Actions

Work Header

Did You Really Think I’d Still Love You?

Chapter Text

Sinbad hoped he’d never see that face again. He had hoped with his body, mind and soul that he’d never have to lay his eyes on that devilishly deceiving soft black hair. The bright blue eyes that always seemed so earnest. He never wanted to see them again.

 

But, he knew his luck had to run out someday.

 

He was just looking out of his bedroom window, having not had a mountain of work for once, when he recognised the silky black hair he hadn’t seen for years. His heart sunk in his chest. No way. But there was no way that hair belonged to anyone else.

 

His ex.

 

Sinbad’s abusive ex-boyfriend from his birthplace was walking up to the castle in dirty rags, looking absolutely terrible and malnourished. Part of Sinbad wanted to leave him there and ignore him, but the other part longed to help the frail man. 

 

He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or agitated when he noticed Hinahoho, who was going for a stroll out of boredom, stop near him and asked if he was in need of food or water.

 

Sinbad couldn’t stop watching as Hinahoho led the man towards the castle, his heart jumping in his chest. Fear overtook his body and mind as he pushed himself away from the window. Unpleasant memories that he had long tried to forget swam to his head.

 

Slap.

Kick.

Punch.

“You useless little slut.”

Slap.

Kick.

Punch.

“Such a whore, hmm, my little fucktoy?”

‘Let me go!’

“Scream, and your oh-so precious mother will be next.”

 

Silence.

 

He grabbed at his chest, trying to calm his rapid breathing. Sinbad let out a choked sob as he slid down the wall.

 

He didn’t want to remember.

 

He had never been so terrified.

 

Al-Thamen didn’t hold a candle in comparison.

 

The fear of being taken advantage of… was something he was uncannily familiar with.

 

Sinbad rubbed his eyes and stood up, checking his face in the mirror before leaving. Some food might help .

 

_______

 

Nope. Food definitely does not help. Sinbad felt like throwing up, with the horrible memories continuously replaying behind his eyelids. Nevertheless, he stood up and walked around his room, just waiting for one of his employees (he preferred to refer to them as that,) to knock on his door and say someone was downstairs, waiting for him.

 

As if on cue, a knock rang through the room. “Come in,” Sinbad announced, embarrassed by the way his voice cracked slightly from crying earlier, having not spoken to anyone since. Ja’far stepped into the roof silently, only the intentional soft patter of his feet alerting Sinbad of his entry.

 

“Sin,” Ja’far said, “There’s someone waiting for you outside, they claim to know you personally…”

 

The king hoped his advisor didn’t notice his slight flinch as all the aches from those years came back to him.

 

Jaw.

Lips.

Wrists.

Arms.

Gut.

Ankles.

Neck.

Back.

Thighs.

 

“Okay, thank you, Ja’far, I’ll be out in a moment,” Sinbad smiled, closing his eyes. Hide it. Hide like you always do. They don’t need to know. They’ll hate you. You know they’ll hate you if they do.

 

Ja’far felt something slightly off at Sinbad’s expression. It seemed… forced. But surely he was seeing things, Sinbad was… Sinbad ! Surely he would tell if something was amiss.

 

But as Ja’far left, he felt greatly disturbed by how much more and more unlikely that seemed as he thought about it.

 

______

 

Sinbad adjusted his metal vessels that suddenly seemed too over-the-top and restricting, before heading outside. Maybe he’s changed. Sinbad thought, trying to calm his nerves.

 

He stepped outside, trying to avoid eye-contact with everyone until absolutely necessary as he walked up to Ja’far, who was standing next to him .

 

The man noticed Sinbad and his face brightened. “Sinbad! How are you? What’s going on? How’s life?”

 

The king let out a shaky breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m fine, even better without you here though, Iniko.”