Chapter Text

A Feline Wonder

Following Hob around as a cat is Dream’s brilliant idea to be closer to his favourite human without admitting that he kinda misses the man.

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Chapter 1: Whose cat is this?

…

There is a cat in Hob’s class this morning.

Granted, this isn’t the first time some animals wander into the school. Hob has had a fair share with various types of insects, a few amphibians and reptiles – there was a snake once, thankfully it wasn’t venomous – some kinds of birds, and two stray dogs. Just about a week ago, there was this one black bird which he suspected it’s either a crow or a raven that seemed to follow him around. It’s pretty normal to have animals roam free in this part of town, so he usually pays no mind to those incidents.

But when something hogs most of his students’ attention even after he walks inside the room, Hob has to acknowledge and assess the situation. He clears his throat as he walks near them, “What you’re doin’, kids?”

Most of his students turn their heads toward his direction with surprise on their faces, and a few even look guilty like they haven’t realised he’s there till now. Hob chuckles at their expressions, tilting his head to observe the creature at the center of their little crowd. 

“Whose cat is this?”

The cat looks too gorgeous and spotless to be a stray. It has a big body with triangular features – a Maine Coon, perhaps. Its coat is slick, long black fur looks so soft that an animal lover would have some struggle fighting their instinct to reach out and pet the cat. But any tentative hand that dares to come near the cat seems to get swatted away by a swish of its tail, which is even fluffier and more irresistible. Hob can see why his students flock around this charming feline, he knows that he wants to pet it too.

A few students giggle before a brunette girl answers him, “We don’t know, Mr. Gadling. It doesn’t have a collar.”

Okay then. “Any ideas why it’s here?”

All the kids shake their heads at his question. Hob strokes his chin, staring at the cat. Its eyes are pretty – a pair of bright opal-shaped eyes, with vertical pupils that are embraced by mesmerising golden irises.

“Mr. Gadling, probably you shouldn’t stare at it like that,” a short-haired kid hesitantly speaks up. “They usually don’t like intense direct eye contact with strangers…”

The cat stares back at Hob, and then slowly blinks once. The kid who is talking makes a small surprised noise, “Wow. It doesn’t seem to be intimidated. I think it even likes you.”

“Really?”

Hob reaches his hand forward, but before he can touch the cat, his hand gets slapped away by its front leg. Typical feline reaction. Hob chuckles as his students burst into laughter. 

“Alright then, I won’t try to move you. But you see, I still have a class to teach, and I’ll appreciate it if you don’t steal all of their attention, buddy.”

“Mr. Gadling, the cat can’t understand you!”

Another student chortles. Hob shrugs, “I dunno, it looks intelligent to me though.”

As if getting his words, the cat jumps down from the desk and saunters toward the board. Even the way it walks is elegant – head high, tail up, each step is made with sleek precision. Hob and his students are all watching it attentively as the cat leaps up onto his chair, curling up into a giant ball of fur.

Huh. Cats are truly creatures of wonder.

“I think it wants to teach this class, Mr. Gadling,” a girl in glasses grins at him. “You did say you thought it’s intelligent!”

A blond boy nods enthusiastically at that, “I agree with her, Mr. Gadling! Please let the cat teach us today!”

Oi, these little rascals. “Yeah, yeah. I wish that I can just do that to go back home and sleep some more,” Hob shakes his head fondly at his students. “Alright, class, please go to your seats.”

A few of them pout or groan at his command but still do as he says. Hob waits until all of the students are in their seats before starting his class, but a boy raises his hand so high that Hob can’t ignore him.

“Yes, Nathan?”

“Mr. Gadling, can you at least let the cat stay there till it wants to leave? Pretty please?”

He begs, and Hob finds it’s hard to say no to those pleading eyes. Especially when others join him too, all looking at him with their best puppy-imitated expressions.

These kids really know how to manipulate me. He sighs softly as he turns toward the cat, looking into its eyes again. “If I let you stay in my class, will you promise that you will behave?”

The cat just blankly stares back at him. Hob shrugs to himself. Up to now, the cat doesn’t hiss, doesn’t run around frantically, doesn’t meow loudly – it barely makes a noise at all. He will count its seemingly understanding gaze as a yes, then.

“The cat agrees to stay, with the condition that you all behave, too, kiddo. Now take out your notebooks, we’re ten minutes behind the schedule already.”

“Yes, we will!”

“Thank you, Mr. Gadling!”

Hob smiles at their enthusiastic shouts, turning around to write the lesson title on the board. It seems like he has to stand up till the end of this lesson, but well, as long as his students are happy to learn, he is willing to let the cat stay as long as possible.

…

Chapter Text

2, The cat seems to like you, Mr. Gadling!

…

Dream has thought about this. The only problem is, perhaps he didn’t think about it thoroughly.

Sure, he can be invisible so that no mortal is aware of his existence and he will be free to follow Hob wherever he pleases – but this sounds too much like stalking, and his pride doesn’t allow him to do it. He can make himself only visible to Hob, too, under different appearances; but if only Hob can see him, the poor man probably will think he’s being haunted. Dream has sent Matthew out to check on his mortal friend, but no matter how detailed the raven’s report can be, that still doesn’t feel the same as their meetings when he can see Hob in person and hear the man talk animatedly about stories of his life. Something is still missing in these methods, and it doesn’t feel right.

Andi it’s not like Dream has no one to talk to. There are Lucienne, Matthew, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Cain and Abel brothers, and more. Besides them, his realm is also the only one among theirs – the Endless siblings’ – that gets populated with other sentient beings, but nearly all of them are his creations, and they only live in the Dreaming. What can he talk about with creatures that he knows inside out since they are under his absolute control? The conversations don’t feel the same as when he interacts with a living human.

To think about this particular matter, Dream has to admit that his sister is right. Death once said that he needs to get out and meet some humans, to see them on their terms instead of his. So, after a few deliberate thoughts, all arrows point to Robert Gadling. Why him? Well, the most important reason is, Dream can’t go out and start talking with just anyone. His raven Matthew once said that human beings couldn’t be trusted. More than a century being captured and spent inside that glass cage only solidifies his distrustfulness and scepticism toward humans. So if Dream wants to start to get in touch with modern humanity, he should begin with someone familiar, someone that he can place his faith in their reliability. Hob Gadling has proven that he’s a trustworthy individual to Dream – that man even bought a whole estate and built a new inn just to wait for Dream to show up one day. Which he finally did. But he also said at the end of their meeting that they would meet in another 100 years, and he doesn’t want to swallow his pride and show up at the other man’s door unannounced. 

So that’s why after thinking for about half a day, Dream decides that he will turn into a cat and follow Hob around for a few hours. Totally harmless, and it might be fun. Hob doesn’t need to know that the cat is his immortal friend. Lucienne surely won’t mind if her lord goes out for just a moment, right? Dream won’t tell her about this since it’s not a dangerous mission anyhow, and Matthew doesn’t need to be informed either since Dream knows that he reports almost everything back to his librarian. These two can have an uninterrupted work day or a relaxing time without worrying about him wandering in the human world.

With that thought in mind, Dream stands up from his throne and takes out his pouch of sand. That’s how he ends up in a classroom, and then gets surrounded by a bunch of kids within five minutes.

Dream doesn’t expect that his feline form could attract that much attention from those little humans. Since when black cats aren’t the symbol of bad luck anymore? It seems like a lot of things happened during his time of imprisonment. He narrows his eyes at their curious gazes since he doesn’t enjoy being circled by so many humans. The last time a similar thing happened, it resulted in Dream spending more than a century being locked inside a glass cage. Even though these kids look harmless, he still can’t trust them.

A hand experimentally reaches forward, hovering above his coat of fur. Dream reacts by slapping it away with his tail, mostly an instinctive reflex. He doesn’t want to hurt or scare the kids since he knows they’re just curious and mean no harm to him, but he doesn’t want to be touched either. However, his reaction seems to make these little humans even more delighted. A few others try to touch him and then squawk in excitement as his tail brushes against their hands. Dream is about to hiss at these annoying creatures when an adult’s voice startles them, “What you’re doin’, kids?”

Finally, a familiar face. Dream almost sighs in relief as the kids part ways at their teacher’s appearance.

He ends up claiming Hob’s chair as his own spot. Hob doesn’t seem to mind so he doesn’t move either. The lecture is so-so, mostly because he already knows all of that, and he’s here to observe Hob, not to get educated with some boring knowledge.

Hob seems like he enjoys teaching, though. The way he explains everything with patience to make sure his students understand thoroughly. The way his eyes lit up when a kid asks an intriguing question, or when they answer his questions correctly. The way he uses both his arms to make gestures, and he walks around the room a lot to make sure everyone is actually learning. Hob is brimming with happiness and vitality, and Dream almost chuckles at that. After more than 600 years, his mortal friend still loves being alive that much.

A bell rings so loudly that it startles Morpheus, and it also breaks a dam inside the classroom. The kids shout and laugh and call for their friends as they hastily shove their belongings into their bags or under the tables. Dream watches them with disinterest. Something doesn’t change after millennia – little humans are always noisy.

“Mr. Gadling, may I play with the cat now?”

Dream turns around to see two girls with two pairs of pleading eyes, expectant looks on their faces. He raises up and reels back when one hand tries to sneak up on him.

“Aww, seems like it’s always on high alert,” a boy chuckles as his ‘surprise attack’ didn’t succeed. “It doesn’t let any of us touch its fur even once.”

Dream takes another step back, and his backside almost touches Hob as the man stands right after him. The black-haired girl attempts to reach for his tail one more time, and Dream flinches back, his whole body pressing against Hob’s.

The other girl with blonde hair blinks at them. “Huh. It doesn’t seem to have a problem with touching you, Mr. Gadling.”

“Really?” Hob glances down for a second before shrugging at his students. “The cat isn’t mine, so I can’t grant you any permission,” He pauses, then adds a tad apologetically. “Don’t bother the animal if it doesn’t want to be touched, guys.”

The black-haired girl pouts. “Can you please at least ask the cat, Mr. Gadling? It seems to understand you. I think it actually listened to you when you asked it to behave.”

The boy who tries to sneak up on him before – Nathan, Dream remembers his name – grins. “The cat likes you, Mr. Gadling. It seems attached to you already. I have four cats at home, so I’m an expert at reading their body language now.”

You’re a lousy expert, kid. Dream snorts quietly in disagreement. Robert Gadling is, after all, an experiment on humanity. Dream admits that they’re friends, but that doesn’t mean he has any attachment to the man whatsoever. Especially when he’s in his cat form since they basically can be counted as two strangers in this situation.

The blonde girl nods her head, “Please, Mr. Gadling? The cat likes you, it might agree with you if you ask. We promise that we will be gentle.”

Another boy shows up before Hob can answer, “May I take the cat to our canteen? I can buy it food. Cats are generally more agreeable when they’re well fed.”

“That’s a great idea, Josh!” The black-haired girl exclaims. “Can we please?”

“Alright, alright,” Hob holds up both his hands at his students, sighing in defeat. “I’ll try asking the cat, but no promises. You kids will leave it alone if it doesn’t agree to go with you, okay?”

Dream is getting fed up with these little creatures. He can’t speak now or do anything that might expose the truth that he isn’t a normal cat, and he can’t hurt them either. But he wants to get out of this situation to continue observing his immortal friend; so he does the next sensible thing besides disappearing into thin air with his sand right at this moment: jumping up on Hob’s shoulders when the man crouches down near him to use his friend as a human meat shield.

…

Chapter Text

3, But I don’t want a pet.

…

The class is over and the black cat is still there. Hob wants to praise its ability to keep quiet and stay still for so long so it doesn’t disrupt his class, but before he can say anything, some of his students come up and ask to bring the cat to the canteen. Hob finally gives in and agrees to ask the cat for them, even though he isn’t sure why they insist that it could work. He’s not an expert with cats despite living for more than 600 years – the need for him to study their behaviours has never come up. He had had some dogs before, mostly for hunting and guarding his properties before mechanical locking systems were invented. They make great companions, but their life span is short compared to a normal human’s and that just equals to some fleeting moments of happiness in an immortal life. The last pet he’d kept was over 150 years ago, and he has no intention to get a new one after that.

“Hey, buddy,” Hob crouches down closer to the cat, looking straight into its eyes. “My students are wondering—”

At that, the cat suddenly jumps on Hob’s shoulders, and that nearly makes him lose his balance for a moment. He lets out a groan as he adjusts the cat’s weight on him. “Warn a man before doing this next time please? You’re not exactly small, y’know.”

The cat answers by swishing its tail in his face. Rude.

“This isn’t fair!” The blonde girl whines. “It doesn’t let us touch it at all, why does it give you special treatment, Mr. Gadling!”

“I’d like to know that too,” Hob rolls his eyes. Don’t his students see how the cat slapped his face with its tail just two seconds before? How can that be ‘special treatment’? He doesn’t want this kind of special treatment. “Hey, can you get down?”

He gets another tail slap for that. Double rude.

“You’re chosen, Mr. Gadling,” Nathan blinks twice before beaming at Hob. “You have to take it home now.”

“No I don’t.” Hob immediately refuses, and he says it without a smile so his students will know that he’s serious. He groans inwardly when Nathan’s face falls. “But I can bring it to the canteen so you— Hey, can you stop doing that with your tail?!”

People say that cats are mysterious beings – you can never really know what is going on inside their minds. But right now, Hob thinks this one is just extra ridiculous. He hasn’t done anything to get slapped three times within a minute. Even with a tail. No matter how fluffy it is, this is unacceptable.

“I guess that means it doesn’t want to go to the canteen,” the black-haired girl sighs, her tone laced with disappointment.

“And it doesn’t want to play with us either,” Josh points out, patting the girl on her shoulder. “Don’t be sad, Clara. Better luck next time.”

“Please tell me you’ll bring it home, Mr. Gadling. Pretty please with a cherry on top? You’ll forever be my most favorite teacher!”

Nathan begs as he’s making those puppy eyes again. Hob raises one eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Not gonna work this time, son.

“Nathan’s right, you should bring it home, Mr. Gadling,” the blonde girl giggles. “We really want to meet it again.”

Wow. They already skip the part he said ‘No.’ and decide that he should bring the cat home and then bring it back to their class. Nobody seems to worry about the fact that their teacher got hit by this same cat. Why does Hob like these little monkeys that much again?

“You guys are giving me a headache,” Hob pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will take this cat with me to put an end to this conversation, but no promises about taking it home, okay? The best I can do is to find its owner, and I know that you will want to help, but I’d prefer to do it by myself since it’s quicker. Any objection?”

“Understood, Mr. Gadling,” Josh is the first one to reply. He lets out a soft sigh before adding wishfully. “But I do wish that you’ll keep it though.”

The others nod their heads in agreement. They seem disappointed, but Hob knows that they aren’t going to be unreasonable. These are nice kids, and they’ve been taught better than that.

“Sorry guys, your teacher is not good with pets,” Hob smiles faintly, glancing at his wristwatch. “Now scatter. You’re going to be late for your next class.”

As if supporting his words, the bell rings loudly right at that moment. All four kids hastily say their goodbyes as they sprint out of the classroom.

“Finally.” Hob sighs, shaking his head fondly. The softness against his skin reminds him of the cat on his shoulders. “Okay buddy, they’re gone. Are you gonna get down or what?”

The cat makes neither a sound nor a movement. Hob doesn’t even want to try to coax it into responding to him. All he needs for now is a quick meal and then maybe a nap. Teaching kids is fun but it’s also draining him out so much. Hob has trained himself to achieve a high level of endurance during those good old days of being a mercenary, but apparently spending time with children requires a different kind of patience. Patience that he has a limited amount to use per day, and frankly there isn’t much left in him to spend on dealing with this coming-out-of-nowhere cat.

“Fine. I’ll take you home for one day. But I need to drop by the supermarket on the way home, and you’re gonna wait in my car. Are we clear?”

The cat’s tail swishes in front of his face, and Hob rolls his eyes. Okay then, at least it’s not another tail slap. Whether the cat truly understands him or not, it’s not his problem. “Well, since you neither move nor seem to disagree with me, I’m gonna take you to my car now.”

Their walk to his car is uneventful. Hob can feel many curious glances thrown in their direction and a few questioning gazes linger on them, but he couldn’t care less. He’s just a man with an oversized cat on his shoulders walking around campus. Nothing special at all.

“You’re not gonna stay on my shoulders while I drive, right?” Hob questions after getting into his car and the cat still hasn’t shown any indication that it’s going to move. “I don’t think it’s safe, mate. Either you get down on your own, or I’ll have to put you down. Which place do you prefer, the front seat or the back—”

The cat finally jumps down at that, landing gracefully on the front seat. Hob hesitates for a moment about whether he needs to fasten the safety belt for the cat or not, and then opts to ignore it. He can drive a bit slower, and as long as the cat lays down quietly, nobody’s gonna see it in his car, right? Will he break any laws by driving a cat without a pet carrier? This cat isn’t exactly small and unnoticeable either – it’s actually quite the opposite, this is such a fine cat that can easily attract attention.

Oh, screw it, Hob decides when he fastens his own seat belt. Why is he being overly cautious anyway? It’ll be fine. Just a cat he temporarily brings home, and he will drive carefully. Nothing is gonna happen.

…

“The supermarket doesn’t allow pets, so as I said earlier, you should stay here. I’ll be quick, I promise,” Hob says to the cat while parking his car. “My car has a pet mode, I’ll leave it on.”

The cat tilts its head at him, the fluffy tail swaying left and right sporadically. Those golden eyes are truly hypnotic, and that majestic coat of fur… Such a gorgeous cat. Its owner must take really good care of it, Hob thinks, his hand subconsciously reaching forward as he’s going to pat its head. “I’ll help you find your own— Hey!”

On second thought, the cat’s owner must have a lot of headaches with its habit to smack things with either its tail or its legs. His hand isn’t hurt, but it’s kinda irritating. Yeah, he’s definitely not gonna be willing to put up with this. No cats, no pets whatsoever.

“Please don’t destroy anything when I’m away.” Hob says with a sigh before closing the car door. He’ll start with taking the cat’s pictures to help to find its owner right this afternoon, and hopefully, someone will recognise their cat as soon as possible.

.

It’s until Hob’s busy vacillating between two types of cat food that he suddenly realises he could’ve tried to move the cat from his shoulders instead of asking it if it wanted to get down after his students left. Perhaps it would go away on its own, and that could’ve saved him a lot of time.

Well, guess that I’m a six-hundred-something-year-old idiot.

…

Chapter Text

4, You know that cats choose their humans, right?

…

The thing is, Dream probably would’ve left after Hob’s class ended if the man didn’t promise his students to ‘take the cat with me.’ He just merely plays along to see how this will turn out, alright. So that’s why his one-second decision to play along drags out into a walk through campus, a ride to a supermarket, and now he has spent about fifteen minutes staring at the “My owner will be back soon” notification on a small screen. Pet mode, that’s what Hob said. His friend also begged Dream to not destroy anything when he’s away, so Dream will be civil this time and not put his claws on the thing that displays the innocently offensive message.

Morpheus knows that he can leave at any moment he pleases instead of sitting here in boredom, but understanding Hob, that poor man probably will get worried and then spend hours trying to find the black cat that mysteriously disappears in his car, despite telling his students that he doesn’t want a cat. One should expect that from a man who bought a whole estate and built a new inn waiting for a person that stormed out of their conversation in rage after declaring that he didn’t need such a thing called companionship. And, well, Dream is that person. He did apologise to Hob, they are on amicable terms now, and he prefers to keep it that way. Even when Hob doesn’t know that the black cat is him, Dream doesn’t want to incidentally cause his friend to worry. So he decides to allow himself perhaps a few more hours of entertainment as a cat with Hob Gadling.

And to think about that… his friend really should get back here soon before Dream wants to test how sharp his claws are with this leather car seat. Since he already slapped Hob with his tail a few times, he doesn’t mind acting like a cat more convincingly for a while. Except for the sound cats usually make. Dream wouldn’t be caught dead meowing at his human friend, ever.

As if sensing the looming threat of damage to his car, Hob appears at that moment as the car window next to Dream lowers, grinning at him. “Wow, everything’s still intact,” Hob gleefully comments, two bags of groceries in his arms. “Good cat, you know how to behave don’t you? Wait a moment, let me put this into my car real quick.”

Morpheus considers pressing the tips of his claws into the seat just a little, but on second thought, being called a ‘bad cat’ doesn’t seem better. And objectively speaking, the way Hob’s treating him is appropriate for a cat, so he silently retracts the claws when Hob opens the driver’s door and slides in. 

“Alright, let’s get home,” his friend announces, changing the pet mode back to normal and starting the car.

The ride to Hob’s place passes in less than five minutes in a pleasant silence. Dream soon realises the familiar sight since the last turn to a street, so he isn’t surprised to see The New Inn sign on the building when Hob slows down.

“Well, here’s where I live,” Hob says as he pulls over. He unbuckles his seat belt before turning toward Dream. “Would you mind walking to my flat? I have bags to carry.”

Dream just blankly looks at Hob. He’s now a cat. How does his friend expect him to react to those words, then?

“I can’t tell whether you understand me or not. I’ll just open the door and let you do whatever you want to, then,” Hob lets out a chuckle when he leans over to open the door on Dream’s side. “You’re free to leave, too. Don’t let me keep you.” 

Morpheus glances at the dampened pathway for a moment and decides to do the exact opposite of leaving. 

Meanwhile, Hob already gets out of the car to grab his bags. With two arms full of groceries, he looks at Dream who’s still staying on the passenger seat, and rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna get out or not? My arms are full, I can’t carry you.”

Morpheus blinks at him, unmoving. After ten seconds, Hob gives in as he lowers himself down. “You can jump on my shoulders if you get what I’m sayin— Oi!”

Hob yelps, a bit startled when Dream does exactly what he just offers. Meanwhile, Dream quickly adjusts himself to the comfortableness of the human’s broad shoulders, feeling pleased with the situation.

Good. I’m not a fan of walking on dirty streets or among humans as a cat.

“You’re a spoiled cat, aren’t you?” His friend lets out an exasperated sigh as he stands up, using one leg to close the car door. “If you’re dropped, it isn’t my fault. And stop hitting me with your tail!”

.

“You’re back quite later than usual, Mr. Gadling,” the bartender greets Hob when he walks in with a grin, eyeing Dream on his shoulders with a curious look. “You bought a cat?”

“I didn’t. It appears in my class this morning and refuses to leave,” Hob grunts.

“You know, people usually say that cats choose their humans, not the other way around,” the bartender comments with a mirthful smile. “You should feel honoured. It’s a pretty cat.”

“And a very spoiled one,” Hob shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m not keeping it.”

“Oh, trust me, this isn’t the first time I heard a reluctant owner say that,” the man laughs, giving Hob a thumbs up. “Good luck, boss!”

“If the cat causes any mess in my flat, I’ll make you clean after that,” Hob replies with a non-threatening tone, walking toward the stairs. The bartender’s voice gradually fades behind them. 

“As long as there’s extra pay, I’m in!”

.

“Okay, house tour,” Hob announces after they get inside his flat. He unceremoniously drops the bags on the sofa so his arms are free to gesture around. “Here’s the living room. Over there is my kitchen. After that door is my bedroom and I’d prefer it a lot if you don’t go there and leave your hair everywhere.”

Dream jumps down on the kitchen countertop when his friend walks by, then spreads himself on the marble surface.

“The toilet is right there, behind that door,” his friend continues as if there’s no interruption because of his action. “I hope you’re potty-trained already, but since you’ll only stay here for like one or two days, I think that won’t be a big problem,” Hob stops to take a breath, then chuckles at himself. “Why am I explaining in detail to you, anyway? It’s not like you can understand all the things I said, right?”

Silence.

“Aren’t you supposed to meow at me or something?” Hob scratches the back of his head at the lack of response, one eyebrow raising at the cat Dream. “About that, you’re strangely quiet. I don’t think I’ve heard you make a noise.”

I can hiss at you if you want to. But he can’t speak out loud to let Hob know that option. Hmm. Isn’t this a major flaw in his seemingly impeccable plan? Dream clearly didn’t think this through and through.

“Quiet is nice,” Hob seems to come up with a conclusion already, mumbling with himself. “I don’t like to wake up at 3 A.M. because my pet keeps making noises, after all,” he pauses for a moment, then holds up his hands when Dream looks at him. “Just thinking. It’s not like you’re my pet. I’m going to find your owner soon, don’t worry.”

They keep staring at each other for a few seconds before Hob shakes his head with a faint smile, “You’re really a beautiful cat, y’know? We’ll have no trouble finding your owner, I don’t think anyone would want to lose a cat that looks like you, buddy.”

… Thank you…? What will a cat do when receiving a compliment like that? Oh, wait, a cat can’t understand humans’ complex languages. Dream just needs to act like normal, that’s all. So he flickers his tail and looks away, pretending that he has no interest in the human anymore.

“Oh, right, I need to whip up something for lunch,” Hob glances at the forgotten bags of groceries on his sofa and suddenly remembers that he hasn’t eaten the second meal of the day. He quickly grabs those bags, putting them on the kitchen countertop next to Dream to sort things into their appropriate places. Morpheus watches him with mild interest for less than a minute before his bored gaze starts to wander around the room.

Some rattling noises make him turn his attention back to his friend. Hob smiles as his fingers stop drumming on a tin can, now he’s waving it in front of Dream instead. “Are you hungry? I bought something for you, too.”

That’s thoughtful of him, even though Dream neither needs nor wants to eat any kind of cat food. He glances at the can for one second before turning his head away. His friend should be able to interpret his action as not interested, right?

“Here you are,” Hob pulls out the cap of the can, putting it on the kitchen’s counter, placing it in-between cat Dream’s front legs. “A lady at the supermarket told me her cats love this brand of tuna. Hope you’ll like it too.”

Morpheus slowly pushes the can away from him. He’s not gonna eat it. The message cannot be clearer this time.

“Oh, wait a moment, I forgot,” his friend slaps the side of his head as he grabs the tuna can and puts it on the floor. “You have a habit of smacking things, and I know that cats in general are notorious for knocking stuff down. I’m merely saving myself from cleaning up a potential mess, buddy. Please don’t be offended if you understand me.”

I understand you well enough to be offended by that assumption. Dream just looks at his friend, refusing to move.

“… Okay, if you’re not willing to go down, I’ll bring it back there for you,” Hob sighs in defeat, shaking his head as he crouches down to pick up the can and places it on the countertop again. “Here you go. C’mon, you won’t know whether you like it or not if you don’t try.”

Well, his friend did say that he expected Dream to push that thing off the counter, right? Better not disappoint him.

Clank!

“Really.”

The face Hob makes while staring at the mess on the floor is hilarious. Dream feels a corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk when his friend gives him an incredulous look.

“Why are you looking so smug?” Hob complains to him. “You just wasted a totally fine six dollars tuna can, y’know?”

The situation is too funny for Dream to feel guilty about it. He’s right, his friend is truly a good source of entertainment.

“Anyway, I have backup plans,” Hob rummages through his groceries, pulling out a bag of cat food. “But this won’t taste as good as the tuna, I promise you.”

Backup plans? Dream should’ve expected that. ‘Giving up early’ doesn’t exist in this man’s dictionary, after all. 

Morpheus decides that this is the moment he should growl at his friend before the human tries to tell him to eat again. He leaps up closer to Hob, hackles up his fur, bares his fangs then lets out a snarl. 

“Woah! Why are you angry when all I’m doing is just trying to feed you?” Hob seems surprised at the action as he takes a step back. “Just calm down, okay? I won’t force you to eat if you don’t want to.”

Dream fixes his gaze on the bag of cat food, keeping his fangs visible. Hob silently opens a drawer and throws the bag in it, closing it with a loud noise. He does all that while still staring at Dream as if he’s worried he might get those fangs to sink into his skin the moment he turns around.

With that, the desired result is achieved. Dream blinks before he gracefully takes a step back, laying back down and then curling into a harmless ball of fur.

Hob shakes his head and mumbles exasperatedly. “You seem picky. Don’t tell me that you fancy those high-quality cat food which is even more expensive than stuff for humans,” he pauses, scrutinising Dream for about six seconds before letting out a resigned sigh. “Actually, that might be the case. You look well-kept, after all. I should’ve guessed that. But you sure you really don’t want to eat…?”

He trails off when Dream narrows his eyes at him. Cats have vertical pupils, and when they’re angry, their pupils contract into slits, almost like snakes’ eyes. Hob seems to realise the sign of aggression, and quickly raises both his arms up in a placating gesture. “Okay, alright. I’m gonna clean that mess and assume that you’re not hungry,” he then squints at Dream, waving one finger, “Don’t whine at me when I’m eating my lunch, then, ‘cuz you’re not gonna get any.”

Oh, an empty threat. Dream stops staring his friend down, pretending that he’s suddenly interested in his tail. After lunch, probably Hob will have a nap, and it’ll be a good chance for him to silently disappear.

…

Chapter Text

5, Buddy, your fur is marvellous.

…

There is something seriously weird about this cat. Hob thinks to himself as he mops the floor and occasionally throws a glance in the cat’s direction. It looks pretty and harmless like that, curling up into a circle with the fluffy tail flickering left and right. But Hob has seen its fangs and claws, and to be honest, he’s a little bit worried. The cat didn’t seem like it actually wanted to scratch or bite him before, but he can’t be too sure about it. He’s not an animal expert, remember? Hob’s inclined to believe that the cat has an owner and has been vaccinated already, but the lack of a collar isn’t reassuring for him now. What if nobody shows up to claim ownership after he posts its pictures, and he’s stuck with this moody creature for only God knows how long? Shall he start to look for pet carriers, cat beds, litter trays, cat bowls, toys, and other things now?

I’m overthinking this again. Hob takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. His stomach gurgles again. Maybe it’s the hunger that makes his thoughts jumble. Hob once read somewhere that starvation could make brain cells consume themselves to function. He’s not that hungry, but clearly he can’t think straight with an empty stomach. Lunch first, think later.

He finishes cleaning the floor, then digs out a package of frozen meals from one of the groceries bags. It’s chicken fettuccini, the kind that you can throw in the microwave then call it done to make any Italian scrunch their nose in distaste, but Hob isn’t that picky. He was once homeless with no penny in his pocket and had to dig out food people threw into trash bins to survive. Once you experience that, you can eat basically anything that isn’t poisonous. And food poisoning can’t kill him, anyway, but it’s still extremely unpleasant.

Hob tears apart the paper package and takes out the plastic bowl with prepared food inside. He cuts the protected wrapper, covering the bowl with a thin layer of food wrap film to put it in the microwave for three minutes with high heat. He uses the waiting time to finish organising his groceries, then he takes the bowl out, stirring its content before putting it back for another two minutes.

The microwave makes a ‘ding’ sound, and Hob smiles contently when he opens its door and a fragrant scent suffuses the flat. “Hmm, it smells good,” he comments, turning his head toward the cat. “Do you regret your decision before, buddy? Wanna eat now?”

The cat eyes him with indifference. Hob rolls his eyes as he gets a fork and a spoon, “All for me, then.”

He takes the bowl of hot chicken fettuccini to the living room and places it on the glass table before turning back to the cat. “Alright, while I’m waiting for it to cool down a bit, I’ll take a few pictures of you to write a lost pet post later.”

Hob takes out his phone, and the cat seems to realise he’s about to do something, judging by the way it suddenly sits up and straightens its back. Its pair of topaz irises focus on him with a cautious look.

“Easy, I’ll need you to stay still for just a minute,” Hob holds up one hand in a placating gesture as he angles the camera toward the cat, but before he can click the button to take a picture, the cat jumps down and walks toward his sofa.

Hob follows after it, waiting for the cat to settle somewhere before holding up his phone again. But one more time, the cat avoids the phone right when the light just flashes. All Hob gets is a blurred mass of something black, and he sighs loudly when he tries for the third time.

“You don’t want me to take your pictures?” Hob questions after failing for the fifth time, now with his phone underneath the cat’s paws. “Then how will I share a finding owner post for you then?”

The black cat stares at him, and one front leg lifts up to tap on his hand. He wordlessly loosens his grip around the phone with one eyebrow arched. “Please don’t push my phone down the floor.”

The cat gently uses its paws to drag the phone to a corner of the sofa before sitting right next to it, completely blocking the way for Hob to get his phone without manhandling the cat out of its spot. Which, he tries, and all he gets is a slap on his hand.

Hob is hungry, out of patience, and definitely doesn’t want to argue with a cat that isn’t his. “Have it your way then. I’m eating my lunch.”

He grabs the fork and starts to dig in the chicken fettuccini. In the middle of his meal, he tries to give the cat a bite, but it only looks at the fork in front of its face for one second before turning its head away. Hob finally drops the idea to feed the cat and finishes his lunch in silence.

Five minutes later, Hob throws the empty bowl in the rubbish bin, washes the cutleries, and pours himself a glass of water to wash down the residue creamy taste of alfredo sauce. He’s back to his living room, only to stare at the cat who’s still sitting in that corner of the sofa with his phone behind its back.

“Are you male or female?” Hob plops down next to the cat, questioning. “May I check?”

He gets a hiss and a scratch for trying. Alright then, no checking, no touching. “You’re a difficult one, y’know?”

The cat tilts its head, blinking at him. Hob sighs in defeat. Who can say bad things to a creature with such hypnotising eyes? He’s willing to bet that its owner can forgive its picky behaviours whenever they look into those bright gemstones that seem to hold galaxies inside them. Heck, he neither owns the cat nor wants to have anything to do with it, but he’s clearly not immune to its eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a stray,” Hob remarks, ignoring the urge to reach out and pet the cat. Stop looking at me with those eyes, will you? “Wish you have a collar or something with your owner’s contact info. They’re probably worried sick about you now. By the way, if you don’t want me to take your pictures, that’s fine, but at least can I have my phone back please?”

The cat observes him for about three seconds before standing up and moving a few steps away, allowing Hob to reach for his phone. Hob flashes it a grin. “Thanks, buddy. Now I guess I’ll need to create a post without your pictures then. Starting with, hmm, your breed, I think,” he opens the search tool on his phone. “You look a lot like a Maine Coon, I’ll start with that first.”

He guesses that the cat’s a Maine Coon because it’s big, and Maine Coons are known for their nickname ‘the gentle giants’. This one seems to miss the ‘gentle’ part, though. Just look at how it slaps him with its tail or its legs without a second of hesitation, and how smug it was after pushing that tuna can on the floor. A mischievous and playful cat, certainly pampered. Hob doesn’t think he can provide the cat that level of care.

“So, triangular features – check. Long hair – check. Large – definitely check,” Hob scrolls down the article, head bobbing up and down to compare what he sees with what’s written in the post. “Pointed ears with wisps of hair… hmm, look like it. Oval-shaped eyes – yeah, check. Long, bushy tail – check. Sociable and affectionate—” Hob stops to eye the cat questioningly. “—You don’t seem like that, though.”

The fluffy tail swishes around at that. Hob doesn’t know whether it agrees or disagrees or if it even understands him at all. He breaks the silence after ten seconds. “I can feel you’re judging me. Stop looking at me like that, please.”

Hob clicks back after scrolling to the bottom of the article. “You meet all the appearance characteristics of Maine Coon but not their usual personality. Interesting. Can’t imagine you being affectionate—”

He trails off when the cat places one paw on his thigh and then lets out a small surprised gasp when the cat walks on him, curling into a circle on his lap. Oh gosh. This cat clearly understands him, doesn’t it? And, oh, look at how fluffy its fur is, isn’t this an open invitation for him to touch—

“Hey!”

His hand gets slapped by the bushy tail before it even goes near the cat’s fur. Tsk.

“So you’re free to climb on me when you want while I’m not allowed to touch you even for one second?” Hob narrows his eyes. “Buddy, that isn’t fair. Your poor owner must crave your affection if you act like that to them.”

The cat doesn’t look at him, only swaying its tail around.

“I know you understand what I say. Can you get down?”

Now the cat ignores him. Very nice.

“If you sit on me but I’m still not allowed to touch your fur, this is torturous,” Hob finally sighs, one hand hovering about the silky coat of fur one more time. “Please don’t scratch me. If you don’t want this, just give me a signal, and I’ll immediately retreat my hand, alright?”

The cat uses its tail to gently wrap around Hob’s wrist, and he lets out a breath when his fingers finally touch the wonderfully soft fur. Hob sighs in contentment, “Oh, buddy, your fur feels heavenly.”

The cat seems to get the compliment, or at least it’s feeling generous enough to let Hob caress its fur.

“You’re quite a peculiar cat, you know,” Hob comments, his voice thicker with drowsiness as he lets out a yawn. “I dunno whether your owner feels lucky having you or not, but they’d clearly enjoy keeping you around.” 

His words are a little bit slurred together now. He suppresses another yawn, but his eyelids keep getting heavier. “I think I’ll take a nap. Will write a post to find your owner for you later, then.”

With his hands still tangled in the wonderful fluffiness, Hob drifts into a peaceful slumber.

.

About one hour later, Hob jolts awake. His hands feel empty, and when he looks around, something akin to upset slowly sinks in as he realises that his temporary companion is nowhere to be found.

He quickly jumps up on his feet and checks every corner of his flat just to finally let out a dejected sigh.

The cat is gone.

…

Chapter Text

6, Jewelry shopping.

…

“Where did you go, my Lord?” Lucienne questions when she finds Morpheus in the throne room, calmly reading a book. “I couldn’t find you this morning, and nobody knew where you were. I was about to send Matthew to search for you.”

“Personal business,” Dream replies, doesn’t look up as he turns a page. “There was no need to trouble you or Matthew, Lucienne.”

“I was worried about you,” she explains, holding back a sigh. “The last time I couldn’t find you anywhere in the Dreaming, something terrible happened.”

Morpheus stops reading as his gaze falls onto the head librarian. “I’m now more powerful than I had ever been in eons, Lucienne. You can have faith in my words that such things can never occur again.”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, my Lord, but I’ve followed you for too long, I can’t help caring about you,” Lucienne softly shakes her head. “Please, next time if you’re going somewhere, at least send me or Matthew a few words.”

Dream ponders her request for a moment before he nods his head. “I’ll try to. Anything else?”

Lucienne’s eyes focus on the book Dream is holding, and he slightly arches one eyebrow. She seems to consider something for a second before replying, “No, my Lord. I’ll be back to my duty.”

With the head librarian gone, the throne room is back to quiet. Morpheus finishes about ten more pages before Matthew flies into the room, perching on an armrest. Dream pays no mind to the raven, and the bird is silent for about one minute before he can’t keep holding back his questions anymore.

“Care to explain to me why you’re reading a book about cats’ behaviours?” Matthew piques with curiosity. “Are you gonna adopt a cat, boss? Then I have a suggestion that you need to make sure it doesn’t like chasing birds around. Especially ravens.”

“No.”

“… Is that a “no, I won’t accept your request” or a “no, we won’t have a cat in the near future” , boss?” The raven caws.

Dream stops reading to eye his bird. “There’s no need for you to worry, Matthew.”

“Erm, boss, no offense, but your actions make us worry for about eighty percent of the time,” if a raven can sigh, then that’s the sound Matthew just made. “You have no idea how worried Lucienne was this morning. She’s scared that you’re gone again for another century.”

Morpheus’ gaze softens. “I’ll try to tell her next time I go somewhere.”

“Me too, boss,” Matthew tilts his head. “I care about you too, you know that right? Or at least promise me that you won’t get mad if I go spying on you when you’re away for too long.”

Dream ponders about what will Matthew and Lucienne think if they accidentally find out he turns into a cat just to laze around Hob. It feels embarrassing somehow. “I’ll notify you so you can tell Lucienne,” he decides, and then swiftly changes the topic. “Did you have a cat before, Matthew?”

“Can’t say I had,” the raven chirps. “I didn’t even take good care of myself when I was a human, so getting a pet was a big no. Why do you ask, boss?”

Dream doesn’t answer that question. Instead, he closes the book and stands up, “I’ll go to the waking world for a moment. Want to come with me?”

“Of course! What are we gonna do, boss?”

Morpheus takes out his pouch of sand, “Find a necklace.”

“Okay…?” Matthew replies, a bit hesitant when the whirlwind starts to form around them. “For what, boss?”

He one more time doesn’t get an answer from Dream, as the darkness swirls and swallows them gently in a whirl of teleportation.

.

They materialise in front of a pet shop. Nobody seems to notice a man and a raven appear from nowhere, as Dream holds up his arm to push the door open. Matthew flies after him, perching on the edge of a table. There is no one around so he opens his beak to speak, “What exactly are we searching for here, boss? I thought you would aim for a jewellery store or something.”

Dream hums softly as his gaze darts around. A staff member notices him and approaches the potential customer with a smile on her face, “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?”

“I need a necklace,” Morpheus replies to her, his arms making some gestures in the air. “For a cat this big.”

“Sure, please follow me, sir. Our jewelry section is over there.”

“So we’re still getting a cat?” Matthew flies up and questions, trying to lower his voice as much as possible.

Dream looks at him for a moment before softly patting his shoulder, “You can come here if you want to.”

Heck yeah! The raven doesn’t waste a second to do as he’s been told. Who cares about his boss getting a cat now? He just gained shoulders perch privilege!

“Please take a look, sir,” the staff member gestures toward a glass display cabinet. “Do you want me to introduce some of our best sellers, or would you prefer a quiet shopping experience?”

“Quiet, please.”

The seller nods her head in understanding and takes a few steps back to leave Dream all by himself. Matthew caws next to his ear, “Pardon me, but they all look cheap, boss.”

Dream makes a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Just looking.”

The raven pipes up after a minute of silence. “Can I ask about the cat again?”

“Let’s go.”

Dream decides after he finds nothing suitable for his liking. They get out of the pet shop with Matthew grumbling, “You seriously can’t ignore or deflect my question every single time!”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried then, I’m curious!”

.

They go to another pet shop, and then two more jewellery stores. His boss is a picky customer, Matthew is sure about that by now.

“You can try describing the cat to me and I might be able to help you with it, y’know?”

“I can just create one,” Dream muses, deliberately ignoring Matthew’s remark again.

The raven caws at that, “You create what? The cat or the necklace?”

“We shall get back to the Dreaming,” Morpheus says in lieu of answering the question.

…

That evening, Lucienne sees a small black box placed neatly on her table. Inside is a beautiful brooch with an intricately carved frame, decorated with a pair of glasses, a feather pen, and a book. She smiles at it fondly when Matthew flies in.

“You got one too?” The raven chirps happily.

She looks at him to see a very, very tiny pendant hanging off his neck, shining proudly against black feathers. It’s a little raven made with platinum, connected to a silver chain. Clearly custom made, for one and only.

“Our Lord has changed a lot, hasn’t he?” Lucienne chuckles as her fingers gently trace along the exquisite frame of her brooch. “Do you happen to know what’s the reason behind these surprise gifts?”

“Something relates to a cat, I suppose,” Matthew shrugs nonchalantly. “He refuses to tell me, though. But today I got shoulder-perching privileges, so I’ll say let our boss keep his little secret.”

“Look after him for me when I’m busy, won’t you?” She pats the raven’s head, to which Matthew caws mirthfully.

“Of course, Lucienne.”

…

Chapter Text

7, Why are you here again?

…

It has been one week since the day Hob met the strange cat. Today he has a class with the kids that pressured him into taking the cat with him before, and the thought makes a soft, wistful smile appear on his lips.

“Mr. Gadling, you’re the best teacher in the world!!”

Nathan greets him with a wide smile. The kid is in high spirits, and Hob is delightfully confused. “Thank you…?”

He soon realises the reason for Nathan’s excitement as he walks inside the classroom. That big black cat is here, sprawling on his desk in all of its fluffy glory. Hob can swear that the cat grins when it sees him.

“Why is it here?”

“… We thought you brought it here?” Clara sounds confused as she speaks up.

“I totally didn’t,” Hob shakes his head, putting his briefcase on the desk. The cat raises up to place one front paw on it as if it’s claiming ownership over the briefcase, which makes Hob snorts quietly as his students squeak in delight.

“Then it wasn’t you who put that collar on the cat?”

Josh questions, and Hob arches one eyebrow as his gaze falls onto the cat again to observe the newly added item. It was a black leather collar, thin enough to almost disappear into that long coat of fur. It has a pendant attached to it but Hob doubts that any of his students have gotten close enough to touch either the cat or the collar. Just looking at how they circle the cat without any hands daring to touch the fur. Seems like touching it is a privilege that needs to be earned. Hob suddenly feels a sense of pride swell in his chest.

“Alright, let’s get back to your seats,” Hob claps his hands together to signal the students that it’s time to study. Some whine at him for one more minute but after receiving a shake of his head, they still obey his order.

He side-eyes the cat and suppresses a sigh. It’s gonna stay there and steal his students’ attention. Cheeky little bastard.

“Old rules, you’ll have to behave or else I’ll throw you out of my classroom,” he warns the cat even though his voice has no real threats in it. 

“Mr. Gadling, no! Do not harm the cat!”

“We’ll behave for the cat, too! Please don’t throw it out!”

Hob rolls his eyes. He hasn’t even done anything and the kids are already whining and begging for this black cat. Again, cheeky little bastard. Which isn’t that little, but whatever. 

The cat seems to sense his displeasure, and it sways the tail toward him as if it’s trying to soothe his unknowingly ruffled feathers. Hob snorts at his own comparison, he isn’t a bird.

He clears his throat to gain the students’ attention, “Alright, class, let’s open your book to page 139.”

.

The class, luckily, goes on smoothly. Hob can see some students keep staring at the cat instead of the board but he reasons that at least they’re still listening (hopefully so) thus he doesn’t call them out.

A few teachers and school staff walk by and Hob can tell that they’re curious about the big cat on his desk but of course, nobody interrupts his class just to ask about the creature. When the lecture is about to end, Hob assigns his students some homework and lets them shoot their questions if they have any (no, Nathan, the cat isn’t mine, I don’t know who put that collar on it, and your questions aren’t related to the lesson so please stop asking.)

The bell rings, and everyone seems immediately more relaxed. The noise increases as the kids don’t have to keep quiet anymore, they talk and laugh and giggle joyfully. Some approach Hob’s desk with curiosity and adoration in their eyes toward the cat.

“May we play with the cat today?” A girl asks hopefully.

The cat hisses at another student when he tries to touch its fur again. It doesn’t seem like the cat will be willing to play with any of them. Hob doesn’t know why it’s even here when it doesn’t like children. Cats are enigmatic creatures, that’s true.

“Hey buddy, will you— Hey not this again!” Hob decides to ask the cat for his students, but right when he crouches down near it, the cat jumps on his shoulders just like before. He groans as the cat adjusts itself on him. “I told you to give me at least a warning first.”

And that’s how Hob gets a tail slap. He definitely doesn’t miss this at all.

“Let’s go guys, we shall leave our teacher with his cat,” Josh appears from behind the little group of his friends and shoos them away. He winks at Hob, “Good luck, Mr. Gadling!”

Hob narrows his eyes at the kid but doesn’t reply. There is something playfully mischievous twinkling in Josh’s eyes. The little monkey is one of the best students in this class but he also pulls the most pranks on his friends and even some unfortunate teachers. Hob doesn’t trust that kid when suddenly he wishes him luck, alright.

“So,” he says when there is just him and the cat inside the classroom. “I take this as you’re gonna follow me home again, right? Why do you slap me?!”

The tail keeps swaying in front of his face. Hob wants to grab it but he resists the urge. “Alright, it’s me who took you home, you didn’t follow me. Happy?”

This time, the tail gently wraps around his neck for a brief moment. Huh. Does the cat understand that? Weird.

Hob takes a look at his phone for the time and decides to head back. He will take the cat with him but he won’t buy any food for it today. He has learned his lesson about feeding this picky little creature the last time.

“You see, I’m walking through campus, and people are looking at us,” Hob gestures around as he walks with the cat on his shoulders, just like one week ago. “We’re lucky that this school doesn’t have a no pet policy, or else I might get into trouble with you already.”

The cat doesn’t react to that. Perhaps it doesn’t care whether Hob will get into trouble or not, or maybe it simply doesn’t understand him. Hob can’t tell when he can’t even look at the cat right now.

“You’re on the passenger seat, just like last time,” Hob instructs as he gets inside his car. The cat jumps down at that, curling into a fluff ball of fur. It stays still all the way he drives them to The New Inn.

“I have no bags today so I can carry you,” Hob extends both arms as an offer when he stops his car, chuckling at the cat. “If you want to, of course. Or you can always use my shoulders as usual.”

The cat seems to contemplate that as its eyes focus on Hob’s arms. Are cats capable of complex thinking processes? Hob waits patiently till the cat raises up and puts a paw on his chest.

“I didn’t think you would agree,” Hob grins at that, carefully picking the cat up, letting its head rest on his bicep as his arm holds its body under its back. This is the first time the cat lets him carry it in this style, and after closing the car door, he uses both arms to make the hold steadier.

“Oh, you found the cat?” The bartender grins at the sight of his boss with the fluffy black cat when he walks into the pub.

“More like it found me,” Hob shrugs as a greeting. “How’s it today?”

“The usual, boss,” the young man replies leisurely. “I already notified you but I’ll ask again to make sure, may I leave three hours before my shift ends this afternoon? I have a date. I contacted a friend, and they agreed to cover the rest of my shift for me. I’ll pay him on my own so you won’t need to do anything.”

“Sure,” Hob nods at him. “And there’s no need to trouble your friend. I can close the pub early today. You’ll still get fully paid for your good job.”

“Really?” The bartender brightens visibly. “Thank you, boss! You’re truly generous!”

“Right,” Hob agrees with him as he walks toward the stairs. He looks down at the cat and sees it staring at him with those mesmerising topaz eyes. “I do feel generous today.”

When they get to his flat, Hob gently puts the cat on his sofa. It seems to approve of the treatment as the tail softly wraps his wrist as a thank you. Hob doesn’t think much when he pats its head, and then immediately the Thank you turns into a How you dare.

“You’re a little shit,” Hob cradles his hand. The fluffy tail doesn’t hurt him physically but he’s emotionally wounded, alright. “May I have a look at your collar?”

The cat eyes him with suspicion when he tentatively reaches his hand forward one more time. Hob tries to be as slow as possible, and he exhales quietly when his fingers finally touch the collar. He pulls it out a little to have a better look at it. It’s a black leather collar, thin and soft to the touch but nothing short of expensive, judging by how it glistens smoothly when the light hits it at the right angles. Attached to it is an oval-shaped pendant that has a tiny, highly intricate golden frame with exquisite carving patterns. Hob scrutinises the little letter on it.

“M?” He frowns as if he’s trying to decipher what that means. “Did your owner name you Mischievous or something?”

If cats can snort, then it’s what the cat just does. He snorts back, doesn’t care how childish it would be. “Or is your name Meow-meow? About that, I haven’t heard you meow even once. You can still hiss at people so I know you’re not mute. Can you meow?”

He gets a hiss for that. Nice try, Hob. Nice try.

“I’ll start guessing till I guess it right,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Mimi? No, that’s ridiculous. Perhaps some more human-like names. Mitchell? Michael? Miles? How do I know whether I guess it right or not? You’ll react to your name, right?”

The cat stares at him, unimpressed. Have you ever felt like a lowly cricket because of how a cat looks at you? That’s exactly how Hob feels at this moment.

He spends about ten minutes racking his brain for names starting with M before he temporarily gives up. “This is getting nowhere and I’m ridiculous for trying this.”

The cat lays down, sprawling lazily on his sofa. Hob stares at the inviting soft fur, wondering whether he would get a scratch for trying to touch it this time.

“Why did you appear in my class again, buddy?”

He questions, one hand hovering above the coat of fur tentatively. The cat doesn’t seem to mind when his hand lowers down closer and closer, and Hob lets out a relaxed sigh as his fingers finally touch the wonderful softness.

“I know that you can’t answer me, but anyway, I think I’m gonna give you a name ‘cuz I won’t keep calling you ‘buddy’,” he decides as his hand tangles with the cat’s fur. “We’re going to try again after I finish my lunch, alright? You still don’t want to eat anything, am I correct?”

The cat uses one paw to scratch the sofa’s surface. Hob checks to make sure it’s just playing around and not inflicting any permanent damage on the poor sofa, chuckling to himself, “I’ll take it as a yes, then.”

…

Chapter Text

8, Desperate times call for desperate measures.

…

It’s half past four in the afternoon. Hob is lying on his floor, one hand lazily playing with the fluffy tail hanging off from the sofa.

“Is it Malta?” He questions, and then goes on when receiving no reaction from Dream. “Manchester? Mississippi? Mongolia? I don’t think anyone would choose a geographic name for their cat. Even though Maine could be a good name for you, considering that you’re a Maine Coon. But are you really a Maine Coon?”

Dream playfully uses his tail to slap the other’s hand. He’s quite impressed that Hob hasn’t given up guessing his name yet. He isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or annoyed that Morpheus hasn’t crossed Hob’s mind.

“We’re back to square one,” Hob sighs dramatically. “No, I haven’t made it past square one. I’m intent on trying until I get it right, though,” he sits up and eyes Dream, a determined look in his eyes. “As long as you’re still here to give me your feedback.”

Dream only glances at him and then turns his head away in disinterest.

“I need to make dinner,” Hob announces as he rises up from the floor. “You sure you don’t want to eat anything? It’s already half a day. You haven’t even drunk any water,” he gasps, both surprisedly and worryingly. “Oh gosh, I’m such a bad host, aren’t I? I’ll fetch you some water right now.”

Thirty seconds later, a bowl of clean water is placed in front of him. Hob grins at him, “My sofa is waterproof, so no worries. You can still lay there and get hydrated, buddy.”

Morpheus looks at him for a moment before turning back to the bowl. Hob seems to wait with bated breath and then he lets out a victorious hum as Dream gingerly licks the water.

“Strange. Even the way you drink looks elegant,” Hob strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I know all cats drink like that but you seem… quite different.”

Cats, and many other feline creatures, have a particular way of drinking, which Dream as a cat can mimic masterfully. They dip only the tip of their tongue into the liquid’s surface, curling it backwards and then quickly retracting it upward. Before gravity can pull the column of water back down, they snap their jaw shut at just the right moment to catch the water inside without getting their furry chin wet. Morpheus can do that with precise accuracy, and if there is any magic involved to make the series of actions seem slightly delayed for a fraction of a second, Hob might be able to notice that but he doesn’t have enough knowledge to guess the right reason. 

He’s observant, Dream muses as he drinks some more in the same meticulous manner. He doesn’t need it but he can let his friend think that the cat’s staying hydrated. Look at how Hob’s grinning, he seems to be satisfied that at least he has done something right. He then leaves Dream there and goes to the kitchen to prepare his dinner.

“Is there any chance your name is Mint?” Hob asks loudly from the kitchen as his hand rummages through some ingredients. “I don’t think it can be Meat, that’s a terrible name. Oh, and hey, Mango is a good one if you’re an orange cat, don’t you think?”

Morpheus wants to face-palm. Well, he can face-paw, at least. 

“Or you can be Maple Syrup,” Hob continues his train of thought of guessing the cat’s name with ingredients. “Personally, I’m not a fan of that syrupy sweet stuff but many Canadians love it. You’re not polite enough to convince me that you’re Canadian, though.”

Dream listens to the occasional sounds Hob makes as he chops the ingredients, thinking about when it will be a suitable moment for him to leave.

“I’ve had Miso soup a few times, and it’s good,” Hob mulls over as he unceremoniously drops the chopped green onion into a bowl. “I wonder if you like Japanese food. They eat a lot of fish for sure. You like fish, right? Cats usually fancy fish.”

Dream’s friend is truly entertaining. If it isn’t for the fact that he promises Matthew and Lucienne that he won’t go to the Waking World for too long without notifying them beforehand, he probably will stay for a few more hours.

Perhaps I’ll visit him again soon, Morpheus thinks as he vanishes into thin air when Hob doesn’t pay attention.

…

..

.

Their next encounter is three weeks later, and Dream can clearly see that Hob is even happier to see him compared to the children in his class. The same man who grumbled that he’s “not good with pets” and “not keeping it” a month ago. Funny.

This time, none of the kids ask to play with Dream when their class ends. Perhaps they finally get the impression that he’s not a social cat. These children can be noisy at times but they’re overall good kids, and they seem to like and respect their teacher a lot. He shall remember them and make sure they have some fun, pleasant dreams tonight.

Things have been going smoothly until Hob carries Dream through the campus as the last time, only for them to get caught in heavy rain. There are no warning signs, really. One second before, the sky is still bright with sunlight diffusing through leaves. One second later, people switch from walking to running as the rain starts to fall. Hob sprints toward the parking lot but he isn’t quick enough, and the torrential downpour makes both of them soaked wet when Hob finally opens his car door.

“We’re unlucky, aren’t we?” The human chuckles, shivering as the car’s engine starts. “I’ll turn the AC off and get us home. Please bear with me for a few minutes.”

Dream doesn’t get onto the passenger seat as usual, instead he stays on Hob’s lap, curling into a ball of wet fur. They’re both drenched now but at least the human radiates more warmth than the leather seat. Hob doesn’t object as he starts driving.

“You seem smaller than usual,” he comments when they stop at a traffic light, fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel. “Your coat of fur makes you look bigger than how you actually are.”

Dream doesn’t react. He startles a bit when he feels Hob’s hand on his fur, gently caressing it. “Hmm, your hair is still smooth even though it’s wet. How strange.”

He pushes the hand away, feeling a little bit irritated. He’s getting too comfortable around Hob that his defense seems to lower. Hob gets the message and doesn’t try to touch Dream again, so the rest of their ride passes in silence.

“We’re home,” Hob announces, stopping the car. “Well, my home, at least. You might become a frequent visitor at this rate. I wonder if your owner knows about this.”

Dream lets Hob lift him into a one-arm embrace as he uses his other arm to close the car door. Hob half-walks, half-sprints into the inn as the rain is still downpouring, his damp clothes and Dream’s half-dried fur get wet once again.

“Sorry, I don’t have an umbrella in my car,” Hob apologises as his hand fumbles with the key as they reach his flat. “I’ll give you a quick bath and then dry your fur. Can cats get hypothermia? Hmm, I’m afraid that the answer is yes. Can’t risk getting you sick due to my carelessness.”

After closing the door, Hob gets straight into the bathroom. He gently puts Dream inside the bathtub. “May I take off that collar?”

Morpheus stays still as the man reaches for his collar, eyes focusing on the ajar door. Hob puts the collar on the space above the sink before stripping his clothes off, leaving only his boxer shorts on. He grabs a few bottles of soap, scrutinising their labels in an attempt to figure out whether they’re safe for animals or not.

“Alright, I have this fragrance-free one that’s marked safe for pe— Hey, where are you going!”

Dream hisses when Hob swiftly lifts him up from the floor when he is trying to quietly sneak away. Hob scowls at him as he puts Dream back in the bathtub, “Stay still and let me bathe you. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Morpheus stares at him with distrust. Hob seems to realise the hostility in his gaze, so he rolls his eyes, “I bathed my son before, even though that was a really long time ago. I also bathed the dogs I once had, so don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drown you.”

Dream is distracted by the thought Oh, he had dogs? so he doesn’t notice when Hob reaches for the showerhead. He startles as warm water suddenly pours down on his fur.

“Easy there,” Hob holds the shower head in one hand, his other hand places on Dream’s body to keep him still. Morpheus growls at him but doesn’t make an attempt to use his claws. Soon enough, he’s soaked wet again, and Hob turns off the water, chuckling at him. “You’re really like, fifty percent fur, buddy.”

His hands reach forward, gently massaging Dream. Dream wants to bristle and hackle his hair but it’s too drenched and heavy for him to do it now, so after two failed attempts, he begrudgingly allows Hob to use his fingers to comb his coat thoroughly.

Hob then takes the bottle of soap and squirts a generous amount of it into his palm, mixing it with some water. Morpheus takes a few tentative steps away but he doesn’t have anywhere else to go since it’s already the other side of the bathtub. He bares his fangs as Hob approaches him with two hands full of bubbling soap. “C’mon, it’ll make your fur clean and shiny, trust me.”

Dream slaps a splash of water into Hob’s face as the human crouches down, and Hob yelps in surprise. He takes it as a chance to jump out of the bathtub but the slippery floor isn’t friendly with his wet paws, making him stumble. Hob catches him by his hip, putting him back in the tub, now with soap on his fur. His hands are a little bit more forceful now, stroking back and forth all over Dream’s back, both his sides and then his legs, producing a lot of bubbles.

“It’s almost done, just be patient for a second!”

Dream reacts to that by hopping onto Hob’s shoulders as a drenched cat covered in soap bubbles, swinging his tail in his friend’s face. 

“Ow!”

Hob yelps, this time a bit more irritated. One of his arms flings toward the shower head when the other one tries to get a grip on Dream’s body but ends up grabbing his tail, making him hiss as the pain jolts all over his nerves.

“Ouch, I’m sorry!”

Hob grimaces as water flows heavily on both of them a second later. He decides to get inside the bathtub, pulling Dream down with him. Since Hob wants to fight dirty, Morpheus bites him on his hand and splashes more water at him.

“Hey! That hurts!”

Dream gets two arms around him as his whole body is pushed down the shallow-filled bathtub. Hob is careful to not let his head submerge in the water, but it’s irritating when he’s being held firmly like this, so Dream claws at Hob and hisses more angrily.

“I can’t believe I’m wrestling with a cat,” Hob groans with disbelief, reaching one hand to turn off the running water, the other one still keeping a firm grip around his body as he leans down to press his torso against Dream, so now Dream’s stuck between Hob and the bottom of the bathtub. “Please just let me finish this, will you?”

… Agree. I can’t believe I’m wrestling with you as a cat either.

Morpheus doesn’t want to hurt Hob, so after a few seconds of hesitation, he retracts the claws that are pressing against the man’s chest. This turn of events is getting more and more ridiculous. Perhaps he should consider stopping this little endeavour.

The bath continues uneventfully compared to its first half. Dream lets Hob lather the soap on him more thoroughly this time, as Hob massages his skin with all the gentleness his calloused hands can offer – which is surprisingly a lot. Morpheus has to admit that it’s quite relaxing, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds until he hears a chuckle.

“You’re purring.”

His eyes snap open as he glares at Hob. Dream doesn’t even notice the sound he just made. How embarrassing.

The human blinks at that, and then he wordlessly uses one hand to make a ‘zipping my mouth shut’ gesture. It will be even lower than Morpheus’ usual level of pettiness to start another fight for something he did that isn’t Hob’s fault, so he decides to let the matter slide. He’ll watch himself more carefully to not have the incident happen again.

After finishing the massage, Hob pulls up the bathtub stopper to drain the water inside it when he starts to rinse the soap away. His fingers comb over Dream’s fur again, this time with those golden irises quietly following the movements. Hob then dampens a small towel to clean Dream’s face, careful not to touch his eyes when Morpheus closes them.

“We’re done.”

Hob’s grin is full of satisfaction as he takes a big towel, and gently wraps it around Dream before lifting him up and taking a few steps away from the bathtub. He puts Dream on the dry tiles near the door, rubbing the remaining dampness on his fur with the towel.

“Hey, I’m sorry that I grabbed your tail before,” Hob says quietly as his hands move around Dream’s front legs. “It was accidental. I didn’t mean to do that.”

To be fair, Morpheus should also apologise for starting the ruckus in the first place but he can’t speak as a cat now. He doesn’t think he’s that sorry for their little fight, though, but looking from another perspective, he knows that Hob just wants to help. His lingering irritation for the unwanted bath dissipates when he looks at the man’s genuine expression. Dream lifts his tail up slightly, the tip of it curves just a little as he makes his whole body more relaxed underneath the towel, hoping that Hob’s observant enough to pick up those little signs. Judging by the soft smile on Hob’s face, his friend doesn’t disappoint.

“Achoo!”

Hob sneezes loudly into his elbow and he shivers a little. Dream watches him with a bit wary in his eyes. He’s bathed and his fur is mostly dry now but Hob still hasn’t taken a bath yet.

“Guess that I have to take a quick shower first,” Hob chuckles at him apologetically when he lifts the towel away, throwing it into a basket in a corner. “I’ll be quick, so please don’t leave while I’m in there, alright? I haven’t finished drying your fur.”

Morpheus gets out of the bathroom as he decides to stay. It’s still early and he can afford to linger here for a little bit longer. His fur probably will dry on its own quickly, there’s no need to—

“I’m done!”

The bathroom door swing opens. Dream stares at his human friend in disbelief as the man emerges from that room, a towel around his waist, hair still dripping wet. He’s holding a blow dryer in his left hand with a grin on his face. Morpheus feels a corner of his mouth twitch into a dry smile.

… Four minutes for a shower. He really keeps his promise to be quick, then.

…

Chapter Text

9, Softest lullaby.

…

“So I’ve been thinking,” Hob raises his voice slightly as the blow dryer is on. “There are too many possibilities for your names, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll know whether I guess it right or not.” 

The dryer is set on its lowest level, and Hob guesses he’s lucky that the cat doesn’t seem to mind it much. His other hand is holding a comb with big teeth and a wide gap between each of those, occasionally combing the cat’s fur. He doesn’t have a specialised brush for pets since he doesn’t own one, but he figures that this will work okay enough as an alternative to detangle the fur if needed.

So far, Hob hasn’t found any matted spots. And despite the lengthy coat, this one doesn’t seem to shed much. It must be healthy to have fur this sleek. Hob secretly hopes that he gave the cat an appropriate bath, or else he would be truly sorry if he accidentally caused any harm to this magnificent creature.

“That’s why I’ve come to a decision that instead of trying to guess your name, I’ll switch to choosing one that fits you,” Hob continues after a moment of silence. “Based on the colour of your fur, I think I’ll call you Midnight until I find something else better,” he nods, feeling pleased with his choice. “Does it sound good?”

The cat gives him the most unimpressed look he has ever seen on a cat. That makes him cackle.

“Oh c’mon, give me a reaction, bud—I mean, Midnight,” Hob corrects himself with the new name, shrugging nonchalantly. “At least I’m not calling you Cat.”

Now the cat eyes him with mild annoyance. Hob clicks his tongue teasingly when he turns off the hair dryer, “Or do you prefer Cat?”

The cat stares at Hob for two more seconds before turning its head away. Hob jokingly calls it Cat a few times, and of course, he gets no response, but that only makes him laugh. “Alright, I think I’ll stop now. You seem offended,” he decides as his laugh quiets down to some giggles, “By the way, you’re a male, aren’t you?”

For a second, Hob thinks that he’s about to get attacked, judging by the way the cat turns its head to stare at him with a menacingly intense glare.

“Wow, it does feel like you understand many things I said. I have to say it’s both impressive and scary,” Hob blinks in awe, and then he exhales softly. “You’re strangely intelligent, so please hear me out, okay? I swear that I didn’t mean to provoke you. It’s just that I bathed you so it kind of naturally occurred to me, alright? I’m sorry if I upset you.”

The cat looks like it’s a bit puzzled at the sudden sincerity in his tone – or maybe it’s the sudden word vomit, Hob isn’t sure which – as its gaze seems to soften. Hob holds their eye contact for a moment, wondering whether he’s reading too much into the cat’s actions. He can’t shake the feeling that this cat understands human language to an almost bizarre extent, but at the same time, it also shows various typical feline traits – or as far as he can tell, those are cat-like behaviours. Too bad that Hob isn’t a cat expert, so he can only treat his observations as opinions and not professional assessments. 

He strongly believes that his opinion that the cat isn’t angry with him anymore is right, though, when its tail gently sways toward him and then brushes against his side.

“I’ll take this as a cue that you forgive me. Thanks, Midnight,” Hob smiles. 

The cat’s fur seems to dry now, so Hob turns off the dryer, then adds a few more brushes as the final touch. As his eyes scan the black cat from the tips of its ears to the bushy tail to evaluate his work on drying and combing its fur, he can’t help but notice something. “By the way, I have to say that you’re perfect for cuddling right now with all that fluffiness, do you know that?”

The cat looks into his eyes again, this time not with aggression or annoyance but amusement, if Hob guesses correctly. He has to admit that its golden eyes are remarkably expressive. Hob has a distant feeling that if he stares into those orbs for too long, he might get lost inside those bottomless abysses. On another note, the depth of those eyes kinda reminds him of someone—

Hob’s stomach loudly rumbles, interrupting his thought. He glances down, frowning, “Almost forget that I need to eat lunch,” his gaze is back to the cat. “I’m still keeping that cat food bag, just in case you want some,” Hob waits for a reaction from the cat, and he shrugs when he doesn’t get any. “No? Alright then.”

Hob goes to his kitchen, still with only a towel wrapping around his waist. He feels a bit lazy to cook anything, so after musing for a couple of seconds, he decides to just make some instant noodles. There are still some packets in one of those drawers. Hob smiles triumphantly when he finds one of his favourite flavours.

The next steps are easy. He fills his electric kettle, tears two of the noodle packs, and puts the ingredients into a bowl.

“Sometimes I like telling my students trivial facts about history like a Japanese man named Momofuku Ando invented the first instant noodles around the end of the 1950s,” Hob comments when he notices that the cat already follows him to the kitchen and now is sprawling on its counter. “I can’t say how much I love the convenience it possesses. Best thing since sliced bread in my humble opinion.”

It takes the kettle about two minutes to start whistling loudly, and Hob turns it off before pouring boiling water into the prepared bowl. He continues his ramble as he puts a lid over the bowl, “Of course, eating too many instant noodles isn’t good for health but fortunately, I don’t have to care much about the negative side effects.”

He reaches an arm over to give a cat a stroke along its back. It allows him to touch the gorgeous, freshly washed fur, and Hob lets out a sigh of contentment. He continues to pet the cat for a while before checking the status of his noodle.

“I’ll put in some slices of ham,” Hob strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I still have some left in my fridge, I suppose,” he turns toward the cat. “Do you think adding one more egg might be too much or will it be just the right amount?”

Dream lazily blinks at him, and Hob interprets it as he pleases. “Okay, I’ll add one egg, too.”

When the noodle soup threatens to flow out of the bowl, Hob takes it as a cue to stop adding more toppings. He gets a pair of chopsticks before bringing the bowl to the kitchen counter and placing it down next to the cat.

Dream slightly sides away from the hotness it exudes. Hob chuckles at his reaction, “You’re welcome to try some if you want to, but please don’t knock my lunch off the counter.”

Morpheus hasn’t thought of that, but oh well now that sounds tempting. He decides against it though, since he doesn’t want a brewing hot bowl of noodles spilling all over the counter and might get to his fur. Not to mention that it can burn his friend, and will be a pain to clean up.

Hob uses the chopsticks to pick up some noodles skillfully as a true Asian. He blows at them a few times before slurping, sighing with satisfaction when the spicy flavour attacks his taste buds. He chews and swallows before standing up to get a can of cool beer from his fridge. “I almost forgot how spicy this one is,” he explains after taking a gulp, glancing at Dream. “I wonder if cats can eat spicy food… Hmm, better not to try. I don’t want to accidentally give you a stomachache.” Or worse, food poisoning or something. Such a picky eater like this cat surely doesn’t have a stomach made of steel like him, with centuries of training under his belt. 

Dream isn’t going to try any of the noodles, but he can appreciate the thoughtfulness of his friend’s action. Hob continues to eat, the comfortable silence sometimes interrupted by his ramble about some random topics popping up in his mind, or his soft winces when the spiciness gets to him.

The chopsticks make some cling-clang noises when Hob drops them into the now empty bowl, sighing happily, “I’m so full. Probably shouldn’t have added that many slices of ham. Or I could’ve made just one instead of two packs.”

He takes a few moments to inhale and exhale as if it would help to reduce the feeling of fullness. Hob shakes his head slightly when he collects the bowl and brings it to the sink. “Do you know that overindulgence is one of the Seven Deadly Sins? Well, I think the correct name is Gluttony, or Gula in its Latin roots. Talking about that… I don’t think that I’d ever reach heaven in the afterlife since I’ve committed all of those sins in my past.” An edge of wistfulness echoes in Hob’s voice as he continues, “Maybe some of them still linger till today, if I’m being honest. I’m not a model human, after all.”

He washes the bowl and the chopsticks, putting them on the rack to let them dry. He turns toward Dream with a smile. When he speaks again, some cheerfulness blends in his tone now, more energetic and mischievous, “But I’m not worried about that at all! You see, I’ve been blessed with an incredible gift called immortality,” he waves his arms in a dramatic way, voice half an octave higher and delightful. He winks at Dream, “Since it’s unlikely that you’ll tell anyone my secret, I think I can share it with you, Midnight.”

If he’s in his human form, Morpheus would’ve snickered or given his friend a flat look to hide the actual amusement underneath. He only flicks his tail in response since he’s a cat now, though, but Hob seems to take it as a sign of encouragement for him to continue talking. He somehow manages to launch a mini-lecture about the origin of the Seven Deadly Sins that lasts for approximately ten minutes before he laughs at himself.

“I’m being so silly, aren’t I? Standing in my kitchen with just a towel wrapped around myself, trying to teach a cat about some religious topic that I personally don’t fully believe in,” he continues to giggle, “If any of my colleagues see me now, they probably would think I’ve finally lost it. And, oh well, I probably should put on some clothes,” he sneezes. “If I catch a cold just by staying in my apartment almost naked, then it’ll push me through a whole new level of dumbassery.”

Dream can agree with Hob on the part about how silly this whole scenario is, but he finds it rather amusing and hilarious. Morpheus also conveniently ignores a tiny voice inside his head that muses It’s kind of endearing, isn’t it? Must be that he’s spent too much time with Hob recently that some of his silliness is rubbing off on him.

“You wanna come with me?” Hob’s voice pulls Dream out of his train of thought. He tilts his head at the human quizzically, to which Hob smiles, “I haven’t introduced you to my bedroom, have I? C’mon, you just get bathed and combed so I won’t worry about you shedding your fur all over my bed sheet.”

Well, if he says so… Dream ponders for a moment before jumping off the kitchen counter and then sauntering toward Hob, to which the human watches for a few seconds before letting out a contagious laugh.

“You walk like a king,” he comments, voice light and full of amusement. “Well, my Royal Highness, please allow me to invite you into my humble abode,” he pauses for a second as if he just remembers something. “Well, if you don’t mind how jam-packed inside it is, since I haven’t had time to re-organise all my stuff.”

Judging by how tidy the rest of the apartment is, Dream surely doesn’t expect Hob’s bedroom to look like… whatever this mess is. He muses silently after walking through the door, his friend is such a secret hoarder.

Hob’s bedroom could easily be the biggest one in the apartment if it isn’t for how cluttered and cramped it is. Save for the somewhat empty bed, there are piles of papers and books on the nightstand, stacks of boxes covering half of a wall and two of its corners, and heaps and bundles of various things – many of which shouldn’t belong in a bedroom. Still, Hob moves in between tiny spaces with the practiced ease of someone who has done it hundreds of times before.

“Be careful or you might hurt your paws,” he lightly warns when Dream tentatively puts a leg forward. “And please don’t jump into any of my boxes, some of them contain fragile things.”

I wasn’t going to. Don’t give me ideas.

“I should’ve moved those things into the guest bedroom and made it a storage already, but I keep postponing it since I’m busy,” Hob explains rather sheepishly as he opens his wardrobe. “I rarely have guests over, so that room is there only to gather dust. Better to give it another purpose to make it more useful.”

Dream watches as Hob pulls out a pair of sweatpants, along with boxer shorts. Inside the wardrobe seems to be organised neatly, so it looks like Hob doesn’t include collecting various types of clothes as a hobby too. Well, probably that’s because all those old-fashioned clothes will be hard to keep in good condition, and won’t serve much of a purpose besides being souvenirs from the past.

Hob gets changed relatively quickly while Dream examines a stack of papers out of curiosity, and also for being respectful toward his friend’s privacy. Hob probably doesn’t mind a cat, but if he knows it’s Dream, he might not act that casually. Besides, Dream thinks he has seen enough in the kitchen already. Hob has nice back muscles, though, probably for centuries of training and working non-stop. Keeping such a healthy body for that long as a mere human certainly isn’t easy.

After getting in the sweatpants and closing his wardrobe, Hob plops on the mattress, letting out a sigh of contentment. Dream eyes him with mild interest, and Hob’s face brightens up a bit when their gazes meet. 

“Come here, buddy,” the human grins lazily, patting the space next to him. “It’s soft, believe me. You will like it.”

Morpheus takes a long moment to decide which way he should walk through to get to the bed before taking it. Hob waits patiently, and when Dream is on the same bed with him, he hovers a hand over the glossy fur, grinning, “May I pet you?”

Just a few strokes along his back shouldn’t hurt his pride. Dream contemplates for some seconds before lying down, swishing his tail toward the other’s arm. Taking it as permission, Hob tentatively puts his hand on the fur, and a satisfied grin blooms on his face.

They spend a moment of comfortable silence before Hob speaks up again.

“It just now occurs to me that whenever you’re around, I spend the rest of that day doing nothing in particular but it’ll end up being one of the highlights of my week,” he chuckles fondly, “You’re good company. I feel relaxed with you.”

Dream leans into the touch as he nudges his head in Hob’s palm, hoping that it would convey The sentiments are mutual. His eyes catch a glimpse of something – a patch of darker skin on a side of Hob’s chest. He blinks, and then quickly realises what it is. A scar.

“Are you curious, Midnight?” Hob cackles when the cat tentatively puts a paw on the scar on the right side of his chest. It’s a big one with thickened tissues, rounded at the edges, with a faint hint of discoloration. He traces two fingers along a part of it, with a melancholic smile on his face as the old memories surface. “I got this in a battle. It was a long, long time ago, around the early 1400s, I think. Medicine wasn’t that great back then. I remember losing a lot of blood, and Warin, one youngling who just got accepted in our group, bawled his eyes out as he thought I was dying.” he pauses to look at the cat, chuckling at himself. “I haven’t told anyone this little story before, but I figure that it’s safe to tell you since you’re a cat. You probably don’t understand my ramble, anyway, but thanks for listening.”

The cat slightly tilts its head at him. Hob absentmindedly pats its head, calloused fingers are so gentle when he scratches the cat’s chin.

“I once heard someone stating, ‘War scars are men’s medals of bravery’, but I respectfully disagree,” Hob softly shakes his head. “I’ve had my fair share of wars and bloodshed. Used to enjoy it, actually, when I was younger and more foolish. But as years went by, I started to despise wars more and more.”

His tone becomes more melancholic as the story continues. Hob tells it in a way a teacher would tell stories to his curious students, full of intriguing information but purposely vague at points to make it untraceable about the origins and the actual timeline when each story began and ended – captivating and mysterious. He would make a good thriller novelist, Dream muses silently.

The hand which is caressing Morpheus’ fur gets slower and more sluggish as Hob’s breaths grow more steady and even. He falls into his slumber quietly like that, one arm still drapes over the cat’s warm body, and at one point he tugs Dream underneath his chin. Morpheus doesn’t find it in him to complain about being trapped in Hob’s arms like this, but he will never admit that he likes the warmth and fuzzy feeling of the embrace. Well, alright, it doesn’t hurt for him to stay for a little bit longer, right?

Sleep well, my friend.

…