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“I am Dream of the Endless,” the Stranger said with an air of importance that came with the declaration of such a cosmic title. And to Hob, that’s exactly what it sounded like; a title, not a name. Somehow after having gotten an answer out of him, his Stranger seems stranger than ever.
“Isn’t that more your… I don’t know, species?” Hob winced at the rudeness he knew could easily be taken from this reply to an answer so long withheld and quickly backtracked, “what I meant was, isn’t that more what you are and not who you are?” Damn, that didn’t really sound much kinder. His Stranger (for Hob refused to think of his name as his job description) broadcasted his confusion in a series of microexpressions that could so easily be missed if one wasn’t watching closely. A slight squint and a distinct turn of the lips was all Hob was presented with, but he knew his Stranger, he knew that despite his dramatics how subtle he tended to be.
“I do not follow.” His eyes turned unblinkingly towards Hob. He could perhaps even sense a spark of irritation in his old friend, “I am Dreams and the Dreaming. There is no name which rings truer.”
And so the backtracking commenced, “Sorry mate, I’ll call you whatever you like. I only thought calling you ‘Dream’ would be a lot like asking you to call me ‘Human’.”
Confusion settles even deeper into his friend’s face, clearly still not understanding, “How so?”
In for a penny, “well, you say you are called ‘Dream of the Endless’ because you are the embodiment of dreams and nightmares and such. Call me a fool, but I’d like to think that I’m a decent embodiment of humanity, or at least a semi-respectable representation of it, but calling me ‘Human’ certainly doesn’t feel like a name. It would be accurate, sure; if anything it’s more accurate than ‘Hob’. Anything can be called Hob. It doesn’t exactly scream ‘human’, especially in the current age, but it’s more me than any other title. I suppose I’m not quite up to Endless standard, so sorry, the two probably aren’t comparable. I’m probably running all over some pretty bold lines with these kinds of comparisons. I’ll call you whatever name you like, Dream of the Endless.” Hob ended his babble with a well-ingrained disarming smile, desperately hoping he hadn’t egregiously overstepped. After centuries of not knowing, his friend finally revealed his name and all he got in response was what could practically be described as an insult upon his entire family’s naming system.
To his relief, when Hob met his friend's eyes again, there wasn’t anger, but thoughtfulness. An emotion that Hob knew no one would ever have seen on him centuries ago, before he had resigned to accepting friendship. “If a name isn’t what you are, then what is it?”
Hob thinks for a moment, feeling a bit unqualified to define the meaning of a name. It holds such great importance, everybody knows that, but trying to explain what about a name creates such significance feels much harder than one might think, “I suppose it’s whatever you want it to be. The word you want attached to your memory. The word that is said and those who know it can see your face and hear your voice in their mind. Something that holds the love of friends and family.”
“Dream is insufficient for this purpose.” It didn’t exactly sound like a question, but Hob still felt chastised by it.
“Of course it's sufficient.” Hob gave his most reassuring smile, “Dream is a wonderful name. I never should have suggested otherwise, I’m sorry. If Dream is what you are and who you are, then I have no reason to oppose that. I have no right to oppose that.” Hob pauses briefly, but his nerves quickly burst through the silence once more, “And if there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you're a bit of a workaholic,” Hob exhales a gentle laugh that just might be mixed with a touch of fond exasperation. His friend has always fought to feel above companionship and personal happiness in favor of his duties. Duties Hob now understands are being Dream of the Endless, creating and ruling over an entire realm of beings and giving all of creation the ability to hope and dream.
Perhaps Dream (as much as Hob wants to resist that name) truly is nothing beyond his realm. But Hob has seen his Stranger as the individual he is. He is not just the embodiment of dreams, but impossibly even more than that. Every microscopic smile, every tensing of his brow, every sparkle of his eyes, proves there is more to him than his function.
Despite how these beliefs fester in the core of Hob’s heart, he knows he shouldn’t say it. He shouldn’t attempt to derail someone he loves from their life’s purpose. It would just be cruel. Not only to Dream (for Hob will endeavor to call him Dream if his friend wishes), but all those who value the Dreaming.
Throughout Hob’s internal struggle, Dream had simply stared at him. Clearly not looking at Hob, not truely, but instead lost in his own thoughts. Dream blinks and Hob knows he’s back with him again. The confusion from before is gone, replaced with his microscopic smile and lovely sparkle.
“Morpheus.”
The word seems to echo warmly around the Dreaming although not seeming to hold the same weight on this world as his original answer had. The world was clearly a fool, because this word was clearly so much more important.
“Hey, Morpheus. I’m Hob, it’s an honor to meet you,” Hob couldn’t hold back the huge smile that broke over his face, “You have a beautiful name.”