"... Yeah, I'll be back, no matter what. After all, I'm... Sinbad, high kings of the seven seas!"
"Sin, I know that you will be back someday"
Me: And if you don't. I'm sure in another life, it will.
I think Ja'far would look good on dark colors and fit pants😭🫦💅
Why haven't I heard about any MAGI AU or seen any fanarts about MAGI in modern times, when in the end of the manga, it states that the world now relies on technology since magic ceased to existed? I would love to read where Sinbad and ja'far meets their lost love ones especially since they really deserves it.
>Hope is never the answer, but it is a start.
He lost his home three times, but he built it all again on all three
My first art work here💕
Hope you guys like it.
The oppressive heat hung heavy over Balbadd, where relentless trade negotiations and recent chaos had left everyone exhausted. Sinbad, however, refused to spend the day brooding in his room.
“Ja'far—”
“Sin, no.”
“But Ja'farrrrr—”
“I said no!”
“I’m your king, you should listen to me!”
“I practically run your country when you’re off away somewhere, so you listen to me!”
It was their daily ritual: the King of Sindria practically begging on his knees while his chief advisor stood his ground, completely unbothered by royal authority. Masrur watched the exchange in stoic silence for a beat before quietly turning on his heel and walking away.
There was zero point in spectating two blind idiots bickering like an old married couple. Honestly, Sindria never needed a queen anyway—Ja'far was already handling the job.
“But Ja'far!” Sinbad wailed, gesturing wildly toward the coastline. “There’s a beach!”
“Your kingdom is surrounded by water!”
“Our kingdom, you mean?”
The casual correction caught Ja'far so completely off guard that he choked—so hard, in fact, that tears sprang to his eyes and a deep, suspicious flush bloomed across his face.
“Ja'far?! Are you alright?! Hey, breathe! Do you need water?”
“N-no… I’m fine,” Ja'far managed, still bright red as he deliberately averted his gaze. “Besides, it’s far too hot to be out by the water anyway.”
“It won't be once you’re actually in it,” Sinbad replied with a cheeky grin.
Ja'far stared at him for a long, silent minute before finally sighing in defeat. “Fine…”
“Yes!”
Expecting the idiot to immediately sprint toward the seashore, Ja'far was completely unprepared when the older man suddenly scooped him up into his arms.
“Sin?!”
“Let’s go!”
Sinbad sprinted toward the shore, completely ignoring the stares of curious onlookers and the suspicious, knowing glances from locals along the way. Ja'far tried to hide his burning face in his hands—a grave mistake, because before he knew it, they had arrived and he was abruptly submerged in the cold water.
“S-Sin!”
A solid hand clamped around his waist, pulling him up to the surface. Both dripping wet, Ja'far coughed and glared daggers at the king, who was practically bursting with laughter.
“I hate you.”
“I love you too.”
The words hung in the air, instantly freezing them both in place.
For the first time in forever, Sinbad looked genuinely caught off guard. A deep, mortified flush spread across his face. “I-I mean! As a friend!”
Ja'far’s sharp glare softened into a teasing smirk. “Just a friend?”
“I mean—like family!”
Despite Sinbad's desperate backtracking, Ja'far couldn't help but laugh.
Watching him, Sinbad felt his own heart suddenly hammer against his ribs—a quick, sharp beat that nearly terrified him. Standing under the radiant sunlight, his best friend—his family—looked undeniably breathtaking. The soaked, clinging fabric of Ja'far's clothes left little to the imagination, making his skin faintly visible underneath.
Oh God. The entire situation had suddenly become overwhelming intimate.
Sinbad’s breath hitched as he became hyper-aware of his own hands firmly gripping Ja'far’s slim waist. His mind spiraled into uncharted territory, firing off every internal alarm at once.
Error!
System overload!
Abort! Abort!
“Sin? Are you alright?”
“Hm? Yes! Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?!”
Ja'far frowned, turning back toward the shore. “This was a mistake anyway. We have far too much work to get through. Let’s go—”
He was cut off as Sinbad’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrist and pulling him back with sudden force. Ja'far stumbled, crashing flush against Sinbad’s chest—a chest that was just as soaked as his own.
“Sorry. I made things awkward again,” Sinbad murmured softly. “Don’t go yet.”
Ja'far hummed in brief hesitation before yielding, leaning forward to rest his head against Sinbad’s shoulder.
have instantly slipped into his charming persona, teasing and flirting—only to end up feeling hollow, exhausted, and fake deep down inside. But with Ja'far, there was nothing to hide behind. Ja'far could read him effortlessly, seeing right through every wall he built, leaving Sinbad utterly clueless about what to do with his own tumbling feelings.
Breaking the quiet tension, Sinbad lifted a hand to splash water over Ja'far’s wet hair, drawing out a bright, genuine giggle. Sinbad smiled as a warm, unfamiliar feeling bloomed gently in his chest.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Sinbad whispered.
“…Yeah. Me too.”
Eventually, they trekked back to the palace completely soaked. Sinbad kept his fingers firmly intertwined with Ja'far’s the entire walk back, refusing to let go until Ja'far finally insisted he needed to take a proper bath.
“I take it back,” Ja'far said suddenly, pausing just before turning toward the bathhouse. “I’d actually like to do that again with you.”
Sinbad remained completely frozen in place, his brain entirely short-circuiting at the confession.
Right on cue, Masrur strode past the doorway into the corridor, glancing at the stunned king for a brief second before completely ignoring him and walking right on by.
Sharrkan blinked, leaning against the doorframe as he curiously watched the King of Sindria staring blankly out the window, lost in a scene.
"Hey, Sin," Sharrkan began, crossing his arms with a casual smirk. "Is it alright if I drop the formalities with you for a second?"
Sinbad didn't even turn around, letting out a heavy, amused sigh. "Since when has anything ever stopped you from spilling whatever pops into your head?"
Sharrkan burst into a loud, genuine laugh, shaking his head. "Fair point! I just wanted to check if you're finally back in the land of the living, or if we need to call Aladdin to pull your soul out of the clouds again."
“Whatever do you mean?”
Sharrkan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide a mischievous grin. “Look, I don’t want to sound rude—”
“Now you’re just scaring me”
“Well… it’s just that you’ve been staring intensely at those two flies making out on the windowsill for the last five minutes.”
“!”
Sinbad was so thoroughly shocked that he whipped his head around way too fast, twisting his neck awkwardly in the process. A sharp, embarrassing groan of pain escaped his lips as he clutched his shoulder.
“I did not notice that!” he choked out, his face flushing crimson as Sharrkan practically doubled over, roaring with laughter.
“what got your head in a twist anyway?”
“…”
“what?”
“… ‘far”
“Come again?”
“It’s Jafar!”
Now this he got to hear!
“Okay, what happened?” he asked, his grin widening with wicked excitement. Sinbad couldn’t help but wonder who was actually more obsessively invested in his love life: Sharrkan, Yamraiha, or Pisti. They were all absolute vultures.
“…”
“Dude… you need to speak like a human, not a fly.”
“I saw his legs!”
“…Huh?”
“You know Ja'far! He often exposes his chest, yes, but he never exposes his legs!” Sinbad was now frantically rubbing his head like a maniac, his hair sticking up in all directions.
Who would ever believe it if someone claimed the High King of Sindria was going utterly insane? And certainly not for any political reason the Kou Empire might suspect.
“You know him!” Sinbad continued, gesticulating wildly. “He’s like a modest maiden! He would never exposed them… never… and then—”
“Sin… what did you do?” Sharrkan’s tone shifted from amused to deeply suspicious.
“I… I accidentally saw his legs, and not because he wanted me to—I mean, why would he, right?!”
“Sin!”
“HE WAS WEARING HEELS!”
Oh, they’re so dead!
Sharrkan’s brain raced at top speed, desperately calculating his options. Maybe there was still enough time to sacrifice his king to save his own skin…
“I can basically guess what’s on your mind, you traitor!” Sinbad hissed, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at him.
Sharrkan let out a loud, fake cough, looking around nervously. “So… is he coming this way?”
“…”
“Sin?”
“…I was just trying to remember all the wonderful things I’ve experienced in this world,” Sinbad murmured, staring blankly into the distance with a hollow, serene expression. “And how my life is finally at peace.”
“SIN?!”
Sharrkan froze as a piercing, blood-curdling scream echoed straight through the palace’s grand halls, shaking the very dust from the ceiling.
“SINBAD!”
There is something profoundly unsettling about the horrors lurking in the shadows of this world. People often speak of beasts and evil men, but until you face true malice, it is impossible to imagine the sheer depth of what a monster is capable of doing.
The air in the harbor was thick with mist when Sinbad set sail, accompanied by Sharrkan, Alibaba, Aladdin, and Morgiana. Their objective was crucial: an official diplomatic summit in the Kou Empire to negotiate delicate trade borders and prevent impending conflict. The atmosphere aboard their vessel had been surprisingly light. Sharrkan had spent the early hours spar-teasing Alibaba, while Aladdin marvelled at the passing sea life alongside Morgiana, who kept her ever-vigilant watch from the bow.
Then, the ocean went dead silent.
Out of the unnatural fog emerged a fleet of black-sailed leviathans—pirate vessels, but entirely unlike any common bandits of the sea. These ships bled dark, corrupted Magoi into the water, silencing the surrounding wildlife. Before the crew could fully raise their defenses, an unnatural tempest violently rocked the vessel, binding the deck in thick, enchanted chains.
Surrounded and outnumbered by shadowy figures whose eyes burned with a mindless, cruel hunger, the group realized too late that this was no chance encounter.
It was a targeted ambush.
Amid the chaos of clashing steel, crackling Magoi, and Sharrkan’s furious shouts, Sinbad spearheaded the defense, his pride and confidence driving him to shield his young companions at all costs.
He was Sinbad—the High King of the Seven Seas. Nothing in this world could truly break him.
Of course, then the world made a reason to break him.
A heavy artifact hurled through the fog, shattering upon impact and bursting into a cloud of violent, crimson energy. Sinbad moved to block it, but the force slammed into his chest like a falling mountain. The world shattered into blinding light, ringing silence, and then, total blackness.
When his eyes flicked open, the sharp stench of salt air and rotting wood filled his lungs.
Sinbad sat up abruptly, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword, only to find his hip entirely bare. His breath hitched. The grand velvet robes were gone, replaced by threadbare, patched clothes he hadn't worn in decades.
He looked around, a sudden, suffocating coldness washing over his skin.
He wasn’t in the ship anymore. He wasn't in the majestic halls of Sindria or the grand palaces of Kou either.
Instead, he found himself sitting on a squeaky, straw-stuffed cot inside a tiny, dilapidated wooden hut. Sunlight seeped through the cracks in the rotting walls, illuminating a small, familiar table, a rusted stove, and a pair of worn-out sandals resting near the entrance.
It was his childhood home in Tison Village.
A place that had been burned to the ground. A place where his father had been taken away, and where his mother had died in his arms.
Dread, slow and paralyzing, began to creep up Sinbad’s spine. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he stared at his small, unblemished hands.
“Sin? Are you there?”
The soft, tender voice shattered the suffocating silence of the hut. Sinbad whipped his head around, his chest heaving, to see Esra standing near the doorway. She was looking at him with the same warm, gentle eyes he hadn't seen since he was a boy.
Without a second thought, Sinbad threw himself forward, burying his face into her shoulder and clinging to her like a terrified child. Tears he hadn't shed in decades spilled uncontrollably down his cheeks. He sobbed, pouring out every ounce of his exhausted heart—how deeply he missed her, how heavy the weight of the world felt on his shoulders, and how desperately he just wished to be with her and his father forever. For a single, fleeting breath, the burden of being a king simply evaporated.
Then, he felt it.
A sticky, thick warmth began to pool against his chest, seeping through his threadbare shirt and onto his trembling hands.
Sinbad froze. The metallic stench of iron instantly drowned out the scent of salt air. Slowly, horror creeping into his veins, he pushed himself back to look at her.
blood gushed violently from Esra’s chest, painting her pale skin red.
“Sin…” she rasped, her voice wet and choked.
“…No,” Sinbad whispered, his voice cracking as he stumbled back, staring in sheer terror at his blood-soaked hands. “No, no, no!”
As he watched in paralyzed agony, his mother’s features began to blur and warp. The soft lines of her face shifted, the bleeding deepened, and her warm brown eyes bled into an intensely familiar, sharp green.
The dying figure collapsed forward into his lap—no longer his mother, but Ja'far, dying, bathed in blood, and staring up at him with heartbroken eyes.
“Sin… my love,” Ja'far muttered, his voice barely a rasp over the deafening, frantic ringing in Sinbad’s ears.
Even in the horror of his twisted, breaking mind, Sinbad couldn't deny the tragic beauty of the man bleeding out before him. But the terrifying realism of the nightmare crushed any poetic thought before it could take root. Every drop of blood felt too real, too warm, too devastatingly final.
“Sin,” Ja'far continued, forcing a weak breath as he painstakingly raised a trembling, blood-slicked hand to rest against Sinbad’s cheek.
Despite the crimson painting his skin and the trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, Ja'far looked up at him with an unbearable warmth—a devotion so pure it burned Sinbad to the absolute core.
“I love you too.”
The words shattered the last fragile remnants of Sinbad's sanity. Something inside him broke—
A brilliant flash of golden Magoi shattered the nightmare, burning away the bloody hut and pulling Sinbad’s consciousness back to reality. He awoke with a violent gasp, his chest heaving as if he had been drowning.
He wasn't in Tison. He wasn't holding a dying Ja'far. He was lying in a clean bed inside a temporary medical tent.
Aladdin stood beside the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead with a small sigh of relief. The pirate attack had been quelled the day before—the enemy apprehended thanks to Morgiana, Alibaba, and Sharrkan—but Sinbad had remained trapped in a deep, dark trance for over twenty-four hours. It had taken Aladdin using Solomon’s Wisdom to dive straight into Sinbad’s mind and pull him out of the nightmare's grip.
“Uncle Sinbad!” Alibaba exhaled, stepping forward with the others. “Thank goodness, you’re finally awake! We were so worried—”
Sinbad didn't hear them. The deafening ringing from his dream still echoed in his mind, and the phantom sensation of Ja'far’s blood on his hands made his skin crawl.
Without saying a single word, Sinbad swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
“Sinbad?” Sharrkan frowned, exchanging a bewildered look with Morgiana. “Hey, what’s wrong? We need to finalize the trade reports for Kou before we set sail—”
“We’re turning back,” Sinbad’s voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual bravado and charm.
“What? Turn back?” Alibaba blinked in shock. “To Sindria?! But the meeting in Kou—”
“We go home. Now.”
He didn't look them in the eye.
The journey back was suffocating. While the crew whispered in quiet concern and confusion, Sinbad spent the entire voyage standing at the bow of the ship, staring blankly at the horizon. He spoke to no one, ate almost nothing, and kept his hands clenched into tight fists to hide how terribly they were shaking.
The moment the ship docked at the Sindrian port, Sinbad didn't wait for the gangplank to properly settle. He breached the deck, ignoring the startled calls of the dockworkers, the waiting guards, and his bewildered generals. He strode past everyone with a sharp, terrifying intensity, refusing to stop at his office, the war room, or his own private chambers.
He went straight to Ja'far’s quarters.
Without knocking, Sinbad slammed the heavy doors open.
Inside, Ja'far had just unclasped his outer robes, shedding the top layer after a grueling day of administrative work. Startled by the sudden intrusion, Ja'far spun around, his chest bare and his face flushing a deep, furious crimson.
“Sin?! What on earth are you doing in my—!”
The angry reprimand vanished from his throat as Sinbad closed the distance in two broad strides and violently pulled him in, engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug.
Sinbad buried his face into the crook of Ja'far’s neck, his arms wrapping around the advisor's waist so tightly it made Ja'far gasp for air. He was trembling violently. The solid warmth of Ja'far's skin, the faint scent of dried ink and tea, and the steady, rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat beneath Sinbad's hands instantly shattered the lingering ghosts of the nightmare.
He was alive.
He wasn't bleeding.
He was right here.
The sudden intensity of the embrace left Ja'far breathless, but as he felt Sinbad trembling violently against him, his frustration instantly melted into deep concern.
Something was horribly wrong.
Instead of demanding answers, Ja'far softened, slowly bringing his arms up to wrap around the king's back. He stroked Sinbad’s hair with gentle, rhythmic motions, offering a quiet, comforting smile into the crook of Sinbad's neck.
“You’re back so soon,” Ja'far murmured softly, trying to lighten the heavy air. “What would you ever do without me, Sin?”
The joke was meant to tease, but Sinbad’s muffled, hollow response caught him completely off guard.
“I don’t know.”
Ja'far froze.
The raw, desperate honesty in Sinbad’s voice sent a chill down his spine. Pulling back slightly, Ja'far searched Sinbad's face, his heart aching at the profound exhaustion and lingering terror in those golden eyes. Gently, Ja'far raised a hand to cradle Sinbad’s cheek.
The touch immediately triggered the horror of the nightmare—the memory of Ja'far's dying breath, his bloody hand reaching up to touch his face.
Before Ja'far could speak, Sinbad gently caught his hand mid-air, intercepting it before it reached his cheek. He pressed Ja'far's open palm directly against his lips, holding it there tightly. Sinbad never broke eye contact, his gaze burning into Ja'far's with a desperate, unspoken love, silently reassuring himself that the hands holding him were warm, whole, and alive.
A sudden wave of commotion echoed down the corridor, the heavy thud of approaching footsteps growing louder by the second. An anxious maid poked her head into the room, her eyes widening and her face flushing bright red at the sight of the King holding their bare-chested Chief Advisor so intimately.
Ja'far quickly waved his free hand in a firm, silent motion for privacy. Understanding the gesture instantly, the maid nodded vigorously, pulled the door shut, and rushed off to intercept the guards and staff heading their way.
Left in the quiet solitude of the room, Ja'far turned his attention back to the trembling man before him. Without a word, he squeezed Sinbad's hand and gently tugged him toward the bed.
Sinbad offered no resistance, allowing himself to be led like a child.
They sank into the mattress together. Ja'far pulled the sheets over them and wrapped his arms securely around Sinbad, pulling the larger man close against his chest. Lingering in the warm, quiet dark of the room, Sinbad buried his face into Ja'far’s shoulder, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.
Ja'far began to softy hum a familiar, quiet lullaby, his fingers gently running through Sinbad's long, unruly hair. He waited until the king's rigid shoulders finally began to relax before speaking into the quiet room.
“You’re a good king, Sin,” Ja'far murmured softly into the dark. “A good friend... and a good not-so-best friend.”
The playful, fond affection laced in his words finally cracked through the lingering horror in Sinbad’s chest. For the first time in days, a soft, genuine, and faintly heartbroken smile touched Sinbad’s lips.
“Everything is alright”
Ja'far leaned close, pressing a warm, tender kiss against Sinbad’s forehead. Enfolded in the comforting warmth of each other’s arms, the heavy exhaustion of the past few days took over, and both men soon drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
By the next morning, the palace was practically buzzing with activity.
Word had spread like wildfire among the guards, maids, and generals that the High King had returned in a frantic frenzy, bypassed all official duties, and locked himself inside the Chief Advisor’s quarters overnight. Whispers, knowing smirks, and outrageous rumors were running rampant through every corridor of Sindria.
Ja'far, however, was completely oblivious to the chaos.
Having woken up early, he was entirely focused on tending to Sinbad’s needs—brewing fresh tea, organizing the neglected mountain of paperwork, and ensuring the king was well-rested. He strode through the halls with his usual sharp posture, utterly unaware that every servant he passed was exchanging secretive, triumphant glances, convinced their king had finally won over his queen.
The oppressive heat hung heavy over Balbadd, where relentless trade negotiations and recent chaos had left everyone exhausted. Sinbad, however, refused to spend the day brooding in his room.
“Ja'far—”
“Sin, no.”
“But Ja'farrrrr—”
“I said no!”
“I’m your king, you should listen to me!”
“I practically run this country when you’re off away somewhere, so you listen to me!”
It was their daily ritual: the King of Sindria practically begging on his knees while his chief advisor stood his ground, completely unbothered by royal authority. Masrur watched the exchange in stoic silence for a beat before quietly turning on his heel and walking away.
There was zero point in spectating two blind idiots bickering like an old married couple. Honestly, Sindria never needed a queen anyway—Ja'far was already handling the job.
“But Ja'far!” Sinbad wailed, gesturing wildly toward the coastline. “There’s a beach!”
“Your kingdom is surrounded by water!”
“Our kingdom, you mean?”
The casual correction caught Ja'far so completely off guard that he choked—so hard, in fact, that tears sprang to his eyes and a deep, suspicious flush bloomed across his face.
“Ja'far?! Are you alright?! Hey, breathe! Do you need water?”
“N-no… I’m fine,” Ja'far managed, still bright red as he deliberately averted his gaze. “Besides, it’s far too hot to be out by the water anyway.”
“It won't be once you’re actually in it,” Sinbad replied with a cheeky grin.
Ja'far stared at him for a long, silent minute before finally sighing in defeat. “Fine…”
“Yes!”
Expecting the idiot to immediately sprint toward the seashore, Ja'far was completely unprepared when the older man suddenly scooped him up into his arms.
“Sin?!”
“Let’s go!”
Sinbad sprinted toward the shore, completely ignoring the stares of curious onlookers and the suspicious, knowing glances from locals along the way. Ja'far tried to hide his burning face in his hands—a grave mistake, because before he knew it, they had arrived and he was abruptly submerged in the cold water.
“S-Sin!”
A solid hand clamped around his waist, pulling him up to the surface. Both dripping wet, Ja'far coughed and glared daggers at the king, who was practically bursting with laughter.
“I hate you.”
“I love you too.”
The words hung in the air, instantly freezing them both in place.
For the first time in forever, Sinbad looked genuinely caught off guard. A deep, mortified flush spread across his face. “I-I mean! As a friend!”
Ja'far’s sharp glare softened into a teasing smirk. “Just a friend?”
“I mean—like family!”
Despite Sinbad's desperate backtracking, Ja'far couldn't help but laugh.
Watching him, Sinbad felt his own heart suddenly hammer against his ribs—a quick, sharp beat that nearly terrified him. Standing under the radiant sunlight, his best friend—his family—looked undeniably breathtaking. The soaked, clinging fabric of Ja'far's clothes left little to the imagination, making his skin faintly visible underneath.
Oh God. The entire situation had suddenly become overwhelming intimate.
Sinbad’s breath hitched as he became hyper-aware of his own hands firmly gripping Ja'far’s slim waist. His mind spiraled into uncharted territory, firing off every internal alarm at once.
Error!
System overload!
Abort! Abort!
“Sin? Are you alright?”
“Hm? Yes! Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?!”
Ja'far frowned, turning back toward the shore. “This was a mistake anyway. We have far too much work to get through. Let’s go—”
He was cut off as Sinbad’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrist and pulling him back with sudden force. Ja'far stumbled, crashing flush against Sinbad’s chest—a chest that was just as soaked as his own.
“Sorry. I made things awkward again,” Sinbad murmured softly. “Don’t go yet.”
Ja'far hummed in brief hesitation before yielding, leaning forward to rest his head against Sinbad’s shoulder.
have instantly slipped into his charming persona, teasing and flirting—only to end up feeling hollow, exhausted, and fake deep down inside. But with Ja'far, there was nothing to hide behind. Ja'far could read him effortlessly, seeing right through every wall he built, leaving Sinbad utterly clueless about what to do with his own tumbling feelings.
Breaking the quiet tension, Sinbad lifted a hand to splash water over Ja'far’s wet hair, drawing out a bright, genuine giggle. Sinbad smiled as a warm, unfamiliar feeling bloomed gently in his chest.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Sinbad whispered.
“…Yeah. Me too.”
Eventually, they trekked back to the palace completely soaked. Sinbad kept his fingers firmly intertwined with Ja'far’s the entire walk back, refusing to let go until Ja'far finally insisted he needed to take a proper bath.
“I take it back,” Ja'far said suddenly, pausing just before turning toward the bathhouse. “I’d actually like to do that again with you.”
Sinbad remained completely frozen in place, his brain entirely short-circuiting at the confession.
Right on cue, Masrur strode past the doorway into the corridor, glancing at the stunned king for a brief second before completely ignoring him and walking right on by.
Whenever Sinbad works, it invariably drains him. Jafar always dismisses his exhaustion as mere theatrics, yet he never fails to prepare a hot cup of tea for his king. He meticulously sorts Sinbad's paperwork in advance, ensuring the vital documents are prioritized so the workload stays manageable and stress-free.
Stepping into Sinbad’s office, Jafar unabashedly observes the older man until Sinbad's head lolls back and soft snores fill the room. An unconscious smile warms Jafar’s face as he takes in the peaceful expression of his king.
“I have no idea how people find you so attractive,” Jafar whispers.
He glances around the room to ensure they are completely alone. Seeing no one, he slowly leans in, his cheeks flushing as he studies Sinbad’s face up close.
“You’re far more adorable to me,” he softly confesses.
He pulls back and heads out to reheat the tea, entirely unaware of the sudden composure he shattered for the king, who had only been pretending to sleep.
