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1.
They didn’t have a meeting scheduled for today, well, Hob wasn’t expecting to see Dream anyway, and yet, there he was, waiting for him outside his office. His Dream. Dressed in his usual pea coat and skinny jeans, he easily blended in with his students, but all it took was one look into his blue eyes to reveal his true age. Eyes that witnessed the births of civilizations, guided their first steps through his realm, and into the waiting arms of his older sister. At first glance, they may look cold as ice, but when they spotted Hob walking towards him, the ice melted, and his eyes sparkled. A grin spread out on Hob's face, giving him a little wave. Wasting no more time, he quickly locked his door and hurried over.
‘Hey love,’ he ignored the urge to kiss him in greeting, Dream wouldn’t appreciate the surprise, or public affection, instead, he gently bumped knuckles against his pale hand.
‘Everything alright?’ Hob gave him quick once over, he didn’t look distressed, no more than usual anyway.
‘Were we scheduled to meet today?’
Dream shook his head, then, in a very un-Dreamlike gesture, he averted his eyes, looking down at his clasped hands.
‘We did not, yet-,’ he lapsed into sudden silence, another out of character gesture. Hob waited to see if he would continue, he didn’t, and he still wouldn’t look at him, seemingly lost for words. That's when it clicked.
‘Wait,’ Hob’s smile grew, threatening to split his cheeks,
‘Did you come just to see me?’
Dream didn’t answer, but the way he ducked his head was a good enough answer.
‘Aw, Dream,’ Hob gushed, jokingly nudging him, ‘How sweet.’
Dream let out a long-suffering sigh, but failed to hide the twitch of his lips.
‘You have stated before that I could visit you anytime,’ Dream huffed, ‘Are you truly surprised?’
‘Yes,’ Hob took his slightly relaxed posture as invitation to wrap his arms around his lithe figure,
‘But it’s a nice surprise.’
Dream’s head fit nicely in the crook of his neck, he stayed still but Hob swore he burrowed further into the embrace, seeking out his warmth.
‘Come on, you old softie,’ he said, holding out his hand,
Dream sighed, ‘You are insufferable.’
Hob grinned, ‘I know.’
Dream took his hand, shyly, while Hob grinned his stupid grin. They walked out of the university, hand in hand, chatting about nothing and everything, well, Hob did the chatting, Dream just listened, tilting his head in a way that mirrored his beloved raven. The further they walked, the deeper their conversation went, it was only Hob’s muscle memory that stopped him at the road crossing. And still, he talked, eyes trained on Dream. A moment passed, the lights changed to green, and Dream stepped out first.
Something roared past them, Hob reacted swiftly. A car jumped the kerb, the very spot where Dream was standing seconds before, now, he was in Hob’s hold once more. The car honked annoyingly before speeding off, ignorant of their stupid, reckless driving. With his hands on Dream's hips, Hob patted him to make sure he was unharmed, before unleashing a torrent of swears at the car, already a dot in the distance.
‘Bloody pricks!’ He spat, ‘Nobody can drive anymore.’
Dream said nothing, motionless, still with Hob’s hands on him.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, gently patting him, then, perhaps realising what he was doing, stopped. Yanking his hands off Dream like he’d been burned.
‘Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’
Dream blinked, slow to process words with the ghost of Hob’s hands lingering on him.
‘Hob,’ he finally cleared his throat, ‘A mortal vehicle would not be able to harm me, in this or any other form,’ he calmly explained. Despite his words, there was a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.
‘I know, I know,’ Hob said, reaching out again before stopping himself, ‘Still, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it happen,’ he gently brushed his knuckles against Dream’s.
With one final, careful scan of the road, they crossed to the other side. They continued walking, Hob slipping back easily into their conversation, Dream was quiet once more, but he wasn’t listening as carefully, he was more focused on the warmth within his chest, a warmth that wouldn’t fade.
2.
The next time they met was a week later, when the sun had set early, and the sky mirrored the inside of his lover’s coat. Hob glanced at said lover, their joined hands their only source of warmth. The sudden drop in temperature was a surprise, well, not really, the British weather was as temperamental as Dream. Though Hob wasn’t affected, his jumper was warmer than it looked, his comfy outfit was missing one thing-his patchwork scarf, currently being worn by the Nightmare king beside him.
For all his claims of the cold not affecting him, his face told a different story. With his nose and cheeks exposed to the wintry air, they had turned a delightful shade of dusky pink. He looked up, catching Hob’s eye, and blinked. The slow blink of a cat showing affection. Hob grinned, bringing their clasped hands to his lips. His smile faltered,
‘Christ, Dream! Your hands are freezing!’
Dream huffed, ‘This body has no temperature,’
‘Well, right now, you feel like ice.’
Dream huffed, saying nothing. A blast of bitter wind blew past them, the type that found exposed parts of skin and leeched out any warmth. Hob felt goosebumps spring up on the back of his neck, and Dream, he let out a full body shiver before shoving both hands deep into his pockets.
Hob raised an eyebrow, ‘Cold doesn’t bother you, huh?’
Had he been mortal the glare shot his way surely would have stopped his heart cold.
‘Come here, love,’
Dream, with obvious hesitance, took a single step forward. Hob rubbed his hands furiously, and gently took Dream’s face. It felt like he was touching marble. Dream blinked once, twice, confusion rippling through his pretty features.
‘Hey,’ Hob breathed, ‘Trust me,’
immediately, Dream nodded.
Flashing one more smile, he brought Dream in close, and gently blew on his face. He gave a tiny start, staring back at Hob, but soon relaxed in his hold. That, paired with Hob’s thumbs massaging his cheeks, brought warmth to the Endless’s face.
‘Sorry, if my hands feel a bit rough,’ Hob grimaced, Dream shook his head, accidentally dislodging his hands,
‘Do not apologise, Hob,’ he scolded, bringing his hands back to his cheeks,
‘The texture of your hands is something I cherish.’ As if emphasising his point, he turned his head to kiss his calloused palm. Hob ducked his head, blushing, he wanted to pull his ear but his hands were occupied,
‘Mr Sandman,’ he grinned, ‘You have such a way with words.’
Before he could reply, Hob darted forward, and kissed the tip of Dream’s red nose,
‘Hope you feel a bit warmer.’
Dream’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink,
‘You’re as red as your ruby, love. Come on, we’ll go home.’
He reached for his pale hand, slotting together like they were made for each other, and smiled when his touch wasn’t as glacial. Dream walked on, tucking his face into his stolen scarf.
3.
Hob wasn’t sure how he did it, managing to get Dream to be his plus one to a work event. Nothing short of a miracle. Despite his initial agreement, he was still quick to reassure Dream they would only stay for an hour, Or sooner, if it became too much for him. There wouldn’t be many there but even small groups were enough to unnerve Dream.
Hob fixed his tie in the mirror, for perhaps the hundredth time. The staff event was important, showing his face to the faculty heads would be important when the budget cuts reared its ugly head, but it was hell wearing a suit. It had been a few decades since he had to break out the three piece, thankfully, it still fit. On the plus side. Hob was excited to see Dream’s idea of formal wear.
Hob smiled at the thought. The first outfit that came to mind was Dream’s flowing robes, writing like some midnight creature, perhaps paired with his helm, it was his symbol after all. Or perhaps his standard pea coat, he could just imagine him showing up, the only accessory being a smug smirk.
He didn’t have long to wait. With a crack in the air, followed by the hiss of sand, a deep voice rang out,
‘Hello, Hob.’
He bit back a smile, ‘Hello, love,’ he searched for him in the mirror, ‘Just in time,’ whatever else he was about to say died on his lips. His mouth went dry at the sight of his partner.
Standing there, hands clasped in front of him, was Dream, looking like he stepped out of a Gothic fairy tale. Bedecked in tight ink-coloured trousers, and a sheer, ruffled shirt, glittering like it was spun from stars. A pair of heeled boots gave him an inch over Hob, and his usual spiked hair was slicked back stylishly. The only splash of colour, besides his shiny blue eyes, was the blood red cravat fastened to his pale neck.
‘Will this suffice?’ he asked with a coy tilt of his head, Hob didn’t answer right away, just opened, and closed his mouth like a fish. Dream, obviously pleased with this reaction, smirked. Hob closed the distance between them, hands outstretched to grab his lapels. He leaned in close, breathing in the scent of his lover, today he smelled of petrichor.
‘It’s better than I imagined,’
Dream quirked an eyebrow, ‘You have been imagining me?’
‘Is that really surprising?’
‘I am the Dream weaver, the Oneiromancer, I appear in many thoughts, usually prophetic visions, or the beginnings of literature,’
‘So, you’re telling me there hasn’t been any dreams of you in sexy clothes?’
Dream smirked, ‘Not since I met you,’
Hob leaned in closer, resting his forehead against cool, unblemished skin,
‘Aren’t I lucky?’
With a quick peck to his cheek, his eyes fell to the red cravat, the same shade as Dream’s old ruby, slightly askew. Without thinking, Hob reached out and fixed it back into place. The touch, though brief, sent a spark of electricity shooting between them. Hob felt the delicate twitch of his throat, bobbing as he swallowed, and Dream felt calloused fingers, made for wielding weapons, being soft and gentle with him. He felt that familiar heat returning.
‘So,’ Hob said, fixing his own tie again, ‘Shall we use your sand, or do you want to chance the car again?’
4.
The next time Dream appeared in Hob’s flat, he materialised on top of the couch. The floor was a battlefield, piles of boxes covered the carpet, tilting dangerously as he looked. The scent of Hob was gone from the flat, replaced with the familiar smell of ancient tomes. The aged paper following him from the Dreaming, it wasn’t unpleasant, Dream was more than acquainted with the smell, but it was lacking Hob. He didn’t have far to look, judging from the crash in the other room. Dream gracefully manoeuvred his way through the clutter, and was rewarded with a pleasing sight.
A dishevelled Hob, dressed in low ride jeans, a stripe of hirsute skin immediately drew his gaze, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, revealing furry forearms. He stood with hands on his hips, glaring down at an overturned bookcase,
‘Ok,’ he muttered, blowing hair from his face, ‘So, it is heavier than it looks.’ He turned, and upon spotting Dream, gazing at him like he was a decadent meal, shrieked,
‘Mother Mary’s tits!’
Dream said nothing at first, that look of hunger still in his eyes, then gave a quick bow of his head.
‘Apologies, Hob, it was not my intention to startle you,’
Hob scoffed, ‘Liar,’ despite his outburst, he greeted him with a kiss,
‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘Yes, I am curious about your interior’s new layout,’
‘Yeah,’ he rubbed the back of his neck, ‘Got carried away.’
He nudged a box by with his foot, ‘That’s from the 60s,’ he pointed to the bookcase, ‘70s, and don’t touch those,’ he pointed to a single sealed box,
‘80s,’ was all he said.
‘Have to reorganise things every decade or so,’ he explained with a grimace, ‘Don’t want to show up to a lecture in corduroy,’
Dream’s lips twitched, ‘Well, you would look dashing even if you did,’
Hob didn’t look at him, toying with his ear, ‘Thanks, duck.’ He cleared his throat,
‘Um, I should be done in an hour, do you want to come back then or go downstairs for a drink?’
Dream hummed, ‘An hour, you say?’ with that, he shucked his coat, vanishing it with a pinch of sand, and knelt in front of the biggest box.
‘Whoa! Careful!’ but he needn’t have bothered. He stepped back, wide eyed as Dream effortlessly lifted a box wider than him. It was filled with leather bound books, more dust than paper, and Dream carried it one handed.
‘Where should I put this?’
Hob licked his lips before answering, ‘Just on the couch there.’
With a nod, he complied. As they cleaned, a comfortable silence fell over them, one that did not need pointless words to fill it. Of course, Dream would argue that there is no such thing as a pointless word, but rarely in his relationships, romantic or otherwise, did he experience such contentment. He had his fair share of silences, both tense and awkward, usually following something he himself did, but with Hob, everything felt natural. A foreign feeling for him, but one he was growing used to.
Once the floor looked semi normal, with only a few museum worthy clothes left, Dream spotted another box, perched on top of a bookcase. Thinking nothing of it, Dream stood up on a chair and stretched high to reach it. Then, in the blink of an eye, a crack rang out, and he was falling backwards. He wasn’t concerned, with just a pinch of sand, he’d be upright again. No reason to worry, but Hob didn’t know that. Another string of curses, followed by something breaking, and a pair of strong hands gripped his hips.
A sound escaped Dream’s mouth, a sound akin to a gasp, and the next thing he saw was a pair of worried brown eyes,
‘Are you ok, love?’
Before he could answer, Hob straightened him up, loosening his grip, but letting his hands hover, just in case. Dream just blinked, overwhelmed with different sensations-the fluttering in his chest, the tingling of his skin, the lingering warmth on his hips. It was all too much, and yet, he savoured it.
‘I am so sorry,’ Hob kicked at the offending chair, ‘I completely forgot about that chair, the leg snapped and I haven’t found the time to fix it.’
Dream realised he hadn’t answered yet, he just stared at Hob as he gestured beside him. He swallowed around a lump that hadn’t been there before,
‘Yes…I am ok,’
Hob let out a sigh of relief, ‘Good,’ he patted his chest, ‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’ He motioned Dream to follow him, leading him to the only free chair, sat him down, fussed over him some more, and headed for the kitchen.
‘I think that’s a sign for us to stop for now, let’s have some tea.’
Once Hob was out of view, Dream finally allowed his cheeks to flush. The heat was overwhelming, like he had swallowed a sun, he ran his hands over his face, taking in the strange sensation. Hob’s calloused hands, soft and gentle in his handling of him, despite there being no need for it. It set something alight within him, spreading to his already flushed face.
Hob’s voice rang out, startling him out of his reverie, ‘Would you like a biscuit?’
Dream swallowed down his feelings, snuffing it until he could no longer sense it, and answered.
5.
CW: Panic Attack
Dream tapped his knuckles against the table, the steady rhythm doing nothing to distract him. He sat in a restaurant, a fancy one, crowded with other dining couples. Cackling, chattering couples, drowning out the gentle piano in the corner. He glanced over at Hob, sitting across from him, studying the menu.
It wasn’t being in public that irked him, well, not really, he could tolerate anything as long as he was with Hob.
But the noise, the never-ending noise.
Dream kept his gaze fixed forward, on the man in front of him, not at the glass that surrounded him. Hob had been so excited about tonight, booking it weeks ago with the hope of surprising Dream with an authentic courting experience. Dream had been pleased, at first, but now, he found himself face to face with memories. They were at the finest table, apparently, and it just so happened to be right next to the large glass windows. Not only that, a crystal chandelier hung above them, clinking ominously just out of view, but Dream knew it was there. He knew its cold, sterile touch.
‘Have you decided yet, love?’ a familiar voice asked, Dream blinked, jumping back into his mind fast enough to give him whiplash,
‘Yes.’
He hadn’t even glanced at the menu, his gaze flicked downwards, away from the grounding sight of Hob. The words on the page danced into a frenzy, melding with the clinks of the crystal above him, mixing like oil and water. Dream breathed, an infinitesimal movement. Hob thankfully didn’t notice.
‘Pasta,’ his own voice was foreign against his ears,
Hob nodded, ‘Good choice, I’m going for the steak,’
Dream forced himself to nod, his neck tense like a coiled spring. Realising his jaw was clenched, he forced himself to relax, his jaw unclenched with a click. Hob placed their orders and sat back, staring at Dream, perhaps waiting for him to say something. And Dream of the Endless, the Prince of Stories, could think of nothing to say.
‘…Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘…What?’
Hob furrowed his brow, Dream didn’t notice, a sudden squeal of laughter pierced his skull. He felt himself cringe.
‘Are you-,’ the arrival of their food interrupted whatever he was going to say.
Steam enveloped his vision, the heavy scent of cooked meat churning his stomach. Dream leaned back, the creak of his chair only adding to the cacophony around him. Hob thanked the waiter, and tore into his steak. Dream stared down at his own offering, picking up a fork, and toying with a strand of spaghetti, not quite ready to taste it.
Hob ate away, happily sipping at his wine, the picture of life. And Dream was the antithesis of it. He had to try, to make an effort. Hob had arranged this especially for them, he had to at least pretend he was enjoying himself.
But he couldn’t.
The flickering lights blinded him. Dancing across his vision. The writhing mass around him actually made him sweat, and the noise…Dream clenched his jaw again, trying to quell it with his powers, he failed. The sound grew louder, invading every one of his senses. The clinking glasses. It rose and faded like ocean waves, washing over him, threatening to pull him down into the abyss. And looming behind him was that plane of glass, waiting like a predator. He could feel the cold reaching out, chilled tendrils reaching out, sneaking their way under his skin.
And, all at once, Dream was back.
The restaurant was gone. Hob was gone. Even the noise. Replaced with that heavy, stale silence, and staring back at his own face. His pathetically proud face. Abandoned. Forgotten. Humiliated. Exposed for cruel eyes to sneer and curse. Followed by the cold indifference, colder than the glass trapping him. Alone with his thoughts, threatening to overwhelm him. He shivered, breaking out in goosebumps. Nails dug into his palms, his own, piercing the skin. Hot liquid ran down his arms, and then he was a mess of sensations.
Heat. Weak. Cold. Freezing.
He tried to breathe, he couldn’t.
The air was gone.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't breathe.
Then, out from the undertow, came another sound,
‘Dream?’
All he could do was let out a shuddering breath, his chest tight like a vice. The only thing he could do was follow the voice, letting it pull him back to the surface, out from the mire. He snapped back to his senses, a gasp on his lips, stopped by the lump in his throat.
Hob was looking at him, no, staring at him. His eyes wide and shiny enough to rival Dream’s. His food abandoned, he had his hands out, a hair’s breadth from Dream, not daring to touch, hovering once again, giving Dream a choice.
He stayed still, as if a single breath could break him.
‘Just look at me,’ Hob pleaded, ‘Look into my eyes.’
It was a herculean effort, one Atlas would have sneered at, but Dream did. A blink, and he was staring into those kind brown eyes, infinite, and yet endearingly human, gleaming with worry, worry for him. Shame writhed within his chest, making everything worse. He didn’t deserve it. He wanted to say as much, but words evaded him once again. What cruel irony.
In the end, all Dream could do was shake his head, awkward, like he forgot how.
‘Do you want to leave?’ Hob asked. How could he not hear the noise?
‘You don’t have to speak, just-just tap the table once.’
His words floated by, echoing.
Tap. Leave.
His hand trembled, the same hand that crafted dreams and nurtured nightmares, weakened by a fleeting memory. He tapped, and immediately, Hob was out of his chair, carefully so as not to screech it across the floor, and reached out, his hand inches from Dream.
He reached back, and, though he was loathe to admit it, his pale hand shook, even in Hob’s hold, the familiar warmth was not enough to bring him fully back.
‘It’s ok, it’s ok,’ Hob repeated, kissing his pale knuckles, ignorant of those around them. ‘You’re safe, you’re here, with me,’ to emphasize his point, he brought Dream’s hand close to his chest, palm side up, and placed it over his heart.
‘Feel me,’ he begged, ‘Feel the life flowing within me. Feel the blood rushing through my veins.’
‘Breathe with me.’
Hob breathed in and out, exaggerating each breath, letting Dream feel each rise and fall of his chest. Dream blinked, and did as Hob instructed. He copied him, breathing in air he didn’t need-yet his lungs burned for it, and he felt the frantic fluttering under his hand. Hob’s heart was racing. Was it because he was panicking? He didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve it. Dream opened his mouth to say as much, but all that came out was nothing more than a pathetic whimper. Hob gripped him tighter.
‘I’m going to get you out of here.’
Dream wanted to protest; he didn’t want to ruin Hob’s plans. In the end, he said nothing, no words would suffice. He let his mind wander, steering it away from anything cold or glass.
.
.
It was the fresh air that brought him back. They were outside the restaurant, standing close together on the footpath. The heady scent of alcohol, perfume, and pasta faded into nothingness, all he smelled now was fresh cut grass, and Hob of course, his cologne drowned out by the pleasing salty scent of human. He looked at him now, all too aware of the grip still on his hand, still gentle. He patted his back, blew warm air on his cold hands, anything to get feeling back into his skin. Had Dream been in the right frame of mind, he would have appreciated it better. Instead, he just shivered.
‘Don’t worry,’ Hob’s voice echoed in his ears, ‘I’ll get you home.’
Home? Dream thought numbly, and he was surprised to find that the word didn’t conjure up his own realm. Instead, he thought of Hob’s flat. His soft jumpers that he let Dream steal, the pleasant snacks he readily had, just for him, and his large bed, the place they shared some of their most intimate moments, but mostly, when Dream found the time to stay overnight, it wasn’t the soft feeling of a puffy duvet he woke up to, it was the tender embrace of Hob, his arms having wrapped around him, even in the midst of slumber, he sought out Dream.
It set his cheeks aflame once more.
Hob cursed, Dream snapped his head up, but he needn’t have worried. Hob’s ire was aimed at a passing vehicle.
‘Damn taxis,’ he hissed, ‘Sorry, love, it might be a while.’
Dream said nothing, slowly, he raised a hand, reaching for him. Hob raised an eyebrow, but quickly took his hand. Their eyes met, and, with a pinch of sand, they were home.
Home. Dream repeated the word inside his head, it rang out like a musical note. Hob swore again, swaying on his feet, muttering to himself,
‘Never gonna get used to that.’
Once the vertigo wore off, he was at Dream’s side in the blink of an eye. After some fussing, he led Dream to the couch, took off his coat, with permission of course, and had him wrapped up in a blanket before Dream could take a breath. Warmth surrounded him, he found himself tucking his chin into the familiar scent.
‘Do you need anything else?’ Hob asked, sitting down next to him. The worry in his eyes was palpable, an urge to wipe it away passed by. Instead of answering, Dream leaned over, and rested his head against Hob’s shoulder,
‘No,’ he finally uttered, his voice strong once again, ‘I don’t.’
He prepared himself for a barrage of questions. Upon their first reunion, Dream revealed to him why he missed their last meeting, and, in all of his endless existence, he never saw such sadness reflected in another’s eyes, sadness for him. He mistakenly thought it was pity, and felt the familiar sting of his pride rushing up. But, it was none of that. Hob didn’t pity him, far from it, he went on ad nauseum to tell him he had nothing to be ashamed about, and even grinned upon realising his captors had already been punished. And then, he shed a tear, for Dream. No other living creature had ever done that for him. It sent those first pangs fluttering in his chest.
And now, instead of asking, possibly opening up old wounds, Hob wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, anchoring him,
‘Take your time,’ he softly said, ‘I’ll be here for you, however long it takes,’ and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Dream soaked in the warmth and comfort radiating from the other man. Had he been a lesser entity he would have latched on to these feelings, making this place his seat of power. Dream glanced up, meeting Hob’s warm gaze, his eyes crinkled with a smile.
Who was he kidding? He was already bound to this place.
+1
On the black sands on the Shore of Creation, on the edge of the subconscious mind, stood a lone figure. Barefoot, clad in flowing black robes, and inspecting his newest creation. Dream had had a productive morning, crafting eight dreams and eight nightmares. Sixteen creations altogether. He hummed to himself, pleased. It was a rare feeling he had to admit, and he found himself wishing to inform someone. There was Matthew, and Lucienne of course, but she was busy with her own duties, and Matthew, well, Matthew wouldn’t care, not the way Dream cared.
He reached out a pale hand, letting it rest on the supple cheek of his newest denizen. A daydream. One about the wonders of crafting, to create something from nothing, and call it art. Hob would appreciate it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the atmosphere changed. The brisk wind, one that was supposed to mimic sea air, turned warm, like a fresh breath of spring air, or Hob’s breath, warming his cold fingers. Heat rose to Dream’s cheeks, but he made no effort to quell the sensation. He allowed it to linger, alighting his senses.
He should bring Hob here. No one but him and his most trusted people, Lucienne, and Matthew, were allowed to set foot on this plane. Hob, on the other hand, had his trust, he already had his heart. Dream could imagine it now, his first steps upon the sand, marvelling at its colour, perhaps he’d sink to his knees, joyfully crafting a sandcastle, and then falling back in shock when said castle came to life. Dream smirked, an infinitesimal twitch. What he really wanted to see was his eyes, wide with wonder, the same wonder that drove him to keep on living. Dream wanted nothing more than to feed that wonder for the rest of his existence.
Deep in his reverie, he soon became aware of a different feeling, the feeling of being watched. A quick scan of his surroundings confirmed what he already knew, he was alone. He looked back at his creation, and his creation gazed back.
Dream would have gasped if he was mortal, because he recognised that gaze. A pair of familiar brown eyes stared at him, waiting for an order. They were Hob’s eyes. The same warm brown eyes, complete with the laughter lines at the corners. Dream took a step back, nonplussed. Then, a sound made him turn, a familiar sound. A joyful bark of laughter, the same one Hob used whenever he regaled him with stories. As the realisation sank in, he took a closer look at his creations. Every single one had one of Hob’s attributes. Whether it was his kind eyes, his contagious laugher, his soft hair, both tied into a bun and loose. Even his Nightmares contained something of Hob, the same brown eyes, now empty and bottomless, his laughter, ear piercingly loud, and his calloused hands, rough like the surface of a mountain, rough enough to break skin.
Dream felt slightly dizzy at the realisation. He wasn’t annoyed, far from it, he was more amused. In the short time since they reunited, Hob had solidified himself within Dream’s mind. No easy feat, and of course, Hob Gadling, the man who denied Death’s gift, had embraced him. Taken him as a lover without any qualms about his mistakes, and with endless patience that would have made any other mortal a saint, loved him back.
Dream of the Endless, safe in the privacy of his realm, allowed a smile to grow on his face. It had been so long, his cheeks ached from the strength of it. Before he could dwell any further, he felt a tug at his power. A dreamer was dreaming about him. He didn’t need to use his powers to see who it was. His smile grew wider, and, with a handful of sand, he was off to meet his lover.
He had earned a break after all.