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Dreams comprise many emotions. Dream’s siblings, of course, used to remind him every chance they got. Some dreamed of the things they desire, success, objects, people. Some dreamed of the dead, especially if they were in mourning. Despair can seep its way into one’s dreams, reflecting all of their sadness, their worries, doubts, and their insecurities.
Each dream is a carefully crafted creation. They all exist for a reason, a meaning, a purpose. Even the meaningless dreams have meaning, of course. A random thought one holds onto before drifting to sleep. A person they saw at the market. The cat they saw running across the street on their stroll home.
And what do Immortal men dream of, then?
Immortal men have what they desire, surely. Immortality is something humanity can only dream of. Surely, with such fortune, they don’t need to desire anything else.
They are immortal, after all. What more could they really want?
Hob slept. He worked, and he enjoyed life, and he enjoyed food, and then at night he slept. Hob’s body did not need sleep to survive, but it craved it the way it craved food and got so, so hungry if he did not eat.
Hob had dreams. Like any mortal man. They were peaceful, carefree. A simple wish, really. Fantasy. Something that possibly could never be. But he dreamt them anyway, and he woke up the next morning and he ached.
“So, how is your little project?” asked Death, who just came into Dream’s realm as if it was nothing. She was sometimes so careless of rules. It irked Dream.
“Why do you ask?” asked Dream, trying to remain patient.
“I saw him the other day,” said Death, which alarmed Dream immediately. Death reassured him quickly, “of course he didn’t die, or whatever you are thinking. He just happened to be in the same shop as that old woman.”
Dream bit his lip. A rather human habit. Usually when they are worried. He wasn’t worried. Still, he felt a sense of relief wash over him.
“I was wondering if you talked to him,” Death asked. She was smiling now, her eyes bright and curious.
Dream stood a little more stiffly. “I have.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How did it go?” Death asked excitedly, clasping her hands together. She was rocking on her feet and looking around Dream’s palace. “Love how you fixed the place up,” she said, and Dream wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. “It’s very you.”
“Death,” Dream sighed, regaining her attention.
“Yes, my brother?”
“Why are you really here?”
And she gave him a look. Dream resisted the urge to smirk. He had been right. He knew Death didn’t so mindlessly break the rules unless she wanted something. “Why are you in my realm, Death?”
“I can’t just say hi to my favorite sibling?” Death asked, a hint of tease in her voice.
Dream shook his head. “Did something happen? Are you alright, my sister?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just worried about you. You are always brooding in here.” She gestured at him, then waved her hands above her. “This place is making me feel all bummed just being here. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She grinned. “It’s fun, talking to people, you know. Having friends. The world won’t end if you enjoy more time with people you love, you know.”
“I never suggested otherwise,” Dream sniffed, and Death gave him a look. They both knew that wasn’t true.
“And I was also curious about something,” Death admitted. Dream nodded. He knew there was something else, another reason as to why she was here. He believed her about being worried about him, but worry wasn’t a reason to cross into one’s realm. You worry very little about the immortal.
“Out with it,” Dream said, though not unkindly.
Death said, “I was wondering what does he dream of?”
Dream frowned. “What does who dream of?” he asked. He knew the answer, but for some reason he felt a little embarrassed, and wanted her to say it for him.
“Hob Gadling,” said Death. “What does he dream of?”
“I suppose he dreams of things any other human dreams of,” Dream said dismissively, looking away from his sister, focusing on nothing at all. “If he dreams at all.”
Death shakes her head. “But what do immortal men dream of?” she asked, insistent. “He’s got what he wanted, so what else more could he want?”
Dream had not thought of that.
“You’re right,” he admitted.
Death smiled. It was not a smug smile. She said, “I know.”
“I do not,” Dream shook his head. “Apologies, sister. I do not have the answer for you.”
“Could you find out?” asked Death. She knew the answer to her question. She wanted Dream to answer it for her.
“I could,” Dream said. He frowned deeply. “But why does it concern you?”
“Call it indulging in my curiosity,” Death said. “And because I am worried about you. I want to help.” She added, her voice so sincere it almost pained Dream to listen to it.
Dream asked, “how would Hob’s dreams help me?”
Death smiled. This time, her smile was smug. “I must leave now,” she sighed, regret clear as day in her voice. “I’ve already stayed longer than I should have.”
Dream shook his head and corrected her. “You should not have come at all.”
Her smug grin only stretched wider. “That you are correct, my brother,” she said, stepping backwards, not breaking eye contact. “I will be back for my answers,” she said. “That is a promise.”
“Or a threat,” Dream joked, cracking a smile.
“Ah!” teased Death, pointing at him. “A smile! Didn’t think you were capable of that, brother.”
Dream sighed. “So long, my sister. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Dream,” she said. “I expect my answers when I return. I don’t know when I will be back, but sometime soon. Possibly sooner.”
Matthew asked, “you are going in Hob’s dreams?” he sounded almost shocked. He shouldn’t be. He ought to learn that there was always going to be more surprises with Dream. “Is that even legal?”
Dream said, “it isn’t for me.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He just feels he needs to. “It’s for my sister.”
That definitely peaked the raven’s interest. “Death?” he asked. Dream nodded in confirmation. “What does she want? Is it bad? Oooh, are we going in Hob’s dreams for a bad—”
“We?” Dream stopped him there, turning to give him a sharp look. He wasn’t very pleased. Matthew held his ground. “What do you mean, we?” he asked, his voice low.
“Well,” Matthew fluffed out his feathers. Perhaps to look intimidating. Dream found it only made him look silly. It was endearing, really. Dream disliked how fond he was of the young Raven. “I’m going with you.”
“Why?”
“I like Hob,” said Matthew. “He’s nice. Are you going to keep me from going with you?”
Dream sighed. “I suppose not.”
“Great!” cheered Matthew. “Let’s get the fuck into that immortal’s dreams, shall we?”
Dream and Matthew found themselves in a pub. A very busy, familiar pub, with faceless people chattering nonsense all around them. White noise. There was little to no importance to these people, their bland features and their bland conversations. They are simply here to fill a space.
“Hm,” Matthew hummed, looking around. “Oh! I see him!” he said.
Dream raised a finger to his lips, a silent gesture telling Matthew to be quiet. They were not simply viewing Matthew’s dreams, but they were in it.
“We do not want him knowing I’m here,” Dream said to Matthew quietly.
“Don’t think that’d be an issue,” said Matthew, sounding too amused for Dream’s liking. “You’re already here.”
Dream saw what he meant. There he was, sitting at the table with Hob. He was smiling.
Dream frowned, “do I really look like that?”
Matthew gave him a look. As confused as a bird could look. “Why do you care so much?” he asked. “You never seemed to care about that sort of thing before. If you did, perhaps you’d use a hair brush,” Matthew laughed.
“Is my hair bad?” asked Dream. He was looking at him, a dream version of him, and Hob. “Well. That answers Death’s question, then. Hob dreams of our next meeting. The one that will be in a hundred years time. Perhaps he has nothing else to look forward to.” Being the subject of Hob’s dreams sent an odd shocking feeling through Dream, a feeling he wasn’t aware he had until now.
“Is that the answer?” asked Matthew. “Because this all looks very modern. Or er, now-like.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Matthew looked around the pub, then nodded to himself, as if confirming his suspicions. “This all looks like when you met him a few days ago, does it not?”
“Well—”
“It doesn’t look futuristic at all.” Matthew pointed out. “Just like now. Not a hundred years.”
“He does not have the imagination to imagine what it will look like in a hundred years’ time,” said Dream crossly.
Matthew said, “he’s been alive for what, six hundred years? And he’s seen how vast the world has changed. Surely he has some sort of idea, no?”
“Let’s go,” said Dream shortly.
“Wait—” protested Matthew, sounding very concerned. “I’m sorry, boss,” he blurted out. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You haven’t,” Dream lied, not looking at him. He tucked his hands in his pockets. He liked the human feel of the notion. “I just want to leave. We have Death’s answer.”
“We could come back,” reasoned Matthew.
“Why would we do that?”
Matthew tried, “er, to double check our answers?” sounding just like a Maths teacher.
Dream sighed. “Very well then. We will come back tomorrow.”
Dream was leaning closer against the table. Impossibly closer. Closer than he had ever been before. It thrilled Hob. He wouldn’t tell him that.
“You look nice,” the dream Dream said. He was smiling. He looked pleased.
“Thank you,” said Hob. “And you—you look the same as you always look,” he joked, laughing half heartedly at his own joke.
Dream’s smile widened. “Well.”
“I mean, the same as last night,” Hob said quietly, “and the night before that, and then that…”
Hob was not a fool. Despite what a couple of ex-girlfriends might tell you. Hob knew he was dreaming. He knew this wasn’t real. Maybe it was foolish, dreaming of going on dates with a man who barely admitted to being your friend just a week ago, but Hob would allow himself this. Might as well. He couldn’t change what he dreamt about.
“Maybe,” Hob said, feeling something flutter in his stomach. He swallowed past a lump of nervousness, and he mustered up all of his courage. “After this, you could come home with me.” God. That sounded weirdly sexual. He didn’t mean it like that. “Shit, I meant—”
“That’s a good idea,” Dream said. “I will.”
“Oh.” he smiled. “Great. Well, then.”
As ‘Dream’ and Hob left the pub together, Matthew asked, “what the fuck do you think that was?” and looked up at Dream, who was staring at the door where the two left rather intensely. “Boss?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, and he continued to stare.
It Looked like something. But anything could Look like something and be entirely different from what that something Was. Look and Was, very tricky, very different things. Especially in the dreaming. Anything was anything, and anything was everything.
“Boss?”
Dream didn’t answer.
He wondered if he wanted it to be what it Looked like, or for it to be what it Was.
“You are making no fucking sense,” Matthew said.
Dream hadn’t realized he said all of that out loud. “My apologizes,” he said, feeling slightly silly.
“Is that look and was with a capital L and W or—”
“Let’s go,” Dream said.
“What, really?” Matthew shook his head. He sounded surprised. Dream hated it. There was no reason to be surprised. “Why are we leaving now, boss?”
“Why ever not?” asked Dream. He tucked his hands in his pockets again. He was starting to wonder if it was less of a human habit and more of his own. “I suspect Hob is awake. Or waking, soon.”
“He went to his house,” said Matthew. “Surely we should follow him?” he blinked once, twice, then he said sheepishly, “oh, well. Second thought, maybe we shouldn’t—”
Dream refused to listen to the rest of that sentence.
“So,” asked Death, sipping quite obnoxiously on a straw, drinking who knows what out of a large foam cup. “Do you have my answer?”
“Yes,” answered Dream.
“Excellent,” she said enthusiastically. “what is it?” she tilted her head slightly to the left. Human notions, Dream reflected. Quite impressionable. Easy habits.
“He dreams of our next meeting,” said Dream. “Because it is one thing he can look forward to.”
Just then, a loud caw was heard up above. Dream glanced up, and much to his annoyance, saw a raven fly ahead.
“Excuse me, boss,” he said to Dream, and to Death, “Death.”
“Matthew, isn’t it?” asked Death, crouching down to get a closer look at Matthew. She found him fascinating. “I always liked your ravens,” she said, looking up at her brother as she spoke. “Especially the ones who decide to talk.”
“Are we talking about Hob?” asked Matthew.
“No,” said Dream.
“Yes,” said Death at the same time. At that, she gave Dream a curious look.
“Are you lying, my brother?” asked Death. She did not sound mad, only interested. Dream wished he could protest.
“Sorry,” he said, genuine.
Matthew said to Death, “Hob is dreaming about Dream,” he said. He fluffed up his feathers. “He’s dream dating Dream!”
Dream sighed, “enough, Matthew.”
“It’s true!” Matthew insisted. “You guys don’t know humans like I do. I was a human! I know what dream dates look like. Er. Don’t ask about that. She was—she was quite the woman—”
Dream did not have time for Matthew’s squabble. “I am certain you are mistaken,” he said stiffly, feeling slightly perturbed at his words. Why did it matter to him? It didn’t, he decided. It did not matter.
“Well—” began Matthew, but then Death said:
“Is he?”
And Dream did not know how to give an answer. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted after several moments of tense, awkward silence stretched between him, his sister, and the raven. “I do not know,” he said again, quieter this time, lost in thought.
“Hmm,” hummed his sister. She stood up after giving Matthew a quick pat on the head. “Well then, if you do not know, you don’t have my answer, do you?”
“Death—”
She wouldn’t hear it. “I will be back again, sometime soon my brother,” said Death. “This time, I hope to receive an answer.”
She left Dream alone with Matthew. Dream gave him a sharp look.
“What?” asked Matthew. “Are you going to tell me that I am wrong?”
Dream saw Hob again a few nights later. He was in the same pub, sitting at his table and checking his phone every few seconds.
“He’s waiting,” said Matthew, quietly.
Dream sighed, “I can see that.”
“He’s waiting on you,” Matthew said insistently, and Dream didn’t understand why Matthew sounded so excited.
“Not me,” Dream corrected. “A version of me that he—that technically I as well—made up.”
“Well, that Dream isn’t coming,” said Matthew. “So, you go talk to him.”
He felt it again. That strange jolt in his body. It was hot and sharp. Like sparks of electricity shooting up his arm, down his back. He shook his head, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. “No, I—”
Matthew squinted, which was on odd look on a bird. “Are you blushing?” he asked.
Sure enough, Dream’s face felt hot. Now it felt even hotter. He looked away and crossed his arms, pouting like a spoiled child. “No.” he said gruffly.
“You are!” Matthew gasped. “Wow, wait until I tell Lu—”
“You will tell no one,” Dream cut him off. Matthew swallowed loudly.
“Right. Sorry.”
He made his way over to Hob. He looked around self-consciously. The faceless people payed him no mind, as he knew they wouldn’t. He could feel Matthew staring at him from a distance. He chose to ignore it.
When Hob saw him, his entire face lit up. “You came,” said Hob. “I was starting to think I got stood up,” he joked.
Dream pulled out a chair and sat down. “Well,” he said awkwardly, words failing him and dying on his tongue. “Sorry,” he managed. “It was not my intention to keep you waiting.”
Hob laughed. “Must you always be so formal?” he asked. Dream laughed with him. It was forced and dry, but he didn’t know what else to do. “I am just glad you are here.”
Hob had said it so quietly, Dream wondered if he heard it at all.
“Well, I—”
Hob reached across the table and gently grabbed Dream’s face, caressing his cheek. Whatever Dream was going to say was long forgotten, his mouth snapping shut. Hot. It felt hot, his touch. Almost burning. But not in an unpleasant way. In a new, thrilling way. Not uncomfortable at all, Dream realized.
Then Hob leaned closer. Dream let him. He felt breathless. He didn’t even need to breathe, not really. It was just human habits. His thoughts were endless, clinging on to one useless topic to another. He was a mess. He didn’t know why he was a mess. Only that he was.
Then Hob kissed him, and Dream stopped thinking.
It was gentle, and chaste, quick, but Dream stopped thinking nonetheless.
Hob looked flushed when he pulled away. “That felt very real,” he whispered in awe. He was looking at Dream a little differently now.
“I—”
And then Hob closed his eyes.
“Hob—”
“Suppose I will be waking up now,” he said. “Never actually got to do that in any of my dreams,” he chuckled. “Never knew what’d it would feel like, so how could I dream about it? Odd…”
“He’s waking up,” said Dream, looking over his shoulder, finding Matthew flying his way. “So we should leave.”
“Don’t leave,” Hob said quietly, then he opened his eyes.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” Matthew said.
“Is that a talking crow?” asked Hob.
Matthew scoffed, absolutely offended. “Every time,” he groaned. “I am not a crow. I am a raven. Now fuck off.”
Dream found himself dreaming, as funny as that was, about Hob. Not an actual dream, in the literal sense, but a daydream, really. A thought. A hope. Desire, all the above.
He kept thinking about it.
It was dangerous to think about.
There were rules. Rules he made up himself. Though in the moment he couldn’t remember the rules, or why he made them in the first place.
When Death came to the dreaming realm a third time, it was not Dream waiting for her, but Matthew.
“Matthew,” said Death happily. “What a pleasant surprise. Did not expect to see you today.”
Matthew dipped down in what Death could only assume was a poor bird-like attempt of a bow.
“No need to do that,” Death said. “Awkward.”
“Right,” squawked Matthew. “Sorry about that Death. But, Death?”
“Yes?” asked Death.
Matthew said, “I think I have an answer for you.”