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“You have piano hands,” you said quietly, your voice barely above the gentle rain pattering against the open window. It was past midnight in the Waking world and you were tucked in bed, laying on your side facing Morpheus who was resting beside you on top of the covers, indulging your request to press your palms together.
In the moonlight that bathed your room in supple silver, his skin seemed even paler. Delicate.
“Piano hands?” he said, not familiar with the term.
“It means they’re long and slender. If you spread them out like this…” You fanned out his fingers and painted the outline of each one with your index finger. “Then you’d be able to reach the keys easier. Though I don’t know how true that is.”
Like always, his smooth, immaculate skin was the exact same temperature as yours. It was just one of the few subtleties that revealed Morpheus for who, or rather what, he was.
Though he wasn’t human, he mimicked one to near perfection. Near, but never quite right. There was always something off, and that was the reason why mortals unconsciously crossed the street or averted their eyes in his presence. That's not to say his otherworldliness didn't have its appeal. For instance, when the light would sometimes catch his eyes and they'd turn into black pools of liquid night with a single star shining within them — it was mesmerising. The first time you saw it happen your breath had caught in your throat. You'd asked him to reveal more of himself after that and he'd complied gladly, though cautiously, because no matter how many times you reassured him that you wouldn’t run away, it was hard for him to open up completely, but with time, it would get easier. There was no need to rush.
“It means they’re pretty,” you said, finishing your explanation, and as your words hung in the air, Morpheus exhaled — something he rarely did. When you looked up to make sense of it, his lips were pulled up in a half smile, like he couldn’t quite understand why you were so fascinated with him.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he admitted, entwining your fingers with his. “You see the world through a lens that I’ve never encountered before.”
“I’m just like every other person.”
“Yes,” he agreed, though not unkindly. “It is true that other mortals see the beauty in the smallest of things like you do, but no one will ever have the same mind as you. Your perspective is unique.”
The way he was looking at you with such adoration made your heart clench, and all thoughts of sleep were pushed aside in favour of extending this moment, of making it last.
It had been in the quiet, private moments shared with Morpheus that had made you fall in love with him — ones like these, where you were wrapped up in each other and nothing else mattered. They reminded you of the first time he’d told you he loved you, whispered under the sheets and repeated time and time again until there was no room left for doubt.
“What are you thinking about?” Morpheus asked, noticing the smile that had slipped onto your face.
“The night you told me my feelings weren’t in vain. When you said you loved me.”
His eyes which already held so much warmth for you softened further. He leant forward and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of your hand.
“Now that I’ve told you what I’m thinking about, it’s only fair that I ask you the same question.”
“As usual, my thoughts are of you.”
You wanted to ask him if they were about anything in particular involving you when he squeezed your hand, halting your words, and continued speaking, knowing that you wouldn’t be satisfied with his vague answer. “I’m contemplating how to request that you share your every thought with me. Most of the time, I can guess or I need only ask and you’ll tell me, but what about when I don’t ask? When we’re not together? What treasures have you kept unspoken and undreamed?”
“I’ll let you peek inside my head more often then, but I’m sure you’ll grow bored eventually. They’re the same thoughts over and over again.”
“I would never tire of hearing them.” In your relaxed state, with drowsiness creeping up on you, you found his phrasing a little bit funny.
“Really?” you said, elongating the word. “The king of dreams wouldn’t get tired of that? Who would’ve guessed?”
He arched an eyebrow, unsure what to make of your question and it made you smile wider.
“I’m just teasing you,” you explained, your words coming out muffled from a stifled yawn. “I found it funny hearing you say you won’t get tired since you don’t ever really tire. Just a silly thought. Maybe you’d like to take back your earlier request? Not every thought I have is great. Most of them are nonsense, like that one.”
“No.”
“No? Like you’re agreeing they’re not great? Or, no, you won’t take it back?”
He rolled onto his back while keeping hold of your hand and you could’ve sworn you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. It was unusual for him to meet your playfulness with anything but patience, so that was as close as he had ever been to joining in.
“No matter,” you said, snuggling up closer to him and resting your head on his chest which did not beat. “I can live without knowing the answer.”
After a few seconds of silence, Morpheus started carding his fingers through your hair. You hummed contentedly. It was a lovely sensation that made chills run down your neck.
“If you keep doing that I’ll fall asleep,” you warned.
“I know.”
“But I don’t want to sleep yet.” You wanted to protest more but your body betrayed you by making you yawn again.
“I’ve kept you awake long enough,” Morpheus said, as your eyes gradually closed with every pass of his fingers. “Find me in the Dreaming, there’s something I want to show you.”
***
It was daybreak in the Dreaming when you opened your eyes. The grey-blue sky was streaked with butter yellow, casting a lazy, golden glow around your bedroom and providing enough light for you to spot the note folded on the creaseless pillow beside you.
Strange, you thought. Where was Morpheus? Usually, he was there to welcome you into his realm. And why was it nearly morning?
Sitting up, the soft sheets pooling around you, you picked up the letter. You recognised the cursive handwriting instantly.
“Come find me,” it read, signed by Morpheus.
Driven by curiosity, you climbed out of bed, grabbed your dressing gown and left your quarters.
As you wandered through the castle in search of him, you realised it was quieter than usual. You hadn’t heard or seen anyone else. But it didn’t feel lifeless. There was a thrum about the place, urging you on. And since Morpheus controlled everything in the Dreaming, it could only mean it was his doing, that he was eagerly awaiting you.
“Where are you?” you mused aloud, closing yet another door to a deserted room. The library was the next place on your list to look so you started making your way there, determined to find him, but you soon abandoned your plan when you rounded a corner and came across an entity made entirely of fire at the end of the corridor. It was small and bright, like the flame of a candle, and it was floating in midair.
“Do you know where Lord Morpheus is?” you asked it, hoping it could provide you with some insight.
It bobbed up and down.
“Will you take me to him?”
It grew brighter in confirmation and led you down flights of stairs and through rooms you’d never set foot in before.
Eventually, the tiny flame stopped outside a large double door which led to a room you were familiar with, though you’d never had cause to go inside.
"He's in there?" you asked doubtfully. In response, your guide flared brilliantly and you had to shut your eyes until it had dimmed down again.
“You’re awfully sure about that.” You opened the door but the entity didn’t stick around to find out if it was right. It drifted away, going back the way you’d come, confident its task was done. You entered the room to see if that was the case.
The ballroom was just as dazzling as you remembered it. The far wall was made entirely of glass that looked out onto the gardens and among the flowers were dancing couples carved from marble, their reflections in the windows making it seem like spirits were forever waltzing on the dance floor.
On the right-hand side of the room was a grand, unlit fireplace. On the left, a stage. And on that stage was Morpheus, sitting at the piano where a band would play.
He seemed perfectly at ease, sitting with a straight back and wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. When he twisted round to watch you cross the room to join him, your legs turned weak. He was devastatingly handsome, but what really made you melt was the way he looked at you, like you meant everything to him.
“I see you took what I said literally," you said, referring back to your last conversation about how his hands were perfect for playing the piano. You reached the stage and stood by his shoulder.
“I thought you’d like to see your idea brought to life. Will you sit with me?” He made room for you on the long piano seat and, once you perched there, the right side of your body pressed against him, he cast a final glance your way to make sure you were settled before focusing on the piano and filling the room with a soft, haunting melody that flowed from his fingertips. You watched in awe as he played, transfixed by the way his hands moved so gracefully.
It was only once he’d finished, the final note still hanging in the air, that you said, “When did you learn to play like that? You never mentioned you could.”
“That’s because I couldn’t until tonight.”
“You mean to tell me that you taught yourself? Tonight?”
He nodded. “As soon as you fell asleep. I wanted to surprise you.” So that was why it was dawn: he’d made you have a dreamless sleep until he’d finished learning how to play.
“Well, you’ve certainly achieved that. Consider me impressed and surprised. I can’t believe you learned how to play the piano for me. That’s… I’m speechless.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Thank you. A private concert was the last thing I’d imagined happening.”
“A concert,” he said, picking up on the word. “Is that your way of asking for more?”
“I wouldn’t say no if you’re offering.”
When Morpheus started playing again he chose a different number, one that was gentle and sweet, like a lullaby. It made you want to rest your head on his shoulder, but you didn’t want to disrupt him.
The third song was faster though no less lovely and it reminded you of pounding hearts and breathless smiles. Listening to it, you could envision the ballroom full of couples spinning around in a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns. Your eyes unconsciously slid away to look at the dance floor and a smile crept up on you as an idea formed in your head. Making a comment about Morpheus’s hands had led to this moment, what if you mentioned his posture or something along those lines and he took up dancing next? It was an intriguing idea, and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to pursue it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Morpheus said, drawing your attention back to him, “but I’m afraid it won’t happen.” His eyes were narrowed fractionally as he looked at you sideways, still playing all the while. “I don’t dance.”
You blinked away your shock that he’d guessed right, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. Sometimes he was too observant. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“No?” he said. He finished the song and turned to face you. “Then why were you looking longingly at the dance floor?”
You dropped your eyes to the piano and smoothed your fingers along the keys without pressing them. You didn’t want to tell him that he was right and risk coming across as ungrateful because your attention had drifted. He’d already given you so much tonight, you didn’t want to ask for more.
“I was admiring the ballroom.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but you knew Morpheus wasn’t fooled.
“And?”
“And… it seems a shame to have it but never use it.”
“I have entertained guests here in the past.”
You frowned down at your hands. “I didn’t know that.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Did you ever dance with them?” As soon as the words left your mouth, your finger slipped on a key and the note rang out. You hadn’t meant to say that.
“No,” Morpheus said, and something loosened around your heart.
Although you’d practically confirmed what he’d guessed, he didn’t mention it and added, “And it is not a question of who my partner is that stops me.”
You looked up at him. So it was through no fault of your own that he wouldn’t dance with you. “Then what is it?”
“It doesn't appeal to me.”
“Not even swaying without moving your feet?”
He hummed in thought and reached out to brush some stray strands of hair behind your ear. “If we were at a ball and had not yet met, perhaps I could be tempted into asking you to dance like that if only for an excuse to hold you.”
“Care to demonstrate how you’d do it now?” you asked sweetly.
He arched an eyebrow. “And have you hold me to my offer? You’ll have to try harder than that to ensnare me.”
You shrugged. He couldn’t fault you for trying. “One day I’ll ask you to dance and you’ll say yes. I know you will.”
“I’m not convinced,” he said, but there was a look in his eyes that told you that he didn’t mind you trying to change his mind. Eventually, he’d give in. You knew he would and when that time came, you’d treasure that moment as much as tonight.
“You say that but I’ve already been right about one thing tonight.”
“What was that?”
You covered his hand with yours. “You do have piano hands.”
The rest of your dream carried on much the same. You sat with Morpheus at the piano until the sun rose fully and filled the room with warmth, but before you woke up, he promised to teach you the lullaby he’d played the next time you dreamt.