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There’s something shocking in seeing Hob Gadling like this - almost beaten down, face gaunt and body frail, eyes haunted. Dream doesn’t enjoy it, and reluctant as he is to admit it, a huge wave of concern and fear rolls through him when Hob starts speaking.
He sits there, looking at the man, and realises something very strange - he doesn’t want Hob to die. He doesn’t enjoy seeing him like this, no matter how insufferable Hob was the previous century, and Dream has to admit, at least to himself, that he cares.
And this time, it’s not an abstract care he has for all beings - Dream is not cruel by nature, and his heart, although hidden and well-protected, does feel for others. He wishes to see beings flourish, yes, but with Hob it’s personal. Different from how he feels about his siblings, different even from Nada, and Lucienne, and Jessamy.
It’s almost like Calliope, and isn’t that both scary and interesting?
“I’ve got so much to live for,” Hob whispers brokenly, and Dream breathes out a sigh of relief.
He allows himself a small smile, and then the human meets his eyes, he startles a bit, probably at the warmth in Dream’s eyes. He’s not this open, but this is Hob, and this is Hob who once again proved him wrong.
Dream can't remember the last time it felt so good.
“Allow me to help you,” he says when the night heads to an end, Hob’s head dropping a bit from exhaustion.
“They’re gonna kick me out as soon as you leave,” Hob mumbles. “We both know that.”
“I am aware.” Dream stands up and motions at the barmaid, getting a nod in return - they should heed his instructions. “Which is why there is a room for you, upstairs.”
“I don’t-”
“Hob,” he interrupts. “Allow me to help you.”
Clearly, the human can tell how important (and unusual) it is, for he just lets Dream pull him up, pliant and exhausted. He smells rather terrible, but there’s something even worse - how frail Hob feels under Dream’s hands, his skin barely covering his bones, not an ounce of fat left. Such a huge contrast to the man Dream met in 1589.
“Let us go.”
Hob is more hindrance than help, but Dream doesn’t sweep him into his arms, as much as it would make it easier - he’s aware of how humanity treats those who get too close to their own gender (though he has no gender, not really). Hob’s face is pressed against his shoulder when they finally get into the room, and Dream nods in satisfaction when he sees the tub filled with steaming water.
“I will undress you now,” he informs the man, getting a nod in return.
Dream doesn’t tend to use his powers much in the Waking World, but it feels too intimate to use his hands, especially when Hob is in no state to truly consent and understand what’s happening. He leads the human into the tub, looking over his body - almost a mockery of the human form, incredibly frail and delicate, starved nearly beyond salvation, but still functional. There are no wounds on Hob, just a few bruises and scrapes here and there. The man hisses when hot water touches his skin.
“Lean back.”
Just as Dream instructed, there are 2 additional buckets of water, along with a bowl for pouring and a selection of soaps and salts. He uses them liberally, as Hob is covered in grime and dirt, and the water quickly grows dark from it. The human is barely aware, and Dream moves his body as he sees fit, sliding his soap-covered hands over his skin.
He knows that should anyone from his kingdom see him, they’d be outraged and shocked - the King of the Dreaming kneeling on a wooden floor of an old tavern, dirty water soaking into his pants, servicing a human, helping him bathe.
For once, he does not care.
“Why are you doing this?” Hob asks, voice weak. “I’m just some man, you know this, and after everything-”
“Silence,” Dream orders, not unkindly. “You do not get to decide your worth in my eyes, Hob Gadling, and I make my own choices.”
“Clearly.”
His hands slide into matted, dirty hair, and Hob hisses and jolts - it makes Dream’s heart ache a bit, so he hums gently. Strangely enough, this causes the man to relax under his hands, and Dream keeps humming as he massages soaps and oils into Hob’s hair, gently untangling what he can. What’s beyond salvation he cuts neatly with a dagger he took to keeping on his person, knots and lumps of hair falling to the ground.
“Will you allow me to shave you?” Dream won’t do it without permission, but he can see how irritated and probably painful Hob’s skin is under the beard. “I shall be careful.”
“Do what you wish, old Stranger,” Hob replies, baring his throat easily. “There’s no one I trust more.”
The confession touches something deep within Dream, and he has to focus to steel his hand, keep it steady. It’s not a feeling he experiences often, as his creations trust him naturally, and he rarely gets close enough to others to have it. Here, he knows he has Hob Gadling’s unconditional trust.
The blade is sharp and precise, but so are Dream’s hands as he shaves off the years' worth of facial hair, applying oil afterwards, soothing the skin. With that gone, and his hair clean, Hob looks more like he did in 1489, those huge brown eyes included.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs.
Hob does so without question, and Dream pours the clean water over him, helping him stand afterwards. Hob’s still shaky and swaying on his feet, so Dream grabs him firmly, helping him out of the tub. Water soaks into the floors, but he doesn’t care for now - he wraps the man in towels provided by the inn, and leads him to the bed.
“I procured clothes as well, I hope they will fit you,” Dream says, reaching for the garments.
They’re simple, but he pulled them from the Dreaming, so they’re soft and comfortable. Hob sighs as Dream helps him into them, boneless in his hands, his eyes are big and wet.
“Why are you doing this?” Hob asks again, this time with a sob building in his throat. “I’m nothing. I lost everything; there is not a thing I have to impress you with-”
Dream presses a gentle finger to Hob’s mouth, surprised by his own boldness, but sure in his actions anyway. Brown eyes look up at him, shocked but not repulsed, and Dream smiles.
“It is surprising how blind you can be, Hob Gadling, while seeing so much at the same time,” he says. “You do not have to ‘impress’ me with anything, Hob, you are not a jester in court and I am no king here. I have seen wonders beyond human comprehension, I have seen worlds that long ceased to exist, and yet there is nothing quite like you, like your drive and will to live.”
Silence falls and Hob just stares up at him, awe and surprise in his eyes, though the broken edge is still visible, his spirit not gone, but dimmed.
“You took care of me.”
“This is what friends do, is it not?”
Hob gasps, his mouth opening again under Dream’s finger, and he’s surprised by the sudden flash of heat in his belly at the sight of it. Hob is clearly weakened and tired, but there’s something alluring in him.
His soul, his will to live, his drive… All of it makes him just about the most attractive person Dream has ever met.
“It was dirty work, grimy, and you look like royalty… Weren’t you afraid of staining your image?”
Dream cocks his head to the side. “I find no weakness nor shame in helping you, Hob Gadling. It was not dirty, not when it was you I was cleaning.”
Brown eyes widen, but Dream presses his finger harder against Hob’s mouth, keeping him silent.
“Sleep, Hob, you have more than earned it,” he instructs. “The room is paid for, there is nothing to worry about.”
“Will you stay?” Hob lays down on his side, under a thick blanket, but his eyes remain aware, trained on Dream. “At least until I fall asleep. Please.”
Dream sighs, but sits on the bed by the other’s side, leaning against the wall. Hob is close enough that Dream can feel his warmth, faint as it is because of his weaker body, but it assures him that Hob is still here, still alive, and with every intention of staying this way.
“Sleep,” Dream repeats. “No nightmares will haunt your dreams.”
Exhausted as he is, Hob drifts off almost immediately, though when Dream tries to leave, a desperate hand catches the edge of his coat, almost clutching it. Hob’s still asleep, but he’s frowning now, and Dream relaxes again, pressing a bit closer to him. He lays his hand over the human’s, disliking how strong it looks in comparison to Hob’s - starvation did him no favours.
There’s a feeling of peace and accomplishment in sitting by Hob’s bed, almost guarding his dreams, as if the whole Dreaming wasn’t aware that Robert Gadling is to be protected now, under their King’s watchful eye. Dream can’t remember the last time he cared for someone like that. The only thing that comes to mind is the Dreaming itself, the attention and time he puts into making sure it’s perfect, and it’s not a bad comparison.
Hob is too wild and free to be the Dreaming, too out of Dream’s control, but he finds that he likes it. Even if he has to care for him later, clean his body and feed it, Dream enjoys it. Hob is important, though he has no idea how much.
It's almost dawn by the time Dream leaves, a heavy pouch of coins left on the table for Hob to enjoy - the man has nothing, and Dream knows how the Waking World works. Money is of no concern to him, but Hob lives by the rules and laws of humanity, and Dream wishes to help, strange as it is.
Hob Gadling somehow shifted from an interesting project into a friend, and it’s been a very long time since Dream had one of those.
“You’ve never looked into him.” Lucienne leans against the table in the library, watching Dream open one of Hob’s books. “Even after I offered.”
Dream hums. “Things have changed, Lucienne, and now I find myself curious. Is it good?”
He knows she read it, so he’s not surprised when she nods, a small smile on her face.
“He’s quite a curious and fascinating human, my lord,” she replies. “I think you shall enjoy reading it.”
She’s right, and Dream soon finds himself sneaking out to read Hob’s books in peace, using his free time to do so. He even finds himself wandering into one or two of his friend’s dreams, though never getting too deep - it feels disrespectful to visit the dreams of those he knows personally.
Even though Dream keeps a physical distance, his thoughts stray to Hob Gadling often, and he's content when he checks up on the man to find him healthy and back to his normal form, wearing expensive clothes and working in trade. He’s not one to get involved, not yet, but sometimes Dream thinks back to Hob’s begging, brown eyes, asking him to stay with him, and every time he does, warmth bursts in his chest.
When 1789 comes around, Dream eagerly comes to the Waking World, letting his eyes feast on Hob - healthy and strong yet again, without a beard, hair neatly tied back. With Lady Constantine dealt with, Dream looks into those familiar eyes, and-
“Dream,” he says calmly. “Call me Dream, old friend, and please lead us to a more…private space. I think we have both had enough surprises for one meeting.”
Hob’s eyes almost shine in delight, and the man beams at him, the smile making him look almost boyish and innocent, as if he hadn’t just taken down two trained mercenaries. Dream walks next to him up the stairs, their shoulders brushing, and they both pause for a second when they enter the room they’ve been given.
“That sure takes me back,” Hob chuckles, eyeing the space. “Though I’m a bit cleaner this time around.”
“I am glad to see you healthy, Hob,” Dream says in a reply. “Though taking care of you was my honor and pleasure, I did not enjoy seeing you hurt.”
He’s surprised when Hob flushes brightly at his words, ducking his head to avoid looking at Dream. And it’s been a long time, but even he can tell that there’s something in the air, something that feels a bit like Desire, but at the same lighter and less stifling than his sibling.
“Sometimes I can’t believe how cruel you can be in your kindness, old friend,” Hob says, his back to Dream.
“Do you not wish to call me by my name, Hob?” Normally, Dream enjoys his space, but now he finds himself walking closer to the other man, hovering over his shoulder. “I give it freely.”
“Dream…”
He shudders, finally hearing the sound of his name falling from Hob’s lips, and suddenly Dream hates how long he took in giving him that. It’s as if his name was made to be said by the other man, feeling right in a way it never has before.
“Hob.”
The other man doesn’t move when Dream turns him around, still stubbornly looking at the floor, but easily allowing him to lift his chin with a single finger. Hob’s eyes stray from Dream’s, but he doesn’t take offence.
“I did not realise my kindness was cruelty to you. It was not my intention,” he says firmly. “I realise humans are, at times, beyond my comprehension, and I apologise if my attempt to help cause more harm-”
“No.”
This time it’s Hob’s finger pressed against Dream’s mouth, and he freezes, shocked. Brown eyes finally meet Dream’s, and they stay like that. He’s aware that his hold on his form is slipping a bit, stars emerging in his eyes, but Hob seems to drink it in, awe on his face, lips parted in a silent gasp.
He’s undeniably beautiful.
“I did not mean to imply you hurt me, Dream,” Hob says, putting pressure on his name. “I’m just… Well, I am stupid and yearning, am I not?”
Dream cocks his head to the side. “I did not realise you considered yourself below average intelligence. While it is true you did not receive formal education in your youth, it is far from your fau-”
“Dream,” Hob sighs, fond and yet exasperated, and Dream falls silent. “For someone so mysterious, you shouldn’t be so endearing.”
“Endearing, cruel in my kindness… What other words do you use to describe me, Hob Gadling?”
His friend shrugs, and his hand moves to cup Dream’s jaw, touch almost fleeting, but it settles as he leans into it. The air is charged, and for the first time since 1689, Dream feels alive in the way that Hob sometimes describes.
“Beautiful,” Hob whispers, and their eyes don’t break contact. “You could very well be the love of my life.”
It’s as if something finally slides into place, and Dream doesn’t even startle, though something in him shatters into pieces, warmth spreading through his chest. Hob’s gasp of surprise is swallowed by his lips when he finally pulls the other man close and kisses him, the way he didn’t realise he wished to 100 years ago.
Hob melts - it’s the only way Dream can think to describe it, though thinking is swiftly gone from his head, his arms fitting around the other man easily, pressing him against his chest, Hob’s hands landing on his face, angling his head. Although it’s been years since Dream kissed someone, he had kissed many people in his long existence, but Hob feels different, like warmth and embers, and Dream shudders when he whimpers into the kiss.
“Lightning in a bottle,” Hob murmurs against his lips. “I can’t believe-”
Dream is growing fond of interrupting Hob's words with his mouth, kissing him deep and breathless, only releasing him when his heart stutters, and even then Dream slides his lips to his jaw and neck, kissing and nipping.
He's jerked back up, his lips caught in another kiss, and Dream smiles, squeezing Hob’s ribs, feeling them expand - he’s solid and strong under Dream’s hands, though it’d require no effort for the Endless to destroy him.
Instead, Dream wishes to cup him close and protect him, much as he can’t do it - Hob is warm and safe, yes, but he’s wild and free too, and Dream would never take that away from him.
“Give me what you can,” Hob demands against his lips, eyes blazing. “I’ll take anything.”
“What about my love, then?” Dream murmurs. “Will you take that?”
Dream decides he likes the flushed, speechless look on the man’s face, eyes wide and pupils blown. He smirks, walks Hob back towards the bed, pushing when his knees hit the mattress. Hob sprawls on the sheets, looking almost indecent. His legs part and he pulls Dream into his arms almost as soon as he gets his bearings, a wide smile on his face.
“Love, and so much more.”
It sounds like a promise.