat once," Sinbad reflects, stretching out on the blankets and lighting another cigarette to replace the one he'd tossed away. "Well, that's the mascot on her uniform, anyway. A tiger, too, but that was from a different school. Cheerleaders, man."

Ja'far stares at him, decidedly put out, before grabbing the rest of the blankets to make a proper nest out of them. "You're kind of disgusting. Can you not go through that entire pack of cigarettes, it's the last one you have."

"Hey, what's disgusting about having fun with someone who wants to have fun?" Sinbad asks mildly, and doesn't even bother to argue before grabbing Ja'far back closer, wriggling under his blankets too before blowing smoke in his face. "We'll be warmer like this. And don't worry, I'll get another pack tomorrow." With money that he'll magically find somewhere, probably.

The younger man sighs, lidding his eyes as he breathes in the smoke without protest. "At least share properly before you go through all of it," he murmurs, curling into a ball close to Sinbad's chest.

Sinbad brings his hand down, resting the cigarette at Ja'far's lips. "Don't burn me. I'm gonna have to get shirtless in a couple days."

"Not gonna burn you." His eyes shut entirely as he inhales a long, wavering breath of smoke, tension unraveling from his limbs in short order. "Why are you so set on this? You don't have to do porn anymore."

Sinbad doesn't bother to say what he tells everyone else-that he's good at this, that it pays amazingly well, that it's better than being out on the streets. Ja'far knows him well enough to know he could do almost anything and make money, has seen him turn down ridiculous amounts of it in exchange for things he hasn't wanted to do.

"I think I could change things." The words sound a little uncertain on his lips, and he realizes with a hint of shyness that it's the first time he's said them aloud. "I-it doesn't have to be such a gross thing, like everyone thinks it is. The actors don't have to be abused, they don't have to be drug addicts and desperate prostitutes. I've known a lot of people who could have been-I mean, they could have been amazing, they had real talent, you know? But no one cared, because it's just porn, and everyone knows porn is just a sad shitty thing for desperate losers. I could change all that, maybe."

Ja'far's head tilts, contemplative, and he takes another, slow drag from the cigarette. "I suppose if anyone could do it… it would be you," he murmurs. "For the record, I don't think it's gross. I just think the way you talk about it sometimes is, but that's because sex seems so… messy. And unappealing. To me."

Sinbad nods slowly, stealing his cigarette back for a last drag before stubbing out the butt. "Yeah, but you know most people don't think that way. Like...if you look at it, porn is supposed to be about inspiring someone's lust, right? Think about what you could do with that. If people didn't think it was gross, it could be so cute, right? Like a couple picking out a movie to get them in the mood on date night, that kind of thing."

"… You should just be glad that everyone thinks you're attractive and someone will buy into your idea just on that alone."

"Yeah, well, if Rashid caught an ugly thief looting his house, he'd probably just have slit my throat," Sinbad reflects, knowing now what he hadn't known before about his old benefactor. "Or I'd have died before, or whatever. Ugly people don't make good porn. Mediocre-looking people do, but ugly people make great cameramen."

"Then I'll stick to being your cameraman-or better yet, I'll be nowhere near your set and filing all of your taxes or something," Ja'far replies, shifting around to get more comfortable and lay his head on a makeshift, bunched up blanket that serves as a pillow.

Sinbad blinks. "Huh? Did-wait, what did I say? I didn't call you ugly, did I?"

"… No? But I'm definitely not making porn, nor do I look like I should."

"If you wanted to," Sinbad says, grinning because the idea sounds so silly, "I could sell you in a heartbeat. I guarantee they'd be flying off the shelves, shit."

Ja'far blinks slowly at him. "I doubt that."

"Porn made by people who look like they'd never make porn always sells," Sinbad assures him. "That's why my shit sells so well. Also I'm a good actor. And I'm hot."

"I'm not either of those last two things, though." Ja'far eyes him. "Also, you look like you'd make porn."

"I do not! I've got a fresh-faced cheeky appeal! The only queers who make gay porn are either dead-eyed daddies or creepy ponytail mustache dudes or wispy little twinks. I'm special."

"But your ponytail is slutty."

Sinbad huffs, touching his ponytail as if to console it, or protect it from Ja'far's words. "There's a difference between being slutty and being porny. A girl can wear a miniskirt showing the bottom half of her labia, she still doesn't look porny unless she's got the fingernails, the body stocking, the bleached asshole, the tattooed lips, the fake tits and fake tan."

"… You say all this like you've analyzed it," Ja'far mutters, and knowing Sin, he probably has. A sigh, and he half-buries his face down into his 'pillow.' "Whatever. It doesn't make a difference to me. I'm not going on camera."

Sinbad pokes him. "Take it back. Say I don't look porny."

"You look slutty. Is that better?"

Sinbad growls, then shrugs. "Marginally."

"Why do you care? You're not dating me," Ja'far mildly points out. "Or trying to bed me. Worry about your cheerleaders."

"I don't have to worry about my cheerleaders," Sinbad says dryly. "They always think I'm hot. I value your opinion, dumbass."

"… I guess if I was going to think someone was… hot… then that'd be you?" He blinks back, still not quite understanding why Sinbad took any offense in the first place. "But I don't really look at people like that."

"I don't care if you think I'm hot, I know I'm hot and I'm not trying to get into your pants," Sinbad says in exasperation. "Just...don't be such a dick. You're my friend, don't tell me I look porny or slutty."

"… But how is it being a dick when you do porn for a living?"

Sinbad rolls out of the blankets, shoving his hands in his pockets to pull out another cigarette, really irritated now as he stands. "I thought you understood that I want more than that. I want to change everything, and you're telling me I'm just like everyone else."

"I'm not-" Ja'far frowns, stress creasing his brow as his sits up. "I'm not saying you're like everyone else. I'm just-I don't understand why it's an insult when I was just… making an observation? It's not like I talk to a lot of your porn friends, so you're kind of what comes to mind when… porny does."

"Forget it." God, what's he even doing, dragging Ja'far to a convention like this? The kid will be bored out of his mind. "Maybe you should just wait at the hotel when we get there."

A firm shake of his head follows that. "No way. Knowing you, you'll get kidnapped or something and then murdered and it would be all my fault."

"Oh come on, I've only been kidnapped once!" Sinbad takes a long drag on his cigarette, realizing in dismay that it's his last one. Shit, Ja'far is right, he needs to cut down. "You'll be bored."

"Assuming you don't get kidnapped, how am I supposed to know how to help you later if I don't go with you?"

"Don't be dumb." Sinbad picks up a rock, hurling it into the distance, watching it soar slowly down until it hits the ground. "When you're eighteen you won't want to stay with me. You'll go get a job doing taxes or skinning bears with your teeth or something, there's no reason for you to stick around. Most of the time I think you don't even like me."

"You're loud and annoying and drink and smoke way too much," Ja'far quietly agrees, "and keep trying to shove my face in girls' chests when I really could do without. But if I wanted to leave, I already would have."

Sinbad huffs out a breath, kicking a desert plant with his toe. "You're just staying because you don't have anywhere else to go. I told you, when I get money I'll give you some, you can have your own apartment and everything. Don't worry about that."

"… If you want me gone so bad, you can just say it." Ja'far huddles down into the blankets again. "I don't want your money, anyway."

Sinbad turns so fast he kicks up a little flurry of dirt and dust from his boots. "What? Stop hearing things I'm not saying, I want you to stay because I like you!"

"Then the same goes for you! I wasn't trying to insult you before, you're the one taking offense because you're my definition of porn, shouldn't that be a good thing?" Ja'far growls in return, yanking a blanket up and over his head. "You're dumb."

"Why would I think that's a good thing when you think porn is gross?" Sinbad snaps, kneeling next to Ja'far and yanking the blanket off his head. He scowls, shoving his cigarette between Ja'far's lips. "You're right, I was being dumb. Does that mean you want to stay with me?"

"Sex is gross," Ja'far mumbles in correction around the cigarette, huffing out a hot breath as he slinks back down into the blankets. "Because body fluids and mess. And I never said I wanted to leave."

"But you never said you wanted to stay, either."

"You're being really dumb. I said I wanted to go to a porn convention to know how to better help you, didn't I? There's an implication there."

Sinbad sits heavily on the blanket, frowning up at the starry night sky. "You stayed with your last bosses because you thought you couldn't do anything else. I forced you to leave. I just-I want to know you're here because you want to be, not because you feel like you're stuck with me. I don't like being someone's last choice."

"If I wanted to leave, I would have." Ja'far finishes off the cigarette, sighing as he puts the butt out. "I don't have anywhere else to go, but… that doesn't mean I'd want to go there, even if I did."

Sinbad turns to look at him, an oddly vulnerable expression on his starlit face. "Is it hard for you? To say there's something you want?"

Ja'far blinks, then frowns, looking aside. "I've never…" A shake of his head cuts those words off. "Wanting things has never been a good idea before. Besides, I'm… fairly sure you are going to find someone that isn't 'just a kid' to spend time with, anyway. Probably even this weekend. So if I said I wanted to stay… doesn't it just make it more awkward later?"

Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, and sits in silence for a long few minutes. "I don't know," he says honestly. "But it would make me feel better. I want you to like me, because….well, you're important to me." He smiles briefly, then looks away. "No one else really is."

"… But I do like you." The words make him flush, stupidly enough, and Ja'far rolls onto his back, hoping Sinbad doesn't see his face so clearly. "That's never been a problem. Staying… isn't either." He hesitates. "If it's easier… I can say I'll stay until you want me to go?"

Sinbad's face softens, and he lays down too, nudging Ja'far's shoulder with his. "Then you should just say, 'Sin, I'll follow you forever.' That's more accurate, because I wouldn't ever want you to leave."

'Forever' isn't a good measure, though-

Ja'far bites those words back, hesitating for another, brief moment before he nods. "… Sin, I'll follow you forever," he quietly repeats, turning his head to look back at Sinbad. "Are you happy now?"

Something tightens in Sinbad's chest, and he nods, grabbing Ja'far and pulling him close to his chest, just as he'd done when they were no more than kids, both bleeding out onto his cot. "Really happy."

"Squishing me," is the wheeze into Sinbad's neck, though Ja'far makes little attempt at struggling. So long as Sinbad is happy, he supposes he can bear it, just for a little while.

Sinbad releases Ja'far (eventually), though not much, snuggling under the blankets with his arms still around the kid. "We're gonna be awesome," he murmurs, a smile curving his lips. "Good things are going to happen, Ja'far. I'm going to make 'em happen, as long as you're with me. So….forever."

Hearing that from Sinbad, it's easy to believe it. "Whatever you end up doing," Ja'far sighs, curling into a ball that fits rather easily within Sinbad's arms, "I'm sure there will be something I can do to help. At least I'll be busy, if nothing else."

It hasn't even been two years yet.

Ja'far sighs, shouldering his bag as he stares up at the building that Sinbad apparently runs his new studio from, eyebrows lifting. It's at least clean-looking, if not a little plain (surprising, for Sinbad), and Ja'far is glad not to see a dozen drug users hanging out on the corner. Judging from Sinbad's ramblings about how his current 'accountant' used on occasion, and how he might have tried a few things himself-

Ugh. That was coming to an end. That is why he's taking a semester off, not because Sinbad was all puppy dog eyes and whining and insisting no I don't want you to come home, I do miss you though, when does college end and when do you come back the last time he visited and crashed in Ja'far's dorm room-

It's just a semester. You can always go back.

Ja'far shrugs off the irritation-more his completionist personality than any irritation towards Sinbad-and opens the door, walking into the studio.

Sinbad does not miss Ja'far.

He just happens to turn after every joke he makes to see the younger man's serious expression, make remarks to no one by accident after flicking off the lights at night, and once, maybe, called Nathan the accountant by Ja'far's name. Maybe. Maybe not even once.

(Maybe more like five or six times.)

But he's trying not to, because Ja'far is at college, even if college seems to take forever (it's definitely been at least nine years), and he's getting along fine without his mean tiny friend (who's stopped being mean years ago, and had definitely been less tiny the last time he'd visited Ja'far's dorm room).

Besides, Ja'far-Nathan, dammit, he does remember the man's name-does throw a hell of a party.

It's a celebratory occasion, though Sinbad had been a bit too drunk and high when they decided on it to remember now what they're celebrating, even if the buzz has long since worn off. Something about a monetary benchmark, Nathan had said something about dividends before handing around the rainbow-colored pills, and even if Sinbad's taken less than anyone else there, he still finds it a bit hard to focus.

But he doesn't need to focus much when everyone is laughing, even if his thoughts aren't quite as jovial as everyone else's seem to be. There's a sense of accomplishment he's missing, something he's just not achieving right now, something he'd thought would be easy.

Maybe he'll just get drunk off his ass and call Ja'far tonight. Shit, think of a reason. Uh...heard there was a prowler in his area, just checking up. Yeah, that'll do.

Ja'far's starting to think he came at the wrong time.

Damn, but he hates parties, especially loud ones. He's spent the last four months with the authority to make the things stop right the fuck then, and he wishes that extended to life outside of a dorm room. He sighs, eyeing the number of unfamiliar faces, all before simply turning back around and walking back out to linger outside of the studio instead. He pulls out his cellphone, dials Sinbad's number, and waits. If Sinbad isn't even here, that makes this trip look all the more ridiculous. Damn, they're even celebrating something, Sinbad doesn't need him.

Sinbad's phone vibrates against his thigh in a staccato rhythm he only has assigned to one person, and his heart leaps. "Everyone, shut up!" he shouts, standing up so fast he dislodges the girl (whatever her name is) from his lap with a squeak, slapping off the stereo amid protests of "What the fuck, man?"

He grabs his phone from his pocket, holding up a hand for silence so commandingly that total silence falls, and tries to make his voice sound casual as he answers. "Hey, what's up?"

Ja'far stares down at the phone, looks back inside when the music suddenly stops, and he wonders what in the world Sinbad's problem is. "… Don't stop just because of me," he mutters, rolling his eyes skyward. "Guess where I am."

Sinbad's heart leaps into his throat, and he bolts for the window, leaping over a couch in one stride to look down at the street below. "I-where? You-did you come home?" Uselessly, he tries to remind himself that he doesn't miss Ja'far at all. "I mean, of course you're still at school, right? You-did you come home?" Shit, already asked that.

"I'm outside. Right now."

The couch isn't so lucky the second time, hitting the floor as Sinbad misjudges his jump, and he hopes Ja'far can't hear how fast his feet are going on the stairs. "What a coincidence, I was just on my way out for a smoke! Front, or back?"

"… Front," is the slow, wry response, and Ja'far lowers his phone, turning it off with a sigh. All right, so maybe Sinbad is happy to see him. That makes it worth it, even if he doesn't need him.

Sinbad changes direction mid-stride, hastily pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket to give himself an excuse, and throws the door open, ignoring all ideas of acting nonchalant when he sees Ja'far. He doesn't quite remember getting from here to there, and hopes it looked a bit more dignified than running full-tilt, but it feels like no time at all until he's lifting Ja'far bodily, crushing the boy to his chest-no, not boy, Ja'far is man-sized now, and that's one of the strangest things he's ever noticed. "Ah! You're-you're here, I thought you weren't coming back, is everything with school all right? Are the other kids being nice to you? I don't need your help with the books or anything, it's fine, I have Ja'far, I mean Nathan, but you're here-"

Ja'far wheezes into Sinbad's shoulder, lifted entirely off of his feet by the man's embrace-impossible to protest against, when Sinbad is so enthusiastic about it all. "I took the semester off," he exhales, giving Sinbad's shoulder a slap in a plea for mercy and please put me down already. "From what you were telling me, you do need help with the books. You were getting tax audits and your accountant was getting both of you high."

The semester off-that's months without leaving again, and Sinbad has to come to his senses before he breaks the kid's ribs. He sets Ja'far down after a few more furtive slaps, unable to help from beaming. "Yeah, it's all shit, but you're here now, you'll have it fixed in seconds!"

"God willing," Ja'far mutters, rocking back onto his heels with a deep breath. "Please tell me you kept accurate records of everything… and that you aren't using at all anymore."

"Nothing hard," Sinbad says immediately, grabbing Ja'far's shoulders and marveling at the tone in them, at how much lean muscle Ja'far's put onto those bones in a short amount of time. "Just party favors here and there, I don't even like them that much, I just get bored when you're gone."

"Well, stop it. It isn't good for you." Not that smoking is much better, but at least it isn't illegal. Ja'far sighs, batting Sinbad's hands away. "Are you still partying? I was going to ask if I could stay at your apartment, but I can always just get a hotel…"

Sinbad grins, unfazed, and wraps his arms around Ja'far's shoulders. "I don't live there, that's just the rec room above the studio. Come on, I'll show you my place. Where's all your stuff?" he asks, turning his back on the studio without a second glance.

Ja'far shrugs the one bag he brought higher up his shoulder. "Here. It's not like I have much."

Sinbad winces. There'd been little money left, after starting the studio, to furnish Ja'far's dorm room or buy him clothing, equipment, computers. "I'll get you a lot more stuff now," he promises, and clicks his keys, a dark sedan's lights winking on and off again.

"Why? I hardly need it." Ja'far's eyebrows arch at the car. "Though it looks like you've been doing well enough for yourself. That's good."

"Things are going well," Sinbad agrees modestly, opening the door for Ja'far and tossing his stuff in the back before getting in. "Could be better, I think Ja'far might be skimming off the top, but you'll put him to rights."

Ja'far pauses before he gets in the car, giving Sinbad a bemused look. "… I thought your accountant's name was Nathan."

"It is," Sinbad responds, frowning as he pulls onto the road. "What did I say?"

"Ja'far. Are you sure you aren't high? Or drunk?"

Sinbad's cheeks flush just a bit, and he's glad the evening dimmness will hide it. Probably. "Nah, that wore off hours ago. Why did you take a semester off? Was everything okay at school?"

"Everything was fine. I took off to help you." Ja'far sighs, sinking back into the seat. "Though I'll probably never get my RA position back after this. They probably think I'm a slacker."

Guilt nags worse than Ja'far ever has. "You didn't need to do that. And if they know you at all, they'll know you're not a slacker."

"It's a job, all that matters is what's on paper." He shrugs dismissively. "It doesn't matter, it's less work to do which will let me focus more on my classes later when I go back."

"Plus you won't need it," Sinbad offers eagerly. "Because I'll be paying you for doing the books, of course, so you'll have more than enough to compensate. The studio's doing really well, I canceled your student loan three months ago."

"You didn't have to do that," Ja'far immediately protests, twisting to frown at him. "I don't expect you to pay for any of it, you're not the one going to college."

"Nonsense, it's back pay for all the work you've done since you were fourteen." Sinbad grins, so pleased Ja'far is home that he forgets to intentionally get his age wrong.

Ja'far's frown deepens. "… But you didn't have to pay for any of that. In fact, you shouldn't. I'm the one that has a debt to you already."

"Forget it, it's just money." Odd, how much less money seems to mean when he can pay for all the food he wants, and shoes without holes in them. He'd always thought it would be the other way around. "You're still by my side, that's all I care about. Uh. Not in a weird way, or anything."

There's no arguing with Sinbad sometimes, and now is one of those moments. Ja'far sighs, flopping back tiredly. "All right. Whatever makes you happy, I suppose."

Just don't tell him he makes you happy. That's gay. "Hey, we're here. Nice building, huh?"

Nice is a little bit of an understatement. Ja'far stares, eyebrows slowly lifting. "… You must be paying a fortune for this."

"Yeah. Swanky, huh?" Sinbad's probably a little too excited, but really, Ja'far is the only person that's known him since the single-can-of-soup-for-four-days phase of his life. He shoulders the single bag without protest, slipping the doorman a smile and a tip, and leads the way to an elevator he has to unlock with a special key, winking to Ja'far as it goes all the way up. "Penthouse. I figured it was expected."

"Your finances must be in total disarray," Ja'far mutters, trailing at his heels as he stares, a little wide-eyed, at exactly how nice it all really is. "You're letting me look at all of the books first thing in the morning."

Sinbad snorts. "Like you're going to wait until morning. I keep a set locked up in my place so Ja-Nathan can't change them around at night without me noticing, you can look at those once you're settled."

"Why do you keep him around if you know he's messing things up so badly?" Ja'far exasperatedly replies, shaking his head as he trails at Sinbad's heels. "And would you mind if I took a shower first? Buses aren't exactly conducive to pleasant traveling experiences."

"Wait a week if you want, I just wanted you to know it's available so you don't get twitchy." Sinbad reaches his door-the only one on the top floor-and opens it, first with the security system, then with a humble key, flicking the professionally-designed lights on with a grin. "Ta-da!"

"… I don't even want to know how much this all costs, do I," Ja'far manages as he stares. "When you said you were doing well…" I didn't think you meant this well.

Sinbad shrugs, modestly admitting, "I got a good deal on the apartment, the owner of the building was a friend of Rashid's years ago and he remembered me. The car is a lease, too, it just gives me the look of success. That's important, you know. Wine?"

"Pass." Ja'far sucks in a breath, giving a shake of his head. "Anyway, about that shower? I apologize, but it's been a very long… several days. We can talk all you want afterwards."

"No problem. Not that you'll care, but it's a really nice shower." Actually, Ja'far might be swayed by that, if anything. He's always had the slightest weakness for anything that warms his bones properly. "Just through that door there, you can leave your clothes wherever. I'll get you a robe."

"Thank you," is the grateful sigh to follow, and Ja'far immediately takes off to soak himself through.

Sinbad's right-it is a nice shower, and Ja'far spends a bit longer than he normally would, content to let the solid water pressure slough any and all lingering grime from his skin (buses are awful things) and properly wash through his hair for what feels like the first time in… well, a year and a half. Dorm showers aren't nearly effective enough. Finally, he drags himself out, a towel draped over his head as he grabs for the robe Sinbad left, and wraps himself up in it, a little too pleased over the fact the bathroom floor is heated. He'll forgive Sinbad for splurging on this place for that alone, he supposes.

"You can keep it," he sighs as he flops down onto the nearest couch in the living room a moment later, "if only for the fact it's well-heated."

Sinbad immediately flops sideways to wrap an arm around Ja'far's shoulders, nudging the heat up a few more degrees. "Everything's heated. I knew you'd be coming back eventually, I know how cold you get." Hoped you'd be coming back.

"More like I'm simply cold natured… what, were you planning on me moving in here or something? I think we'd drive each other mad." A year and a half minus Sinbad has taught him that things tend to stay much, much neater without the man's presence.

"Oh." Sinbad forces a smile. "Of course I can get you an apartment of your own, if that's what you want. I guess you really were sick of me, huh?"

"Sin, I don't expect you to get me anything," Ja'far exasperatedly replies, idly batting the man's arm away to turn and look at him. "And I wasn't sick of you. I went off to school for you, you know."

"I know, you told me over and over." It still hadn't made the parting any easier, let alone the waiting. "I just thought that when you came back….I mean, this is the first time we've lived apart. Did I really drive you mad?" Amusing, how he tends to pick up Ja'far's slightly archaic turns of phrase, left over from learning English as his second language, as soon as he comes back.

"Well… sometimes," Ja'far admits, sighing as he sinks back. "It's more the mess you tend to leave in your wake. Let me guess, you have a maid here."

"I was going to get a houseboy, but that seemed a little too camp." Sinbad grins. "She's very discreet. I don't mind keeping most things in order, she just does the boring chores like laundry and sweeping and dishes and scrubbing mirrors and floors and stuff."

"… So most things," he wryly returns, shaking his head. "You can do without. If I'm going to stay here for a bit, then at least save some money and let me earn my keep by keeping the place picked up."

"Like hell. You're earning money by being my accountant, aren't you? I can't have my accountant sweeping my floors, it's ridiculous. Why would you want poor Annalise to be out of a job, she's got five children to support, and her good-for-nothing boyfriend sure isn't going to help."

"Sin…" God, but the man is headache inducing, even if Ja'far is inclined to agree with him in this situation. "All right," he reluctantly agrees. "But just know I don't mind helping out around here as well."

Sinbad tries to keep any emotion out of his voice, lightly remarking, "You seem more willing to stay as my servant than as my friend."

Ja'far's brow furrows in open confusion. "Well, I feel sort of awkward just mooching off of you…" Since you're already paying for my school, apparently.

"Why, though?" Sinbad asks. "I have the money, obviously. And I've always provided for you, as well as I could. You starved with me, it's only fitting that you should get nice things if you're still following me. I mean-unless you don't want to work for me anymore."

"But I don't need nice things. And of course I want to work for you-and be your friend-but that doesn't mean you need to… spoil me, or anything. Shouldn't you save that for a girlfriend?" Ja'far pauses. "I'm surprised you don't have one. Living here, I mean." It's a lot of space, for just one guy.

"I have a few. Off and on. Nothing serious." Sinbad stretches out, resting his feet on the coffee table. Very quietly, he asks, "Has something changed? You seem...really different around me now. It's almost like you're afraid of me."

"What? No!" Ja'far exhales, thoroughly exasperated, and sags back into the couch with a shake of his head. "I took off school to come back and make sure you weren't doing anything stupid. Maybe I'm afraid you're making poor decisions, but that's about it. You're stressing me."

"I don't get it, I'm obviously doing fine! You left when everything was shaky, and now that it's okay, you come back? I-I want you around, but I wanted you to go to school too," Sinbad says, swallowing hard. "I don't want to be the reason you give up your dream. I always told you you could quit when you turned eighteen if you didn't want to be around me anymore."

"Just because you have a lot of money to spend doesn't mean you're doing the right things with it," Ja'far mutters, and he frowns, reaching over to flick Sinbad solidly on the forehead. "Keeping around an accountant that's stealing from you, doing drugs-and you wonder why I'm worried. School isn't even my dream, it's just a means to an end, so stop acting like a kicked puppy."

Sinbad catches Ja'far's wrist, turning to look Ja'far in the eye. "Tell me it's still true," he offers, "and I'll drop it."

"… Tell you that what's still-oh." Ja'far huffs, his expression softening slightly. "Sin. Of course I'm going to follow you forever, stop being such a baby."

Sinbad relaxes immediately, obviously, letting his head flop onto Ja'far's shoulder. "Okay then. I'm still not going to let you work as my housekeeper, but I'll listen to whatever you want about your apartment. You can even set your own pay as accountant, and I'll let you fire Nathan, you seem to have a grudge against him."

"I don't have a grudge against him, I just-" All right, maybe he has a small grudge. But then again, he'd have a grudge against anyone that was trying to screw Sinbad over. Ja'far scowls, idly stroking a hand down the back of Sinbad's head. "I'm not going to set my own pay, that's weird."

Sinbad laughs, butting his head against Ja'far's hand, smiling easily now. "You're going to do it anyway. You're going to tell me I'm trying to pay you too much."

"Well, that's probably true. I'm not a real accountant yet, I don't have a degree at all." Ja'far sighs, tilting his head back. "And the classes are so boring. Everyone is an idiot. Can accountants study the effects of snake venom instead?"

"I never got why there was that much to study, anyway," Sinbad admits. "I mean, it's all adding and subtracting and factoring in various laws, right? I could do it if I had the time and I felt like it, what do you need that many classes for?"

"I don't know, but it's rather stupid," Ja'far agrees. "If a piece of paper didn't get us all more places, I wouldn't bother at all."

"So forget it, and I'll get someone to forge you a degree." Sinbad reaches up, playing with some of Ja'far's hair. "Rather have you with me anyway."

Ja'far feels his skin flush hot, and he self-consciously lifts a hand, batting Sinbad's away. "If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right." He hesitates, then adds wearily, "if you really end up needing me to stay, I can always look at online courses."

"Whatever you want. I trust you more than Nathan, he might be licensed but he's a terrible Ja'far."

"I'm sure he's going to love me coming in and firing him tomorrow morning, then."

Sinbad thinks back to the rainbow of pills Nathan had had lined up in front of him, and his remarks about Skittles. "Yeah, I'm not even sure he's going to be conscious tomorrow."

Ja'far punches Sinbad's shoulder. "Why did you ever keep him around for more than five seconds?"

"Owww, Ja'far hits hard," Sinbad complains, rolling slowly to the side. "I didn't have a lot of money when I was hiring, and licensed accountants aren't exactly falling over themselves to work for porn studios. He was the only one who didn't demand to be paid in pussy."

Ja'far makes a face at that. "Fair enough. Maybe you should be the one to fire him, then. And check him into a rehab center while you're at it."

Sinbad groans. "Don't even say that word, I've lost three of my best actors to those places already when they begged me for help getting clean. Methadone is goddamn expensive."

Stories Ja'far doesn't want to hear about. He sucks in a slow, measured breath, trying not to think about how messy the porn business is. "Right. Then I guess we'll budget for that, too."

"Nah, that comes out of my personal expenses," Sinbad says, waving that away. "That's not a studio expense, I can't rationalize that on the books."

"You're operating under the assumption that I'm not going to be doing your books as well. All of them."

Sinbad happily snuggles closer, winding up sort of on Ja'far's lap. "Don't ever leave me again."

"… You really are clingy tonight," Ja'far mumbles, face coloring a bit more as he nevertheless pets the top of Sinbad's head. "Look, we can keep talking about all of this in the morning. I vote on bed."

"Good." Sinbad stands, tugging Ja'far toward the bedroom, then stops, a look of confused, startled realization on his face. "Oh. I guess….yeah, right, the guest room is right there."

A sigh, and Ja'far simply looks up at him with a wry quirk of his lips. "If you want to use me as a stuffed animal tonight, I won't hold it against you."

A blush comes to Sinbad's cheeks-god, it's embarrassing to be so transparent. He'd forgotten what it was like, to have someone around who knows him backwards and forwards. "Ah, I just….We never had two beds before," he points out uselessly, shifting his weight. "It's different now that we're adults, isn't it? You probably want to curl up by yourself."

"Sin," Ja'far begins, patiently, "I just made you an offer."

Yeah, making his own rules in life is really the best part about, well, everything. Sinbad grins, wrapping an arm around Ja'far's waist, and hauls him bodily into his room, laughing as he catapaults both of them into bed, curling up around Ja'far without bothering to take off his clothes first. "Sorry in advance for kicking."

"If I wasn't used to it by now…" Ja'far curls himself up into the blankets, rather pleased to find that the bed is probably the most comfortable thing he's ever slept in. Well, if Sinbad is going to indulge, this is the sort of thing to do it with. "Good night, Sin."