#generaladvisorywarning

　　 Home.

　　 Quite some time has passed since Sinbad has attached the notion of home to a physical places. For years now, home has been not where he hangs his coat at night, but the people who rush to greet him when he does. Home is found in the warm smiles of his friends and allies... the future citizens of the great nation he aims to build, whom he might one day come to know as family.

　　 Home is not Parthevia, nor is it Reim or Balbadd. Home is Sindria Trading Company, and so it was even before they had a physical base of operations. Home is Rurumu and Hinahoho, Mystras and Parsine, Masrur and Sharrkan... and before the lot of them, home is and has been Ja’far. When he arrives on the doorstep of the Sindria Trading Company, it is not the building he returns to, nor is it the company itself; it is Ja’far, plain and simple.

From the moment they met, Ja’far’s beauty has captivated him. At first, it was curiosity: such pale hair and skin were unusual to him, as he was not a traveled man when they allied in Imuchakk. Perhaps one day they come across a country or village full of similar people... but they never did. It was only ever Ja’far, an anomaly even among his old subordinates. As they grew older, Sinbad began to notice things: details, like the way his silver hair sparkled in the sunlight, or the way his freckles darkened against sunburnt skin. Most captivating of all were the stars that danced in his eyes when he laughed, though he swore at the time it was intriguing and nothing more. 

Since they’ve been together, Sinbad has rediscovered these intricate beauties and mapped out many more with eyes and lips and whispered awe. In time, perhaps Ja’far will come to see himself as Sinbad sees him: a constellation incarnate, heavens charted across a human figure. Tonight, it is truer than ever before, as Sinbad swears he sees stars sparkling upon his skin as Ja’far steps into the room. To think that the High King of the Seven Seas would be so thoroughly dazed with such little effort.

Not twenty, ten and I’ll work on your hair. Deal?

International Kissing Day, is it? It doesn’t sound reliable by any means, but far be it from Sinbad to pass up an opportunity to dote on and embarrass his partner. There isn’t a chance of catching him by surprise, but he sneaks across the room anyway. Once there, he slides an arm around Ja’far’s waist and plants a soft kiss where his jaw meets his ear. “Surprise,” he whispers. “I’m sure you heard me before I even entered the room, but it’s the thought that counts, hm?”

      ❝ Hm? ❞ While his gaze had been glued to the ground, it caught sight of feet that had stopped in front of where he sat on the street.  ❝ If you’re in need of help, there’s a camp-- oh? ❞  A halt, a pause, and his gaze traveled upwards. 

[Oh well. flipping open his phone.]

ADD GROUP:  Sinbad-san, Ja’far-san

apparently sector one is on fire

if you’re on fire, don’t reply, we’ll figure out something

Knock knock.

Sinbad doesn’t doubt that even from the second floor, Ja’far has made a note of his departure. Where he’s going, what he’s doing, he hasn’t said - he didn’t mention having plans. He simply leaves, only to swing by the shop and return moments later.

Knock knock knock.

Although his return brings him only as far as the front door, where he drops to one knee in anticipation. It’s a bit cliche, perhaps, but what does it matter if it comes from the heart? The very heart that beats a little louder, a little faster, when the door swings open - that’s his cue.

He only hopes Ja’far allows him to take his hand, to raise it to his lips and kiss the scarred knuckles. “The festival awaits, love.” The soft drop of a pet name - a rare occurrence in their still budding relationship. Its use here is both genuine and deliberate  - and a guilty pleasure on top of that. “You didn’t think I was going to pass this up, did you?”