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Hob flopped face-first in his pillow, groaning upon impact. After nearly three-sodding-hours, he's finally managed to get through every one of the backlogged papers and assignments that he was very much so avoiding. He would like to think of himself as a decent teacher, but hell was he behind on grading. Happy to be done, Hob relinquished his sideways spot on the bed to crawl toward his small, mahogany bedside table. He placed his reading glasses down and then tugged on the pull chain, extinguishing the soft light that had been warming his tiny studio apartment.
He threw back the blue comforter and snuggled in, slight smile on his face as he turned to his side, already feeling the promise of sleep tugging at his eyelids.
Now, every once in a while he finds himself in the dreaming. Its a very peculiar sensation, being pulled this way and that, but he has become accustomed to it, comforted, even.
Generally, its pretty soft. More like a whisper than anything. This time, however, was not gentle.
Hob jolted into consciousness, finding himself in the Dreaming. This particular section of the castle looked quite a bit like Dreams study, but the indescribable darkness enveloping himself and the room made it very hard to be certain. slowly but surely, Hob's eyes adjusted and the room came into focus. There were multiple, grandiose bookshelves stacked high with likely the oldest books to ever be written, and likely a good few that were just feverish dreams that never made it to press. There was a wall of floor to ceiling windows, framed by dark wood and crushed velvet drapes.
Looking out of the ornate windows, Hob noted the horrible weather. Heavy rain, thunder, lightning, the whole shebang. Of course Hob had his suspicions as to who could be blamed for such heinous weather, but he was worried more than anything.
He turned away from the window, pacing back and forth a bit until something caught his eye. Across from the window facing toward the wall was a decent-sized luxurious couch and what seemed to be a hunched over man. Immediately, he recognized the disheveled hair to be Dream's.
Hob started a quick but careful half-sprint to Dream, trying not to step on anything around the floor, which was strange in itself to see somewhere in Dream's castle not be immaculate. As he grew closer, little droplets of what looked like dried blood littered the hard wood, startling Hob greatly. He stopped in front of dream, face going pale as he stared down.
Something was very, very wrong.
Dream's hands were held away from his body, fingers splayed with each knobby, slender finger coated in semi-dry blood. Hob turned his head to the right, seeing a basin of water and a washrag, both a murky red shade. Panic settled in deep, filling his bones and senses.
Hob fell to his knees in front of Dream, grasping his impossibly frail wrists to avoid the blood.
"What happened? Are you hurt? Well- I know you aren't hurt -probably, at least,, but are you okay? Are you-" Before Hob could finish the onslaught of questions, Dream's head slowly lifted, revealing silvery-blue eyes, shiny and red. His skin was paler than usual and seemed to be tacky. He looked overall sickly (if even possible)
The sigh of Dream startled Hob a little, but he set that aside and cautiously placed a large, calloused hand atop Dream's bed of inky black hair. He laced his fingers through each strand and slowly carded through it as Dream lowered his head once more. He kept running his fingers through the soft mess, hoping it would calm Dream down any. Hob looked back towards the basin with now fresh water and a starch-white washrag next to it.
Best guess he had was that Dream conjured up some fresh water while he wasn't paying attention. He took it as a sign that Dream wanted help. If it were any other situation, Hob would've started pumping his fist in triumph at the little bit of responsibility Dream was giving him.
Hob pushed the sleeves of his grey sleep shirt up to his elbows and got to work. He dipped the white rag into the lukewarm water and wrung it out before gently placing it onto Dream's left palm, using both hands to scrub away the grime. Once the rag was fully red, he would dunk it back in, wring it out, and continue the process. He did this many times, scrubbing the crevices between Dream's fingers to ensure there was no trace left behind.
While examining Dream's hands, Hob also noticed that he does, in fact, have fingerprints. Should he be focusing on this? Absolutely not. His best friend seems to be in crisis and he's sitting here fangirling over the immortal entity that is eons older than himself having fingerprints and super soft hands.
Pushing that thought aside, Hob finished with the left hand and looked out the window behind Dream. The weather hadn't let up any, which wasn't a pleasant sign. Aside from all of this, Hob though that Dream looked absolutely stunning. The dark grey light slitted in and backlit him, shrouding him in even more darkness than before. It was a neat thing to see, if it weren't for the fact his friend was sobbing.
Hob tried to figure out what may have happened without directly asking, but he couldn't come up with a thing.
"You wanna tell me what all this is about, love?" Hob asked in a croaky, quiet voice, careful not to scare the seemingly unstable man off. He looked up at Dream, not surprised when he was met with hair instead of his face.
Hob watched as Dream's dainty mouth fell open and closed a few times. Faintly, he heard some sort of strangled raspy noise come from the other mans throat before he felt a head thump against his shoulder. Shock settled in before Hob snapped out of it, bringing one arm to wrap around Dream's toned waist while the other rubbed up and down his spine. He gently shushed Dream and continued offering any gesture that could possibly seem comforting, which were very few given the way Hob short circuited when he felt Dream's head fall onto his shoulder.
He was very very worried for Dream.
Light touches continued, eventually morphing into Hob rubbing slow circles on Dream's tense shoulder blades. Occasionally, he could hear soft gasps and slight dampness come from Dream's spot on Hob's neck, which was welcomed. He looked past Dream toward the window, signing as the weather somehow worsened, forcing the room into further darkness as clouds obscured any hope of light.
Hob didn't dare move. He stayed still, save for the sweet touches and reaffirming words.
Hob felt Dream's head move against his neck as he lifted up, looking at hob with his tear-stained face. He glanced down at his hands before quickly looking away, shaking slightly as he turned his head to the left, avoiding the blood-covered right hand. Hob considered this a sign to keep washing him off.
He wrung the rag out again and scrubbed at his palm, then the back of his hand, fingers, and ending it off with the creases between each digit. Upon completion, Hob stroked Dream's hair affectionately before tapping his shoulder to signal that he was finished.
The basin sat by itself, rust colored with flakes of blood floating at the top before sinking.
Dream made no effort to show he wanted to interact. No flinch, no shrug, nothing. The rain outside was still a heavy beating on the glass, which didn't exactly fill Hob with hope that Dream felt any better. He stayed still and rubbed Dream's back, staying quiet and careful with his gestures.
As time passed and the rain continued, Hob was getting increasingly more concerned for Dream.
"You wanna talk about it now?" Hob asked quietly into Dreams ear, hoping he didn't seem overbearing or harsh to what must be a very difficult time for Dream.
Dream stirred, making little noises that weren't quite human.
"My son- I hadn't seen him for over a millennia. I shut him out when he needed me most-" His voice came out unsteady, meek, but nonetheless ethereally beautiful. It lacked the same command it usually does, but Hob still listened as if he was speaking gospel.
Hob nodded along, stroking Dream's hair as the other lamented.
"He asked of me to kill him, but I didn't. I let him suffer." Dream said, distain very present in his voice. Hob could assume such emotion was not aimed at the apparent son Dream has.
"That's a hard thing to do to your child, Dream. I'm sure he doesn't fault you for that." He said, offering any amount of solace he could to a situation he had no clue about how to handle.
The thought alone of Dream having a son was wild, but being asked to kill your own child? Hob truly had no idea how to help, so he kept his commentary to a minimum.
He felt Dream stir further, moving his face into the junction between Hob's jawline and his shoulder. Dream's moist breath settled onto his throat, lighting his nerves. He stayed still, ignoring how ever way he may feel towards Dream, especially right now.
"I went to see him briefly before your arrival. I did what he asked of me- what he begged of me." Dream said solemnly, the weather hitting a hurricane-like peak as the wind became violent and the rain slammed against every side of the room they were in.
Hob was stunned, to say the least. Overcome with sadness for his friend, he started crying. Not only for his loss, but what must have been going through Dream's mind right now--what must've been going through his mind before Hob's arrival. Everything he will never be able to say. He continued running his hands through Dream's hair as he wept, stabilizing both himself and Dream.
"Will you stay a while longer, Hob?" Dream asked quietly, nearly a whisper. But Hob heard him and nodded immediately.
"Lift your head for me, hm?" Hob said while patting Dreams shoulder.
"My knees are starting to hurt. I'll sit next to you on the couch, yeah?" He half-asked, already picking himself up with a groan as he plopped down next to Dream on the very comfortable couch. He draped one arm behind the backboard as Dream pressed his face against Hob's chest, nuzzling into the soft material of his grey sleep shirt.
Hob wrapped his unoccupied arm around Dream, settling on the small of his back.
The two of them, cuddled up on the couch as the rain slowly came down to a mere drizzle. The room was warm, dark, and Hob felt at peace. The thought of what Dream must be going through still running through his mind, but he was content with being able to offer a small ounce of the comfort that Dream has given him.
They stayed like this for a very, very long time.