Work Text:
— 1 —
Dream's hate for any reflective, cool and smooth surface had been one of the things Hob noticed but could not seem to understand. Wineglasses were fine. There had been no issue with the one standing at the table during their first meeting in a little over a century. Mirrors, on the contrary, were things to be avoided.
When Hob had first invited him to his flat, Dream had entered with him through the front door. In the hallway, opposite of the shoe rack, there hung a large mirror. Hob had been putting his boots away when he saw that Dream shrunk away from the left-hand wall. He only did it for a couple of steps, for when he had passed the mirror, he stood tall again as if nothing was amiss.
This made several trains of thought begin to run wildly through Hob's mind. Perhaps he misremembered what he had seen. Maybe his friend was some kind of creature who had an innate distaste for mirrors. Maybe Hob had simply imagined it.
A resolve was made: Hob would try and see if his friend was more comfortable if the mirror was covered. If he were to test this, he would also need to arrange another meeting, preferably within the next decade. Waiting another century had come to be an impossible thought.
-
The mirror was moved to a cupboard by the time the next visit came up. Somehow Hob had spoken an invitation at the end of their last meeting without embarrassing himself. Or at least not enough to warrant that he should change identities and move far away.
Three knocks disturbed the silence that had stretched over the space. It popped and burst. Hob scurried towards the front door, and slowed down before he opened it. He managed to unlock and open the door at a casual pace.
"Hello there," he said.
"Hello, Hob," came the answer. That voice always managed to ignite some awe within Hob's chest. It could be described as nothing other than impossibly deep and inhumanly smooth. But he could not let his mind go down that road.
"Come in, my Stranger." He gestured from his visitor to the hallway which led to the living room. By no means was he a stranger anymore, yet it was a familiar name.
Dream walked in a perfectly straight path from the doorway and into the home. There was no flinch or avoidance in sight.
Hob followed behind him. "Would you like some tea, wine?"
He found Dream standing in front of a bookshelf upon which there rested several artefacts from the past couple of lifetimes. Among them were photographs, journals, textbooks and odd souvenirs from travels across the globe. Dream turned around, but his attention was still not entirely drawn from the collection.
"If it is not an inconvenience, then yes." He was perfectly polite and well-mannered just as he had been during any of their meetings. He was also unbelievably difficult to get any information out of if it regarded himself. It would probably be another millennia before anyone heard him utter a word about his own feelings or preferences.
"You are a guest, of course it is not an inconvenience." Hob shook his head as he strolled to the kitchen to grab two cups of tea.
— 2 —
It was not the fact that the door was unlocked, neither that someone was inside Hob's flat that surprised him. No, it was only when he entered the doorway to the living room that he stopped. He blinked a few times, but it did nothing to clear his vision. He only had trouble focusing on one thing: his partner in the armchair. Dream seemed to blend with the air around him from the way neither he nor the atmosphere had an actual distinction between them. He had merged with the air itself.
Hob gathered his courage and found his voice. "Hey, I'm back." He spoke softly.
That was enough to draw the attention of Dream to him. His eyes fell upon Hob and his entire being solidified. "Oh, excuse me, I had not noticed your presence. I must have been lost in thought for a moment." He rose from the armchair and strode to the doorway. There was hardly a second of hesitation before he wrapped his arms around Hob. Another set of arms hugged Dream back immediately.
Hob decided not to mention the mist or fog that has surrounded him. It had appeared harmless but Hob feared his words may do more damage if he were to draw attention to it. In his mind, echoes of "How dare you," still sounded. That question would never be forgotten in his infinite life, because despite the reconciliation, it had been burned into his soul.
— 3 —
Humans were well-known for their intelligence and capability for emotions, imaginations, so on and so forth. But with these came drawbacks. For one, the human mind was prone to bouts of sadness for plenty of reasons. It only needed something to grab and get a hold of, and the sadness grew. It began as a small snowball, then escalated into an avalanche. A person could easily be caught in it and stay there until it melted away on its own.
A bed was currently occupied by one such human in central London. He had woken up confused by the emptiness of the other side of the bed. When he reached out it was cold and vacant. His mind struggled to conjure up who might have left it while he slept. Elanor would usually wake up much later than he, and —
She had not been with him for a long while. The memories still emerged from the cracks inside him despite his attempts to stay in the present. Her hair had been like strands of the finest silk when it was laid out on her pillow. It had smelled like the jasmine perfume and lavender soap she liked. The scent came upon his senses, travelling across history and to the forefront of his thoughts. He turned his face into the soft fabric of his own pillow, away from the emptiness.
He had no obligations that day, so nothing made him emerge from the puddle of emotions he had become. For some time he let the tears glide across his skin. The water caused his vision to blur, but nothing was to be seen. The bedroom was still and so was he.
No clock marked the passing of the hours. The salt-filled and shiny droplets counted the minutes in it stead. Soon enough the dryness of the skin marked the passage instead of a clock. Some portion of that morning was lost to him when he drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
Still, nothing had melted away, so he remained where he was.
He felt something shift in the other end of the room. This could not be ignored, regardless of how much weight he felt in his body with every shift of it. Something dark was in the periphery of his vision.
Dream, he realised, stood mere steps away from him. He also became aware of the state he was in. Hob was not long ago a sobbing mess because of the memories his sleeping mind had dug up. With an arm supporting him, he sat up on the bed.
His voice was hoarse. "Uh, hey there," he tried. Morpheus' eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter.
"Apologies, I did not wish to impose my presence on you during a trying time. I shall take my leave and return at a more appropriate date." He bowed his head in a swift movement. The sound of a wind reached Hob's ears.
His body tensed and rose further from the relaxed position. "No, wait. Please, just tell be why you showed up, at least, before you take your leave." The words left his mouth as quickly as Dream almost left the room. He did not leave.
"I have told you of my duties before, so you know that with my power comes some awareness of what goes on in my realm," Dream started. Hob nodded. "Before I came here, I felt your mind leave and return on several instances. I came to ensure that you are well... which I am still unsure of." His head tilted slightly. It looked as if he was examining Hob's face for clues to his emotional state.
Hob needed to process that his companion had showed up unexpectedly to simply assure himself of his well-being. Something began to warm inside him. "I woke up from a dream about-" he said, "about Elanor." He looked away before continuing. "It was not a nightmare, actually it was really nice. It's just been so long since I last saw her, and the longing doesn't really go away. I miss her."
Dream moved across the carpet to stand in front of Hob, who looked up at him. He notices that Morpheus' arms were raised and angled towards him in an invitation. He could not think of any other meaning behind the gesture, so he slowly stood and accepted.
The hug was warm. It was so incredibly warm that he melted like a dusting of frost on a sunny morning. The snow inside of him wavered and began to retreat. He held onto the hug with a burning need, but the pressure was returned by the arms around his frame. His frame, which now seemed smaller by comparison. On any other day, the two were approximately the same height, but Hob was the broader of them. Dream had become taller. The height allowed him to shield Hob from the world with his warmth. That was another rare occurrence; Dream was radiating heat, not surrounded by an aura of winter air. Hob thanked whoever he could for Dream's inhumanity.
—
The garden on the rooftop of Hob's flat was considerably large in size. So were the plants in numbers. This led Hob to spend most of his time alone tending to the vegetation. Hours could be spent trying to get the best harvest of vegetables, fruits or flowers. Recently, he had begun to plant lilies in some of the plant beds that received plenty of sunlight during the day. The hues of them went from a deep red to a bright crimson, with white flowers scattered throughout. He had planted a plethora of the red flowers, but refused to think of any reason why the gem tone appealed to him. If he were to say so himself, he would say that they looked lovely amongst the grey of the city.
The scent of the blossoms was subtle and fresh when the breeze spread it across the garden. This was a hobby he would likely continue doing when he next had to move. It was no matter to him that everything would have to be planted once again after the faking of his death as long as he could have the ruby petals outside his home.
The watering can, which stood below the water spout, was picked up before being carried to the lilies' plant bed. The sound of water hitting the petals, leaves and earth bordered on melodic. Hob had figured out the exact amount of water he should provide the flowers with given the weather conditions. He set the watering can down beside the wooden frame of the plant bed after emptying it.
Before he returned to the flat, he admired his work with arms resting on the edge of the wood. A gentle gust of cool wind made the hair on his arms rise. Still he hesitated to abandon the garden's sight and scent. He reached for the scissors on the table beside him and severed three stems. The flowers could adorn the dining table that afternoon.
Flowers in hand, he returned to his home. Darkness had settled inside, so the overhead light was switched on. As he saw the dark figure sitting upon the sofa, his heart leapt. He clutched his hand to his chest and tightened his grip around the flowers' stems.
On the sofa, there sat a familiar figure. Although, he did not sit as he would during their centennial meetings. No, he was now reclined against the backrest with his head angled towards where his hands were folded in his lap. The stare was blank, void of any motion or sign of recognition that someone else had entered the room.
"Oh my, you gave me quite a scare there, love." Hob was relieved to see that there was no thief or threat in his home, but a friend. Or, friend may be too small of a word. It only described one kind of relation, and after hundreds of years it felt too small. Any other word felt like too much, too grand.
"That was not my intention, I assure you. I went here to gather myself for a short time, as I do not influence my surroundings in the same way here as in my own realm." His voice was robotic, more so than it usually was, and so were his movements.
"Gather yourself? That's fine, I'm glad you came here." Hob walked across the room to the seating area. He stood in front of Dream, who remained still on the sofa. "Do you need anything," he asked, whilst trying to look Dream in the eyes. The attempt was futile, as he was met with a bowed head and a face mostly obscured by hair. The sole thing he could see was a pair of clenched fists.
"No, Hob, I do not require anything. In fact, this has been an indulgence from my side. I should not let my emotions get in the way of performing my function." He stood up and took a step away. Before he could leave, Hob reached out. He gently grabbed hold of Dream's wrist as he tried to anchor him.
"Don't go because you're angry, or sad, or something else, not again. There is no need to pretend you don't have emotions, I know what it is. Hell, you saw me not long ago when I was reduced to a sobbing mess. I want to help you as you helped me. Let me return the favour."
Dream gasped at this. He stood with his mouth slightly open. Never before had Hob seen him struggle for words, but now they were beyond him.
Finally he spoke. "You do not know what your that would entail. Human emotions may be harmless, but for one such as I, they can be forces of destruction. I should not wish to subject you to mine."
"Whatever it is you are afraid of, I will not be scared off by a bad day. I had a life in the terrible sixteenth century, and even that could not make me waver in my stubbornness." Hob tugged at his wrist, towards the seat next to him. "Sit with me."
— 4 —
Hob began to notice a pattern after the third incident. The undeniable truth was breathing down his neck, and simultaneously staring him down. Of course he had his ideas, one might even call them hypotheses at this point. He had gathered the data which all led to the same conclusion.
Dreams physical body was not a constant physical thing but rather something malleable and responsive. How else would the emotional responses and physical changes be explained, when there was such a strong correlation?
The wine glasses, still containing some red liquid, captured the light from Hob's floor lamp which stood tucked into a corner of the living room. Shadows and refracted light were cast over the dark oaken coffee table. What the lamp also illuminated was the two figures lying on the sofa. Hob sat against the backrest while Dream lay with his head just beside Hob's leg. The distance between the two was equal to that of a planet and its star; one was forever pulling the other towards it, yet they never seemed to touch.
Hob yawned and his head was cast backwards. "I should probably go to sleep. Maybe you could... rest with me," he suggested.
Dream opened his eyes, but his face showed no movement. There was not even a hint of emotion to be read from his expression.
His tone was even as he spoke with his dark voice. "I shall not impose on your resting hours. It would not be polite of me to disturb your sleep with my presence."
That made Hob's eyes widen and his mouth parted slightly. He leaned in closer to Dream. "You would not be imposing. I am inviting you because I would like for you to rest with me. But only if you want to, there is no obligation for you to accept the invitation."
A moment's silence passed them by in the dimness.
"Then yes, I shall join you," Dream said in a determined tone. He immediately rose from the cushions and looked to Hob, who was rising from his own seat. Hob figured he would have to take the lead, so he beckoned Dream to follow him towards the bedroom. Inaudible footsteps joined his own down the hallway.
Hob led them through the door and tuned to Dream who stood tall and with perfect posture behind him. "Would you like to borrow some pajamas? I know, you probably wear jeans incessantly, but I would like for you to be comfortable."
"Yes, I would like that." Dreams voice had quieted to the point that it was barely more than a murmur. His eyes were trained somewhere next to Hob's face or behind him. He got to work locating his softest clothes. In a period so short it would probably beat some record, he found a complete outfit consisting of trousers, a t-shirt and a pair of thick socks. With no words spoken, he handed them to his partner.
They were both dressed, Hob had noticed the weight if his limbs and the difficulty he had keeping his eyes open. After a mere blink he had to summon all his will to open his eyes again. He settles into the side of the bed and drew the satin sheets back. His gaze fell on Dream, who remained standing by the other side of the bed. Hob held the other side of the sheets open in an invitation for him to also crawl underneath them. The gesture proved to be sufficient.
Dream chose to lay on his side facing Hob. Still, they did not touch at all. Hob resolved to rectify this, but he knew better than to reach out in a thoughtless manner.
"We could cuddle?" His own voice was now quiet despite the lack of anyone else in the flat. He felt the situation somehow required the quiet atmosphere. An arm was held out by Hob to allow Dream to come closer.
Dream shifted towards Hob. As his arms brushed against Hob's, Hob felt the chill temperature Dream's skin had. "Christ, you cold. Come here, you icicle." Warm arms wrapped themselves around Dream and were met with no resistance. Hob's hands absently stroked his back in gentle circles. Within minutes both of their breaths had become even and slow, and their bodies were still under the blankets.
_
It was the movements that broke Hob from his sleep. It was impossible to know which movement, for there were too many motions happening at once. In his mind, he registered that something was shaking in his arms. Moreover, he was encircled by something pressing against him, trying to move closer. The twisting and turning along with the trembling made Dream's hair brush against Hob's neck.
That was it. That was what Hob needed to remember. Dream was sleeping next to him.
Hob opened his eyes to see the room, void of any light but that from the streetlight outside, which shone through the curtains. He could see the dark hair when he looked down, and the shaking was visible despite the dimness. Dream was tense as he clutched Hob closer to himself. His hands gripped Hob's shirt like a vice. This drew Hob's attention. it was unlike how Dream normally acted, all calm and elegant instead of desperate and wild. The grip bordered on clawing; in his sleep Dream's hands had actually become clawed, Hob thought, as he felt the points of Dream's fingertips through the fabric. In no way was he alarmed by the claws against his skin, but by the unknown reason behind their appearance.
Amidst the turmoil, Hob began stroking Dream's back again. It was a firm touch. He began whispering about anything he could think of, any words that could help. As he spoke, his voice gained a strength and some volume. When Dream began to wake up, he was talking faster and repeating the same words again.
When Dream blinked in the dark, he was still shaking. Hob noted that the claws were not the only change. Along with them dark and starry eyes had followed.
"Hey, it's okay. We're in my apartment, it's a Friday night. Tonight is the seventh of April. I don't know why you're scared, but I assure you that nothing will harm us here." His hands continued their path up and down the curved spine.
Dream drew a breath in with a gasp. Priorly, Hob had not noticed his breathing or lack thereof, which would be the issue itself. He had not thought Dream even had need of air in his lungs or been sure that he had lungs. Now, as his lips parted, white and shiny points emerged from the void as well. A number of his teeth had morphed into fangs. His mouth snapped shut again.
At the signs of wakefulness, Hob tried to draw Dream's attention. "Are you here with me, Dream," he tried in a slow and quiet tone.
That elicited a short nod in response. Dream drew his hands away from Hob's back, but made no other move to end the touch between them. His eyes were screwed shut, causing his skin's flawless surface to crease. A slow breath made its way to his lungs. The shaking turned more subtle, but did not subside.
His eyebrows drew closer together. Then, his hands returned to their place by Hob's shoulder blades and his eyes opened. The blue hue had returned to them. When he parted his lips to speak, a set of human teeth showed.
"I apologise for waking you at this hour. It was not my intention."
"I know, but you have nothing to apologise for. Did you have... Can you even have nightmares," Hob asked.
"Not in the way dreamers do, no. This was a memory from my past, it should not provoke such a response." Dream made no effort to recognise the radical changes he had gone through in the physical sense. Hob thought better of bringing it up so shortly after an almost-nightmare. He ran his hands through Dreams hair.
"Well, we could just relax for a second, yeah? No need to worry about what you "should" be doing when you're here." He draped an arm across Dream's shoulder underneath the duvet.
— 5 —
He was beginning to wonder how he would bring the subject up, as it was far from a casual everyday conversation topic. He could mention it as a matter-of-fact, something normal and common. Yet that would not acknowledge the emotions that were surely tied to it all. Hob was reluctant to be too grave about it; he did not wish to be perceived as angered or irritated by it. No, not at all.
Truth be told, Hob was growing fond of the ways he could read emotions based on the changes. He had become better at it during their acquaintanceship and with practice. The shapeshifting could even be lovely. He found that it was not only defensive reactions or loss of control, but also simple responses to emotions and reactions to the situations they were in that triggered his partner to change shape.
They were taking a walk through the park across the street from Hob's flat. The sun was departing from the horizon and cast its early morning rays across the grass. Few people were around at that hour of they way, especially on weekdays. Living in the past centuries meant that Hob was used to rising with the sun. He was also a creature of habit. These two facts often resulted in walks at dawn, now with an occasional companion by his side.
Their shoulders and arms brushed together and separated to the rhythm of their steps. Sometimes their hands would brush against each other as well. This tested Hob's patience. He longed to reach out and grasp what was so close to him.
He would have thought better than to do this during their first meetings, but he had grown brave. The risk was worth it, if it meant that he might grasp the hand of his friend. And so he waited for the instant when their limbs would meet again, when he would have the perfect opportunity.
It came, and he glided his hand into the other.
He was surprised to be met with no surprise. Dream grasped Hob's hand in return. Hob noticed that as their hands pressed together, Dream's hand took the perfect shape to fit with Hob's own. It warmed his heart to know that the other was, perhaps unconsciously, doing everything to hold Hob's hand in the perfect way. Something in Hob's heart also longed to tell Dream that he did not need to customise himself to be with Hob, but that was not a conversation to be had in a public park. He settled with letting his lips curl up so much that his eyes crinkled, and he bumped into Dream. That earned him a slight twitch of Dream's lips that only he knew to look for.
Hob wondered what it would be like to hold Dreams hand when he was comfortable enough to be himself. Until then, he would appreciate the soft sunlight hitting the black hair and sharp features.
— +1 —
The living room was illuminated by golden streaks of the last sunshine as they laid on the sofa. One could hardly differentiate between one body and another in the tangle, had it not been for the secret tension concealed beneath one's pale skin.
Hob stilled beneath him before looking down. "You know that you don't have to stay in this form when you're with me, right?" He spoke as if he was afraid even the air itself might overhear his words.
"What do you mean?" Dream still kept himself looking as he always did, because if he misunderstood, as could be lost. The unspoken bond between the two beings was too precious to lose for the sake of his own foolish wants.
"I may only be a human, but I assume that since you're not, and you're 'Endless', you might not look entirely human constantly. I have no expectations for your appearance, you can look like whatever you look like."
Dream whipped around to look his partner in the eye. "You have no expectations?" His voice was laced with disbelief.
"Yes, I quite like how you look but I cannot imagine myself ever disliking any form you could take."
"If you have no expectations... how am I to form an appearance? I am shaped by the perception of others. My appearance is not set in stone, I am what you imagine me to be, what I am supposed to be."
"What you're supposed to be? Is there really no form you take when you're by yourself, when you relax?"
"That would not be a pleasant sight." As he spoke, he removed himself from the comfort of Hob's embrace, sitting instead at the very edge of the sofa. Dream averted his gaze to the radio on the self by the opposite wall. As his back was turned, Hob could see the tense lines of his back and shoulder, taut like springs ready to snap.
"Wait a minute, you don't have to keep yourself together just because you think that I'd like this shape better. I love you, all of you. Not just the bits you think are pleasing to the eye. You can relax here, and in fact I would like you to do that."
Dream glanced down, his mouth set into a thin line and his brows knit together. This was no lightly taken decision, there would be no going back if he took off the veneer of humanity he had kept on. However, he knew that the facade would fall eventually. It may as well fall then in a place of comfort than as it had in the past. Perhaps it would not end in a tragedy this time but quietly. Perhaps the pain could be bearable after some years.
He let go. It was a freefall.
He waited for the anger, the shouting. He waited to be pushed away, demanded to leave.
It did not happen.
No, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm, burning, and it beckoned him to move closer to the man it was attached to. Dream obliged, though not without a thought of reconsideration. It should not be a trap, he needed remind himself.
As he was pulled back to the embrace, the warmth enveloped his entire body. Arms wrapped around him and a hand brushed by his hair.
"That's it, you're fine, you can let go."
The last tension bled out of him as those words reached his heart. Not in the past millennia had Dream allowed himself such a luxury while in the presence of others. His form shifted beneath the touch. Even he did not know truly what he would look like in any given situation. As he was without the expectations of others to shape him, and unless he put effort into doing it himself, he had no control over his appearance. It was comparable to how humans do not truly decide upon their own appearance, they could only make finer adjustments for the sake of comfort. In this trusted moment, he did not put any energy or effort towards keeping himself attractive or even normal-looking. It feels liberating.
The sensation of tears rolling down his face pulls him from his thoughts. His hand moved on its own accord to wipe them away, the evidence of his vulnerability. More tears took its place and he could not seem stop them from doing so.
"It's okay. Hey, it's okay. You can cry here, I don't mind." Hob's hands pulled his own hands away from his face. He held Dream's hands carefully folded between his own. The hands felt like a beam from the brightest sun compared to his own icy limbs. The tears fell lightly as snow and in numbers not unlike those of snowflakes during a winter storm. One was blinked away, rolled downwards, and fell. Its place was immediately taken by another droplet.