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It’s late when Sinbad gets home. He pushes the door open softly, stepping quietly into the dimmed apartment. He shrugs off his coat and jumper and throws his bag down by the door, running a hand through his hair to clear away any lingering snow.
The TV is on, the murmur of some television show drowned out by the rattle of the window. Outside, the storm intensifies, harsh winds whipping the branches outside to the beats of hail and snow drumming all surfaces. Sinbad casts a glance around the living room, the source of light the flashes of the wide-screen and a light from the kitchen, so he doesn’t miss the curled up figure on the couch.
Ja’far is snuggled up on their couch, lying with his head on the hand-rest, knees pulled up to his chest. Sinbad’s gaze softens.
He only means to turn off the TV and find a blanket, but then Ja’far stirs, blinking open his eyes.
“Oh, Sin,” Ja’far smiles, “Welcome back.”
Sinbad’s heart catches at his throat. Something about that soft expression, in the darkness barely lit by the kitchen, it’s slightly disoriented. Ja’far’s gaze holds his attention. He swallows.
“Sorry, I’m so late.” His voice breaks the spell, and he rushes back to the door to flick on the light switch. In the light, he’s less likely to do something stupid. “You shouldn’t have waited up.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” Ja’far shakes his head. “I made dinner, if you’re hungry? I mean, if you haven’t already eaten, I’m not sure, but that would okay too.”
“I haven’t.”
“Oh good,” Ja’far breathes a sigh of relief. “Then we can eat together.”
Sinbad glances up in alarm, watching as Ja’far started reheating the food. “You didn’t eat?”
“I was only going to wait a bit, but then I fell asleep, I guess,” Ja’far shrugs, moving on to set the table. “What held you up, anyway?”
Most days, they leave the office together, always waiting for the other even if one is held back. It still earns them some occasional whoops and whistles, usually from Sharrkan and Pisti when they’re around, generous in their winks and nudges, but really, they don’t even know half of it. How do you explain that you’re married to the love of your life, but the marriage itself is only a loveless arrangement?
“Well, it was just a meeting the Kougyoku, and you know how those meetings can go. They always end up dragging on longer than necessary. And after, well, I walked her home because I couldn’t let her making her way there by herself.”
“Oh.” Ja’far scrunches his brows, then glances away, focusing on serving to the food to the table. When they’re seated, he’s still frowning. “I’m surprised you didn’t invite her out to dinner, while you’re at it. I see the way you look at her.”
What way?! Sinbad makes a face, waving his hand dismissively, “Looking at her like an important client, you mean? I flirt with everyone, you know that.”
Ja’far hums non-committally then directs his gaze to his food. “You’re pretty convincing.”
“She’s not my type. I wouldn’t settle for her.” Sinbad shrugs, though it’s clear Ja’far is not quite convinced. Sinbad stuffs a mouthful of dinner, then blurts, “I mean, not that I’m looking to settle, since technically, I have, already.”
Ja’far’s gaze shoots up. Sinbad grimaces. It was a joke, but in retrospect a bad one, considering Ja’far only creases his forehead. He stares hard at Sinbad, searching. “About that, do you think maybe…” he began slowly. “Maybe it’s time we divorce?”
“What?!” The words hit like he’s being pushed down under in amidst an open storm in the ocean.
“I mean, right now, aren’t we just tying each other down? You can’t get into a real relationship because there’s always obligations to each other. That, well, that’s preventing you from actually finding someone you love.”
Sinbad’s heart batters against his chest. “Is this about Kougyoku? Because I already said I’m not interested.”
Ja’far shrugs, “But one day you will, and when that happens, well,” he makes a vague gesture around the apartment. “How are you going to explain this? We’re just going to get in each other’s ways.”
Sinbad hadn’t thought that far ahead, really. He doesn’t remember when exactly he fell for Ja’far. But looking back, it was inevitable.
He remembers their first meeting well enough, when he’d been travelling the world and found himself cornered by a pair of well intelligent eyes; hardened by the abusive environment around him, yet there’d been earnestness in them too. It had been a great deal, back when Sinbad was still looking for a good secretary while his trading company was largely unknown.
The marriage had been the easiest way to free Ja’far from his abusers and bring him back home. It was a business transaction, really; a way for Ja’far to get his green card, and for Sinbad to save on rent. They’d made it clear then, there was no romantic commitment involved.
Except then, his company did kick off and he’s not as desperate now. And Ja’far has gotten not only citizenship but a college degree since then. Somewhere along the way, Sinbad had almost forgotten it’s just a transaction.
It was the easiest thing, working side by side each day, Ja’far working the day to day administrations while Sinbad looked further ahead. Then, exhausted, they’d go home each night to Ja’far’s dinners, or sometimes, Sin would take them out to treat themselves. Those weren’t dates, though, of course not, but then they’d gotten to know each other better, and their conversations became more than just their work or something that is purposely Not Their Pasts.
It became favourite movies, heated book discussions, wild karaoke sessions in the car on the way to work (okay, admittedly, those were just Sinbad while Ja’far glared at the road in front of them. But Sinbad likes to think they count because he was generous enough to include Ja’far’s favourite songs in his playlist).
There’s nothing about this that Sinbad would want to change.
Suddenly, it was all about resisting the urge to kiss Ja’far when they part, or about keeping his attention to Ja’far’s face. It’s the hesitation right before any touch, because he doesn’t want to take advantage but just the thought of contact makes him suddenly so nervous he forgets if it’s at all normal to be so tactile with Ja’far.
Which, alright, so this might be a problem. And he would have brought it up, but how could he, at the risk of scaring Ja’far away.
So, somehow, he flirts harder with the clients at his work, or even the other co-workers. And, well, maybe Ja’far will want to leave, but Sinbad isn’t going to rush that.
But all good things must come to an end. And it just might be sooner than Sinbad had predicted.
“Why are we suddenly talking about this?” Sinbad pulls his trembling lips to a pout.
Ja’far looks away, “It’s been on my mind for a while now.”
Sinbad feels the floor dropping out from under him. “Do you mean that?”
Ja’far scowls, “No, I don’t, okay? Stop looking like I punched your face or something. We don’t have to talk about it.”
It feels like the world itself is tilted on a dizzying axis. This was no comfort, the way Ja’far is brushing him off, not even trusting Sinbad to confide in him?
Sinbad tries to protest, but Ja’far won’t hear it, forcefully stopping the conversation whenever Sinbad tries to bring it up.
“It’s fine. We’re cool. Let’s not change anything, alright?” Ja’far insists, and the conversation after is stilted, even when when they talk about anything else. They spend more time during dinner in silence, Sinbad opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, at a loss for what to say.
As soon as Ja’far is done with his food, his retreats to his room. Sinbad tries not to think about their usual routine of a movie after dinner; it’s late after all, maybe Ja’far’s just tired.
It takes hours for Sinbad to fall asleep. The storm outside doesn’t relent, and his mind buzzes as the conversation over dinner continues to flash across his mind.
It’s still dark Sinbad wakes up shivering under the covers, though he’s not sure if it’s the cold or the creaking noise outside the woke him. The window clatters with the force of wind and snow, the rickety snap of branches pushed around by the storm. It’s still in the full blast, covering any hint of a moon or stars, though it’s too dark to discern any clouds from the sky.
Lit only by a small light from his digital alarm, the blinking red indicate it’s still early in the morning.
He doesn’t want to get out, too cold to move his body. He’s still tired and weary from the evening’s events. He’d much rather turn over and bury his face in the pillows, but the noise outside persists.
Eventually, he forces himself off the bed, draping a coat over his shoulders. Outside, the hallway is engulfed in a similar darkness, except for the dim light of a phone at the end of the hallway.
“Ja’far?” Sinbad mumbles. “What are you doing?”
Ja’far tenses, dropping his arms from from mid-air as he turns back to Sinbad. “The heater won’t turn on.”
Sinbad flicks on the light switch, but there’s no reaction from the hallway lights. He scratches his head, tries again to the same effect. “I think the power might be out.”
Ja’far groans, head falling to his hands. “It’s too cold.”
Sinbad swallows a lump in his throat. A day ago, he probably would have made some stupid joke about sharing bodyheat and used it as excuse to pull Ja’far into a warm hug. But Sinbad’s tongue feels too large and dry in his mouth as he stays a hallway apart, watching silently as Ja’far directs his phone’s light back towards his room.
“D-do you need more blankets?” Sinbad blurts, just as Ja’far reaches his door.
Ja’far spins, his scowl apparent even in the dim. “We don’t have more blankets. Just pray that the power comes back by morning.”
Sinbad’s not sure what takes over him. Perhaps, it’s the threat of Ja’far disappearing back behind his door; the thought of him leaving their front door sometime in the near future, and never coming back. It’s the late night impulses of what the hell have I got to lose, that urges him on.
“If you bring your sheets over to my room, we can share and have double the blankets!”
Ja’far’s eyes widen, then narrow as Ja’far shrinks back on himself, brows furrowed in confusion. “Sin, are you sure?”
“Promise I won’t accidentally kick you off the bed.”
Sinbad heads back into his room without waiting for a response. He’s not fleeing, really, but it’s a close thing. For a long time, there’s no noise from outside, and Sinbad’s not sure if Ja’far is taking up on his offer at all. But then the room clicks open, and Ja’far shuffles in half buried in handfuls of blankets.
“You would definitely be the type to kick me off the bed,” he grouches with no real animosity.
Sinbad shifts to one side of the bed, though, in the dark, it’s hard to make out the shape of Ja’far slipping under the covers and settling. He doesn’t need the sight, though, when Ja’far is suddenly so close, their body heat mixing under the covers. He can almost feel the lift and fall of his sheets from Ja’far’s breathing.
He tries to listen out for Ja’far’s breathing, but blood pulses in his ears, drowning out everything else except for the thundering of his heart at his throat. It wouldn’t be surprising - but it’d be deeply embarrassing - if Ja’far could hear it, in this silence of the night.
Sinbad is definitely not cold anymore, at least, though he’s not sure if it’s the extra blankets or Ja’far’s presence in so close proximity that’s doing the trick.
When Sinbad wakes the next morning, there’s a warm body snuggled up to him. Some time in the night, they’d turned to face each other and closed the distance. Ja’far has half his body on top of Sinbad, with his face buried in Sinbad’s neck.
Sinbad forces himself to breathe evenly. He doesn’t dare move in case he disrupts anything. It feels natural, as if their bodies were born to fit alongside one another.
He would have probably been content to just stay like this for the rest of all eternity.
But eventually, Ja’far stirs. Sinbad’s breath is forced out of him when Ja’far lifts his head to direct sleep-heavy eyes towards him. Sinbad’s drawn to the freckled face, can’t help but let his gaze drop eventually to the soft lips, slightly parted from just waking up.
And he could do it. Right there and then. Just lean forward a little, break open the dam of his feelings. Sinbad can’t remember the last time he stopped hiding behind his mask of charisma and flirtation. He doesn’t think he could stand the rejection either.
But Ja’far holds his gaze, not moving either, which only pumps more adrenaline into Sinbad. Maybe he should go for it, spare himself all this tension. And he tries, projecting his actions clearly as he leans forwards— then Ja’far is himself off Sinbad, struggling to untangle his legs from the sheets as he rushes off the bed.
Well, shit. Sinbad wants to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
Sinbad runs a hand through his hair, eventually forces himself to get out of bed and face the music; maybe there’s a chance they could just ignore it? Ja’far is sitting in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee as he stares vacantly towards the wall. He startles when Sinbad approaches, then his expression moulds into a scowl.
“Sin, Don’t— I can’t do this.” Ja’far’s expression is pained.
Sinbad crumbles, stopping at the doorway to the kitchen, then forces himself to nod.
“Yeah, it’s fine, I get it,” Shakily, Sinbad drops into the seat opposite Ja’far.
Ja’far opens and closes his mouth, hesitancy painted over his pale face. “It’s just— Sin, please tell me I’m not like like that. Not just someone inconsequential that you can flirt with then drop the next moment. Don’t treat me like one of your clients to be played with. I thought I would at least mean more to you than that.”
Sinbad stills. It’s an out, this is an out and he could take it. But… “Wait, what do you think happened, back there? Because it wasn’t some inconsequential flirting. I meant it, Ja’far, with all of my heart.”
Ja’far narrows his eyes, studying Sinbad intensely. He doesn’t know what Ja’far’s looking for, but then Ja’far is pushing away from the table, the chair screeching as it scrapes across the floor.
“No.”
“Look, it’s fine if you don’t return my feelings, we can figure something out. But I just wanted you to know.”
“If this is some kind of joke…”
“It’s not! Cross my heart.”
Ja’far’s expression darkens. “No, that’s not— Sin… Just yesterday you said—”
“I said that I wasn’t looking,” Sinbad says softly, feeling strangely calm. His feelings are out of the bag, now, and the fear sinks away with it. “And maybe, that might just mean how I’ve already found someone I like. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I didn’t want to scare you off. But if you do feel you need to leave, get that divorce or whatever, you know I won’t stop you.”
“Or you can fight for me, damn it,” Ja’far all but growls. “You should have told me! You should have told me then do you know how much stress you would have saved me?! All this time, wondering who was going to catch your eye next, wondering if they might be the one for real! I really was going to leave, damn it, but that’s only because I don’t think I could have stood by to watch you fall in love with someone else.”
Sinbad has to run the sentence over again in his head, it takes a moment to process, and even then he can’t quite believe it.
“What do you mean?” He whispers.
Ja’far storms over, and he’s getting incredibly close again, when he says, “It means you’re an idiot! And this.”
Ja’far pulls Sinbad close, mashing their lips together and it’s almost feral. It’s all of his anger and frustration venting out, but Sinbad can’t bring himself to care, he kisses back with half the ferocity but just as much passion.
He’s sure his lips are red when he pulls back,
“Wait, wait, wait,” he says at last, reluctance heavy in his tone. “What you said yesterday, though, you said you felt trapped by this marriage. Should we talk about that?”
Ja’far growls. “Only by the potential of watching you date someone else, Sin. So you better do a better job of reassuring me, already.”
And the thing is, Ja’far still looks pissed.
But it’s the kind of pissed that Sinbad knows how to deal with, like when he forgets to do his share of the paperwork at the office, and Ja’far had to do it for them. It means Sinbad will grovel and pout a little, give Ja’far a thank you massage and let him decide what’s for dinner. Which is the kind of cheering up Sinbad can do, especially now he can pepper that with kisses and more, in between.
“I’m still annoyed,” Ja’far grumbles, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”
“Yeah,” Sinbad agrees without really listening. Instead, there’s a goofy grin on his face while he lets himself distracted by the fact that Ja’far actually likes him back.
‘Cause that’s his husband, everyone, in every instance of that word. And for once, it doesn’t feel like a lie. There’s only bliss and joy and even the potential of Sharrkan’s vigorous teasing can’t ruin that thought.