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“Oh good,” said the Corinthian, in a way that implied the opposite. “It’s you.”
A tall, dark silhouette under a flickering streetlight. Two stars twinkled at him from the darkness.
The Corinthian crossed his arms.
“Come to drag me back to The Dreaming, kicking and screaming?”
Dream stepped forward, backlit dramatically in an obviously intentional way.
“If you’re not smart enough to come willingly.”
The Corinthian put his hands on his hips and sighed. His left hand felt the handle of the pearl-handled knife in his pocket.
“So, how are we doing this? Big fight? Chase scene? If you think you can take me in without getting your perfect face or your delicate hands cut up, you’re in for a surprise. I’m like a cat. I’ve got claws.”
“I know. I gave them to you. A mistake I will not make a second time.”
“Like you’ll get the chance.”
Dream cocked his head and smiled. “Oh, little nightmare, how foolish you are. How full of hubris. If only-“
He stopped. There was a strange expression on his face.
A beat.
“If only?“ prompted the Corinthian. “I assume you had a sick burn locked and loaded?”
Dream didn’t answer. He took a deep breath, like he was trying to shake something off. His cheeks were flushed.
Did they do that? Was that a thing his cheeks did? The Corinthian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen them do that.
“ . . . Buddy?” the Corinthian tried, a little thrown. “You okay?”
Dream took another deep breath, and then shook his head slowly and smiled, mostly to himself.
“It appears my siblings are playing a cruel prank on me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, they-“ He stopped again, pausing to stare up at the sky and clench his fists in a way that was less angry and more frustrated. “They think they’re quite funny.”
“ . . . Which ones? Siblings, I mean.”
Dream didn’t answer, just shook his head and looked flushed.
The Corinthian stared, and then smiled, realizing.
“Is it-”
“Don’t.”
“ . . . It’s Desire, isn’t it?”
Dream was clenching and unclenching his hands in a way that was restless in the absence of something.
“Well, Corinthian,” he said, clearly struggling to keep an even tone. “It appears that it’s your lucky day. I shall return for you.”
With that, he turned to leave.
The Corinthian watched. It really was his lucky day, he reflected. No way he could win a fight against Dream. The universe had given him a freebie.
In the distance, coat swishing as he walked, Dream pushed his messy, dark, long hair back.
Hmm. Fuck. Shit. Hmm.
The Corinthian was nothing if not an opportunist. He’s the cat in that thing people say about curiosity.
And he was curious.
This was an awful idea.
“Wait!” he called, jogging to catch up with Dream, fully knowing this act of hedonism might literally kill him.
Dream froze, but did not turn around.
“So,” said the Corinthian, jogging to a stop a few feet behind him. “I was thinking-“
“Dangerous.”
“Yes, yes. Ha ha. I was thinking. You created me for a purpose, right? In your eyes, I’m a tool. You created me to help you. You created me to serve you. You created me for the purpose of solving a problem, right?”
Silence for a long, long, moment. The Corinthian stared at the back of Dream’s head, contemplating existing and how much he liked doing that.
“ . . . To put it simply. Your point,” said Dream, in a tone that implied that his point better be good.
The Corinthian smiled completely to himself, reveling in his own bad decisions. It’s fun to be messy.
“So, you’ve got a problem, right? And I’m right here. And I know you could solve it on your own. But I was thinking that maybe I could help you solve your problem.”
Silence, but like, the kind of silence where even the white noise stops. Like the universe is at a loss for words in the face of the audacity.
“Are you implying-“
“Exactly what you think I’m implying.”
“You dare proposition the King of Dreams?”
“Apparently.”
Another moment of silence.
The Corinthian tapped his expensive loafers against the cobblestone.
Finally, Dream turned around. Slowly, dramatically.
He looked at the Corinthian, hands in his pockets, chin tilted up, cheeks flushed as much as possible on his pale face, looking at him through lowered lashes. The face of contempt.
But also, maybe the face of . . . desperation? Shame, maybe?
Hmm. Was this doing it for the Corinthian? It was. Yeah, it really was. Absolutely.
Without a word, Dream turned on his heel and strode past the Corinthian into the house.
The Corinthian smiled to himself and shook his head.
Fuck.
—-
The Corinthian’s residence - this one, at least - was furnished with aggressively modern decor. A studio with a large white rug and a king bed with floor to ceiling mirrors overlooking London.
“Now,” he said, dimming the light on his mid century modern lamp. “No shame, but have you done this kind of thing before? Because I actually have a lot of experience so maybe I could - oh.”
He turned around, where Dream was already half undressed.
The bottom half.
“Okay, nevermind. Guess you . . . know what’s what.”
Dream raised an eyebrow as he slipped his arm out of his sleeve and almost, barely, maybe a little bit, smiled.
“You wouldn’t believe some of the things people dream about.”
The Corinthian stepped closer, hands in pockets, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, so you visit those types of dreams too?”
“Visit?” Dream paused, shirt not completely removed from his chest yet, still managing to look imposing, and tilted his head to the side. He shot the Corinthian a knowing and somewhat smug glance.
“Corinthian, I craft those dreams.”
The Corinthian laughed and started on his belt buckle.
“Awesome.”
—
Dream was tall.
The Corinthian stared, blatantly.
He was toned. And did he glow? A little, maybe? In the dark? Like a nightlight?
Dream spread his arms and gave the Corinthian a “well, come on” look. And there was something about it that was so dominant - a king commanding his servant, and yet . . . shame? A hint of shame? Not at nudity. At wanting . . . this? Him?
The Corinthian took a deep, calming, breath. Get it together, man.
Shame. Delicious. He wanted to eat it. The shame of a King. He wanted it to drown in it.
But then a small, sane part of him reminded him that he also wanted to live, so he took a moment to think with his brain instead of with other things.
“Listen, man. As game as I am to do this - and believe me, I’m game - you’re not in danger or anything, right? Because even though your death would solve a problem for me, I don’t really want to get caught up in your family’s whole . . . deal. So if you’d rather handle this problem on your own-“
Dream grabbed him by the lapel and pulled him close.
“Shut up and solve my problem.”
—-
The afterglow was a bit weird.
Partly because the Corinthian was trying to figure out if it was a trick of the moonlight or if Dream’s skin did, literally, glow.
The weirdest part, though, was the fact that Dream was still . . . here.
Lying in the Corinthian’s bed, white sheets draped over parts of him, cheeks flushed, eyes lined with red, staring just into the distance. Like a Renaissance painting.
“I didn’t peg you for a pillowtalk guy.”
Dream glanced over, lazily and, without moving.
“Who’s talking?”
“Understood.”
They laid there. The Corinthian’s hand brushed Dream’s waist and he immediately pulled it back. A touch that ten minutes ago had been more than acceptable, desired even, now seemed dangerous.
“Sooo,” began the Corinthian. “How’s your problem?”
“ . . . Mostly solved.”
“Oh, good. Well, you’re welcome.”
There was a beat.
The Corinthian couldn’t resist.
“ . . . Only mostly, though?”
“Don’t.”
“Okay. Just the one time then. Cool. Totally fine. ”
Dream sighed and rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling, and maybe pointedly not at the Corinthian. Shy? A bit? Maybe?
“I have a headache,” Dream confessed, to the ceiling.
“I didn’t know you could have those.”
“Neither did I.”
Silence, but for the sound of cars in the distance.
“You do this kind of thing often?”
”Hard to say.”
“Weren’t you - didn’t you, um, have someone?”
“I had a wife.”
“ . . . A wife?”
Dream gave him a look, like he was only tolerating this subordination because he was too tired and, honestly, comfortable, to murder him.
“Come on,” said the Corinthian. “You’ve existed for so long, you’ve had so many people-“
“That was love.”
It caught the Corinthian off guard.
“Oh - oh no. Don’t tell me Dream of the Endless is a romantic?”
Dream closed his eyes and maybe, a bit, smiled.
“Perhaps.”
“It’s a bit weird though because isn’t-“
“You really don’t stop talking, do you,” commented Dream, opening one eye.
“No sir! But I was thinking, you created me. So are you like, my father?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But still, a bit incestuous, don’t you think? Dr. Frankenstein hooking up with his monster. Kinda hot, right?”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll keep my weird sexy thoughts to my weird sexy self.”
“If only you would.”
Dream stretched, his long arms reaching the headboard. Like a cat.
The Corinthian rested his head on his hand, settling into a comfortable position to stare.
“What are you going to do about your siblings? You know.”
Dream frowned.
“I shall deal with them. I do not appreciate their pranks.”
“It sounded like you were appreciating them just fine a few minutes ago-“
“Inconvenient,” said Dream, giving him a look from below those long lashes. “They are inconveniently timed. I have business to attend to. Instead, I’m here. Doing . . . this. Shirking my duties.”
“Well,” said the Corinthian, gesturing to himself. “Not to flatter myself, but you could have done a lot worse.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
It took the Corinthian a moment to catch the compliment.
“Oh,” said Dream, softly, so softly that it dragged the Corinthian out of his reverie.
“What?”
“The twins,” said Dream. He looked . . . something. Odd. Not in the earlier way. He looked distressed. “The twins. How could I be so foolish, to think it would end with Desire?”
“Oh, there’s more? Your family is insane. Who’s the other one?”
Dream looked at him, earnestly, suddenly dead vulnerable, with big, watery, eyes.
The Corinthian wasn’t sure what to do with that.
So they just stared at each other for a few honest moments, completely devoid of any pretense.
It was a moment of two men who constantly wear masks sharing an unexpected moment of total honesty.
Then Dream flipped over on his side, pulling his knees up to his chest and facing the wall.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
“Sorry?”
Dream laughed, bitterly.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Busses honked in the distance. The wind shook the trees.
“For a being such as I to be reduced to this. To have failed at my duties, to have disappointed my subjects, to have let everything fall apart in my absence, and absence born out of ego and spite. And now, to be so alone, to have failed at my own relationships so badly, that I must rely on naught by my own failed creations.”
The Corinthian rested his chin on his hand.
“It’s Despair, isn’t it?”
Dream didn’t answer. But if there’s one thing the Corinthian was good at, it was detecting weakness.
He took a calculated risk and put his hand on Dream’s shoulder.
Dream did not react, which was as positive a reaction as Dream’s ego was capable of giving.
His skin was cool to the touch. Shoulder was kinda bony.
The Corinthian sighed. His boss/mortal enemy having a post-coital breakdown in his bed hadn’t been on today’s bingo card.
A moment. Maybe a bit tender.
And then, The Corinthian had a startling thought.
He prayed to God, to Dream himself, to any entity out there, to the universe, that-
He had to check.
He grabbed Dream’s other shoulder and flipped him on his back.
Dream didn’t resist, possibly out of lack of power or just shock at the audacity, and gave the Corinthian an incredibly offended look.
As offended as one can look while crying giant wet tears.
The Corinthian looked down at him and smiled. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, savored this moment.
“What?” Dream managed, indignant but not able to mask the genuine confusion in his voice.
The Corinthian just shook his head and smiled. This was bliss. This was everything. It was better than he’d imagined. He wished he had a camera, but he also knew he’d never forget this exact moment.
All the eyeballs in the world couldn’t grant him this singular pleasure of one singular aspect of this moment.
“What?” Dream asked again, frowning.
The Cortinthian leaned in, savoring this moment, and said, with a level of serenity that implied he’d transcended from the mere sight of what was in front of him;
“Your eyeliner is running.”
—-
It was something of a delight to watch Dream get dressed. No magic, no spells, just a tall lanky guy struggling into a pair of skinny jeans and spending 8 minutes lacing up Doc Martens.
“You know,” commented Dream, shrugging on his coat. “For something without eyes, you’ve mastered the art of staring.”
The Corinthian smiled. Smirked, even.
“Only when there’s something worth staring at.”
Dream shot him a look.
He stood up, rising to his imposing full height, and stared down at the Corinthian, who just laid there, naked, in bed, thinking that if all of his bad decisions had led him to being killed by Dream in this moment, then, well - fuck, I guess.
Instead, Dream gave him an enigmatic nod.
“A favor for a favor.”
The words hung in the air for a second.
Finally, the Corinthian shrugged. Fuck it.
“Sounds fair.”
Dream nodded, with some finality, and turned to leave.
“Hey,” the Corinthian called after him. “You know, you were right. What you said earlier.”
Dream turned his head, slightly, just enough to meet the Corinthian’s gaze.
The Corinthian shot him a winning smile.
“It was my lucky day.”