Chapter Text
Human soul was a curious thing, Hob Gadling has always thought. It grew and changed. Learned and experienced. Living was a little bit like being stranded in Space – or so Hob imagined - trying to reach the edge, a finish line, yet always discovering there was more. More paths unwalked, more feeling unfelt, more wonders unseen.
In fact, Hob had decided long ago that he would never tire of living – yet he couldn’t get rid of an undercurrent of doubt, coming to his mind unbidden, birds of prey feasting on uncertainty and fear. Sometimes they visited him months apart, sometimes even years or decades. And he wondered. What if the world no longer surprised him? If he got bored of the same human life, lived over and over again? If he simply dried out, like a well running out of water, until it became nothing but an empty husk, lacking some crucial piece that once made it whole?
Those thoughts have always scared Hob, so he pushed them away, stored in a locked cell somewhere deep inside of himself. Tried to throw the key away. Drown it, burn it, bury it. It never worked though – and sooner or later the thoughts broke free, clawing at Hob’ soul, leaving a mark, until he was able to chain them again.
And yet…
On a particular August evening, Hob did something he’s never done before: he set those thoughts and doubts free. Unlocked the cell, let them come to the surface of his mind and waited. He expected them to claw at the fabric of his soul, until they tore a hole big enough he would start doubting his resolve, question the purpose of a life unending.
So now, Hob waited…and felt nothing. It was like those little claws of doubt couldn’t reach him, like there was a solid wall separating them from Hob. Or some sort of soft fabric rendering their bites harmless. Hob exhaled and smiled to himself. He wasn’t wrong, then.
“A penny for your thoughts?” a voice, silky and deep, brought Hob back to the present.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t own any actual pennies,” Hob tried to look at Morpheus through half-lidded eyes, wincing as the morning sun streamed into the room, rendering him unable to see for a second.
“And you, apparently, own a lot of them” Morpheus said, his features slowly coming into focus, clear blue eyes staring at Hob from mere inches away. They were lying face-to-face, breaths mingling, tips of Morpheus’ hair gently brushing against Hob’s forehead.
“Yes, well, funny how that works” Morpheus smiled at Hob’s remark. He wasn’t wrong though, Hob thought to himself. Because currently they were occupying a very soft bed, in a very nice bedroom, in a very posh apartment Hob happened to own. Huh.
Technically, Hob shouldn’t have been able to afford that. Not with his teacher’s paygrade. But then the New Inn started doing exceptionally well, bringing Hob more profit in 3 years than it has in the previous 30 years. Apparently, being on friendly terms with one of the Endless was good for business. Or so Hob told himself – Morpheus smiling slyly every time Hob mentioned his sudden success.
And maybe “friendly terms” wasn’t quite what they were.
It’s been three years since Morpheus came to the New Inn for the first time and Hob had a really hard time imagining going back in time and into his life before that day. It was almost like he had been a different person then, like this other life happened to someone else, someone who was able to exist within the confines of their every-one-hundred-years meetings routine. Well, this wasn’t who Hob was now and he really didn’t miss that life of leashed feelings, of constant fear that if he let them loose, the loneliness would crush and break him.
Since Hob could now visit Morpheus in the Dreaming almost on a whim – and with Morpheus able to return the favour, their meetings were something of a fixed point in their respective schedules’. At least, it felt that way for Hob – but then he didn’t have a whole kingdom to run and control.
Still, they were usually able to squeeze at least two meetings a week into their day-to-day life. They sometimes met in the Dreaming – where Morpheus would show Hob some of his prouder creations and had even, on three separate occasions, let Hob watch him at work. Which was quite an unforgettable experience– both on account of how brilliantly magical it was and how Morpheus’ face transformed with concentration and something else, something much more intimate and unworldly. Hob had a hard time not thinking about it while he was at work. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Then, on many days (or nights) they met in the Waking – which seemed only fair to Hob – because as much as he liked being able to visit Morpheus, he was even more glad when Morpheus came to him, when he chose to come to him. Those meetings usually took place in Hob’s apartment, where they could enjoy each other intimately – not only in the physical sense. Sometimes, Hob was even able to convince Morpheus to go out with him, experience some of the things that made being human special. On those occasions, they would often end up in the New Inn – and more than once, Morpheus decided to try foods and alcohols available on the menu. Hob was always delighted when he did that – and the memory of Morpheus trying Hob’s favourite sticky toffee pudding now lived rent-free in Hob’s mind.
Presently, though, Morpheus was still watching Hob from inches away, his face unreadable and almost…soft. Hob decided to dissect that look later, because as it was, he was already running late for class.
Hob sat up reluctantly, Morpheus stretching beside him like a cat. If Morpheus had a spirit animal it would definitely be a cat, Hob has always thought. And that idea alone was enough to make him smile and half-lean over Morpheus. He gently brushed Morpheus’ hair away from his forehead, which earned him a contented sigh.
“What is it today?” Morpheus asked Hob, leaning slightly into Hob’s touch, Hob’s hand now gently tracing the line of Morpheus’ jaw.
“English literature. 16th and 17th century. First years.”
“They’re in for a treat then.” Morpheus smiled “I doubt there’s anyone else who has as passionate feelings about William Shakespeare as you do.”
Hob let out a snort at that, because of course Morpheus would tease him now, just before he had to leave for work. Well…if that was the road Morpheus wanted to go down, so be it. Being on time for classes be damned.
“You never told me what deal” Hob started, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Morpheus jaw, then kissing the way down his neck “you made with him, exactly” he added, punctuating each word with another kiss.
Morpheus went still for a moment and then, there was a hand snaking around Hob’s waist, Morpheus switching their positions, Hob now sprawled with his back on the bed and Morpheus’ hungry eyes inches from his own.
“It was a play” Morpheus breathed into the space between them, his lips brushing against Hob’s gently.
“What?” Morpheus’ answer startled Hob, because he wasn’t really expecting one. True, Morpheus was much more open with him then he was when they had been meeting in the White Horse, but he still wasn’t keen on divulging more intimate details of his life.
“A play. Or two plays, actually. I made a deal with him – he wrote two plays that celebrate dreams and in exchange I immortalized his words in the minds of men.”
Hob was staring at Morpheus. A moment passed. And then he let out a slightly hysterical laugh because of course this was their deal. Oh, how wrong he had been for almost 450 years now.
“Plays that celebrate dreams, so…”A Midsummer Night's Dream”, obviously.”
“Obviously” Morpheus smirked at him, and from inches away the view was doing funny things to Hob’s insides.
“And…” Hob racked his brain for an obvious answer and came up with nothing.
“The Tempest” Morpheus supplied. Of course it was.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing, I just always liked that one, actually. To my great horror, of course”
Morpheus smiled and Hob’s heart sang. So when Morpheus’ lips pressed against his, gently at first and then more and more insistently, the only coherent thought left in Hob’s mind was that he wouldn’t be teaching class that day, after all.
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A week later, Hob was perched on the edge of his sofa, grading an exam covering “The Tempest” and ”A Midsummer Night's Dream”. (It was supposed to cover Shakespeare’s works in general but Hob’s mind must have strayed when he came up with the questions).
Hob stretched his legs and looked at the window. He was supposed to meet Morpheus tonight – presumably in the Waking, because otherwise Morpheus would have sent Matthew to let Hob know.
The thing was, Hob was supposed to meet Morpheus three days past as well, but neither Matthew nor Morpheus made an appearance at Hob’s apartment. Strange. But Hob supposed he could understand that – after all, Morpheus’ had responsibilities beside Hob and he wasn’t going to abandon any kind of dream-emergency for Hob.
Thankfully, the last time he has seen Morpheus they made plans concerning not one but two meetings. Which was why, Hob was now glancing through his window, the world slowly turning from grey to black, an almost full moon illuminating the streets.
The moon travelled through the sky, finally disappearing below the horizon, leaving the night sky dark and full of stars. Still, there was no sign of Morpheus. Or from Morpheus, for that matter.
Hob was debating his options, fear an insistent whisper somewhere inside his head, claws of doubt grabbing at him with renewed fervor. What if Morpheus got captured again? What if there was some sort of celestial war and Morpheus was at risk? What if there was another dream vortex threatening the Dreaming?
Finally, when the first rays of orange sunrise began to appear on the horizon, Hob made up his mind. He closed the curtains and climbed into bed. There would be no harm in checking if everything was fine, he reasoned when he closed his eyes.
Slipping into the Dreaming was much easier for Hob these days, because he knew exactly what to look for, how to focus on where he wanted to get to. It was a little bit like jumping off a cliff and into the ocean, cold waves swallowing him whole, until he didn’t know where was up and where was down. Usually, this feeling lasted for only few seconds before Hob blinked awake, finding himself inside Morpheus’ palace.
Today, though, the ocean seemed murkier and colder than before. More confusing and dense, as if Hob wasn’t swimming in water, but rather in something sluggish and dark. He struggled for a moment, focused all of his will on Morpheus and the Dreaming and finally, he felt himself slipping away and into the world he came to know so intimately over the previous 3 years.
Hob blinked and sat up, finding himself surrounded with books. The library. There were footsteps behind Hob and he turned to find Lucienne looking at him from a few shelves away. Hob liked Lucienne from the moment he’s met her, almost three years ago. Along with Matthew, she was one of Hob’s closest friends in the Dreaming. And she cared for Morpheus, never afraid to stand up to him when he was being stubborn, apparently. So of course Hob liked her.
What he didn’t like though, was the way Lucienne was looking at him now, after she has discovered him crammed between the rows of her books. There was something almost sad in her features, something very much like regret.
“Lucienne?” Hob felt fear creeping up his throat, his voice unsteady “I’m here-“
“I know, why you are here, Hob” Lucienne’s voice was full of something sounding very much like pity “but you can’t see him.”
“What happened?” Hob was on his feet in an instant, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Nothing happened, exactly,” Lucienne hesitated “it’s just…”
“It’s just what, Lucienne?” Hob dimly noticed his voice was growing panicked.
“He…Lord Morpheus doesn’t want to see you.” Lucienne straightened, her gaze boring into Hob, pinning him in place “I am so sorry, but I am under his orders.”
Hob’s ears were ringing now, Lucienne’s next words completely inaudible and only one thought pushing its way into the surface of his mind.
A startled, heartbroken “why?”