Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I just wanna sing until I die
So sing it
You are never gonna get
Everything you want in this world
First things first
Get what you deserve
When I wish upon a star
No telling I'd walk out this far
It came when I learned how to face myself
And I'm still deciding if I'm something else
I'm a million different people all the time
But there's only one of me to get it right

First Things First | Neon Trees

Hob moved into the attic of his inn during the 2020 summer, concluding it saved both money and time. Once the establishment had permission to reopen he put it on listings like Airbnb because sometimes post-pandemic, the crowd wasn’t just there. Not that he’d fault the people. Just because he didn’t get affected didn’t mean others wouldn’t. So a few people stayed on the first and second floors. They came and went. The kitchen and the bar were on the ground floor. The days passed as they always did. Hob graded his students’ papers and checked on the bills and the pantry and the plumbing. He taught his kids enthusiastically about all things history whether or not the curriculum mentioned them. (Many a time he has been reprimanded for that.) He made a lot of social friends but made sure he was never around when pictures were clicked.

He hadn’t forgotten the advice of the one and only friend of his. He could be captured and tortured if he wasn’t careful.

Often, Hob would look up when the bell rang and the door opened. An endless number of people stepped in and stepped out save that one man. The Not Devil. The Not Friend.

Hob would call him The Other Immortal except now he knew better. There were more than two of them.

Each time he would look away, not sighing, wondering if he’d ever stop hoping for that man to step on his threshold the way he still hadn’t stopped being in love with living.

Hob knew deep down as he went about his work that he could never give up on the friendship that resulted in him becoming a better man.

.

Then on one such nondescript day, the bell above the opening door rang again and he didn’t look up. Not till the steps approached his table and Hob knew without even looking up who it was. His very emo-looking friend in period-appropriate clothes.

It wasn’t his sudden arrival that surprised Hob but that the former referred to him as a friend and smiled at him. He sat down on the chair opposite to him - an action very familiar to them both - but what was new was that Hob could tell that even if little some burden had been lifted off him.

However, Hob didn’t think he’d ever find out.

*

Content with the fact that he had met his friend, he wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon.

*

Only six years or so had passed since that day. Hob was checking all the locks and bolts of his Inn that night when the doorbell rang shrilly in the middle of the it. Not expecting any guests but always ready to receive more, he didn’t think much of it when he opened the door.

To his utter surprise and delight, his Not Friend was standing at his doorstep, drenched in rain, looking like a pathetic wet cat. His glare felt ineffective as he growled,

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

He shouldered past him inside.

“Why, you’re welcome,” Hob said, amused but thoroughly confused. He shut the door and turned around, smirking. “What brings you here to my humble abode?” He frowned as he realized that the other man wasn’t shivering as much as he was … shaking. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a place to rest.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Hob replied, slightly disappointed.

“Where’s your bed?”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re being very forward, mate?”

“I am not your mate.”

He turned around and sort of dragged his feet as he went inside.

“Hey-”

“Where?” He asked without looking back.

“The attic,” Hob sighed.

He was gone as sand swirled around him. Hob gaped but only because it was friend. Especially, because it was his friend who did that.

Had he seen this back in 1389, Hob would have run away in opposite direction screaming blasphemy or something. Perhaps. Maybe not. He might have come back wanting to know.

*

Twenty minutes later, Hob opened the door to his room slowly. There he was, the pale man, looking lifeless. Bloodless. He looked long dead.

Hob would have called for an ambulance had it not been for the slight twitching. His clothes were dry.

Befuddled as to why he would come here, Hob couldn’t sleep that night, concern and amazement filling him.

*

Somewhere around dawn, Hob dozed off for a bit on his chair. When he blinked his eyes open, his friend was gone. The bedsheet was unruffled.

His friend as per their usual fashion, left behind more questions and zero explanation.

*

Hob was pretty sure he wouldn’t see his friend for another couple of years, at least. Maybe another two hundred to counter balance.

Except, he turned up two days later.

Hob was arranging fresh towels in one of the guest bathrooms when a loud noise from the lower floor startled him. He grabbed a vase on the way as he tiptoed down the stairs, his heart beating at the usual pace, his past military training not quite erased from his muscles. Totally expecting a break in, he held the vase close to him for the sake of pretense. He came to a sudden halt, not believing his eyes. He dropped the vase in shock.

There was his friend with one arm wrapped around himself standing in the middle of the lobby.

“What the fuck?” Hob whispered and hurried towards him.

His friend took a shaky step towards him as well and Hob caught him instinctively.

“Morpheus,” He rasped, short of breath. Hob held onto him tighter, his heart beating thunderously. “My name.”

“Like the God of dreams?” Hob asked, his pitch higher than usual, bewildered.

Hob couldn’t rejoice in the monumental moment of his life as his friend, Morpheus, collapsed in his arms and became still.

Chapter Text

“Father!” His son called out.

He turned away.

“Father…”, his unborn daughter whispered.

He walked up to the cracked mirror on the wall. His long-dead wife was staring back at him.

An eerie silence followed.

“Have you found your answers?” She asked.

He opened his mouth to reply. His lips moved in the reflection but no sound was uttered.

Silence crept up on him like dark shadows.

“Where were you?” “Are you happy you outlive us? Your children?”

He tried replying. He shouted.

Please, listen. Please.

She continued with her barraging questions and the licks of slippery ropes of shadow shackled him to the spot. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t explain. He couldn’t stop hearing how he had let down his wife, and his family.

This was a nightmare.

*

Hob Gadling at the age of thirty-six was a dreamer because hopes and dreams were the only things keeping his life from being snuffed out but he never really had literal dreams. Neither did the altered Hob Gadling who was walking through different centuries on this planet with no dreams in his eyes.

*

The surface of the dark still water rippled as he barely touched it with the tip of his finger. Two glowing eyes appeared under the surface of the water.

His son’s.

He pressed his palm flat against the cold, calm water. A hand reached out slowly.

Beckoned, he grabbed the hand and was slowly pulled under. He felt relief.

The figure which looked like his son swam further and further deep. He followed.

He kept swimming till they approached an underwater forest. The plants were swaying to a rhythm of their own.

“Friend,” someone whispered from the back.

He swiveled around only to find himself in the middle of the forestation.

“Friend,” a voice cried out in anguish.

He turned around again but saw nothing.

“Why, friend?” “Why did you leave us?” “Why? Why? Why?”

He tried swimming towards the voices but they remained out of his reach behind the thin tall plants. They hid away just enough that he couldn’t locate them but close enough he could hear the pain in their whispers.

“Are you happy? Did you celebrate that you survived and left us behind?”

No!

“Are you happy?”

As panic began to settle in his chest and he flailed, bubbles erupted from his lips and he started losing hold of his breath.

“Father!”

His son came swimming towards him. Relieved, he moved towards him only to be suddenly bound by vines, ropes, and fabric that looked too similar to the curtains that used to hang in his house once upon a time.

He screamed out for his son who was being dragged closer to the ocean bed. He fought against these chains and broke through for a minute. He powered through his swim and caught up with his son and the faceless dark assailants.

Son!

As he tried to fight against all of them, his hands and legs growing weary, the voice of his wife brushed the back of his mind.

“Selfish!”

*

Hob smiled at the new family arriving at his inn.

“Here are the keys to your room. Second door is on the left for the first floor and the third room on the second floor. I will have your luggage up in your rooms in a jiffy.”

The lady gave him an amused look and her husband thanked him, trying not to stare at his face as they collected their keys and took their children up the stairs.

Hob yawned as he walked back towards the patio to collect his guests’ luggage. He knew what he looked like to them. Purplish bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, hoarse voice, hair askew. Not a flattering picture for a host. There was also a fading mark on one of his cheeks. He must have hit himself in the sleep he had previously surmised.

That was before he had noticed the fading scars around his necks, wrists, and ankles.

*

He was watching the ship docked at the port from the window of his cabin.

“Why, Lord, did you do this to us?”

Hob closed his eyes with a pang in his chest. This was a voice he remembered. He knew once upon a time.

Oh, truly, the crimes he had done.

“Why, pray, did you think this was what my family deserved? My husband only wanted a job. Why did you do this to us?”

I’m sorry, he whispered.

Oh, these nightmares. They were real.

They were memories.

*

Hob woke up with a start.

Someone was screaming.

He jumped off his bed and ran downstairs.

It was one of the young guests’ voices.

He ran to the second last room on that floor. He found the door to the room where the children were sleeping open. He could hear her mother trying to calm her as he approached. The father turned to look at him and gave him a sheepish smile.

“Just a bad dream.”

“Yeah, honey,” the mother smiled. “Just a bad dream.”

The girl was shaking, her face ashen. Hob glanced at the boy next to her. He was tight asleep. Only his eyes twitched and his lips were curved up to a smile.

“He’s a deep sleeper.” The mother explained.

Hob tried not to frown and stepped back out of the room.

“Shh, love, it is going to be okay. See, mum and dad are here now.”

“If you need anything,” Hob began glimpsing at the closed door next to theirs, “please, do not hesitate to ring for me.”

“We are really sorry to have disturbed you,” Mrs. Talbot said. “This has never happened before.”

“It’s alright. G’nnight.”

“You too.”

Hob walked out of the floor, puzzled and theories floating in his mind but he was too tired to dwell on them right away.

*

When he woke up in the morning, his left thigh hurt way too much for him to have just slept on it. No, his left thigh, ribs, and shoulder hurt in varying degrees. There were bruises that were darkening by the minute.

They were in places he got hurt in his last dream.

What the fuck?

Hob pressed on the bruises on his ribs. He bit his lips to prevent himself from crying out loud as his eyes teared up and he slammed one hand on the wall.

He exhaled slowly.

Later. Later.

He brushed his teeth and performed the regular ablutions that he merely did to repeat human habits rather than an absolute necessity. He tried not to think too much about that either.

He looked into the mirror on the wall between the second and first-floor landing and scanned the reflection of his neck. The rope marks were not visible above the collar. He still pulled at the collar of his shirt and smiled, getting ready to greet his guests before he left for school.

*

Hob was absolutely knackered by the time he got back to his inn from school. It was not a state he remembered being in over centuries. Mentally, he had been plenty of times. Almost all his life. But, physically tired?

He wouldn’t be able to recall even if he tried to.

He checked in with Ayan who was manning the bar for that shift when he overheard his guests talking. The family of four and a straight couple who have been there for a few days longer than the former. They usually rest and have lunch at the inn before they leave for their work in the evening.

They were talking animatedly.

“Sir,” Ayan leaned over the bar.

“How many times do I have to remind you, Ayan, to address me just with Hob.”

“Of course, sir. I mean, Hob sir.” He shook his head. “That’s not important.” He leaned over further. “Did you hear what happened?”

“What kind?”

Ayan gave him a baleful look to which Hob raised his eyebrow.

“Apparently, the entire family had terrible nightmares.” Hob tried to give nothing away.

“I see?” He remarked with pretend nonchalance. “Didn’t realize that was so important.”

“Well, Ms. Chadwick there too couldn’t sleep this morning. She and her boyfriend said they too have had fitful sleep here whenever they do.”

“And?”

“They don’t think much of it but Mr. and Mrs. Talbot think this place is haunted.”

“Because they had bad dreams?”

Ayan shrugged and picked up the two glasses of whiskey for the couple. “Just giving a heads up. Even if unfounded, suspicions can be bad for business.”

Oh, how well did Hob know that.

“Thank you, you cheeky little boy.” Hob playfully ruffled his hair.

“I am not a little boy,” he said as he served the drinks at the table, slightly pouting in the way only teenagers managed.

“You’re to me, kid.”

Hob wandered off, taking a perimeter check of the premise.

He stepped into the garden in the backyard and gazed at the lovely red rose bushes he had. He looked at the vegetable patch and random assortment of flowers in his garden. He had no green thumb. This was the longest his gardening had borne fruit.

Hob turned his face slightly upwards, sheltering his eyes from direct sunlight with his left hand, and squinted at the white billowy clouds. It reminded him of one such fine day a couple of centuries ago. He smiled. Beautiful weather always cheered him up.

He finally tore his gaze away from the sky and his garden and turned around.

He kept staring at the walls of his inn, his mind blank for a couple of seconds. He walked slowly towards the vine covering this side of the wall. They went quite high up. As far as the second floor.

In fact, it was almost touching the window of the room he had laid his friend in.

Morpheus.

The God of Dreams?

Ms. Chadwick appeared at the door and asked, smiling, “Mr. Gadling, I hope I’m not intruding, am I?”

Hob blinked twice before he looked at her. “Ah, Ms. Chadwick,” he beamed back at her, “what can I do for you?”

He lost his previous train of thoughts.

*

After the young couple had left, Hob had ‘suggested’ to the parents that they could shift their children to the newly vacated room.

Once he had one other staff clean the first floor, he went to the second floor, to clean the room the children were in. He couldn’t help himself from opening the last door.

He kept it locked for security reasons. How else could one explain an almost corpse-like body in his establishment? After all, Morpheus neither breathed nor made any other movements in this state. It was as if he was in a peaceful, serene state but dead. He was also quite not dead because his body wasn’t rotting away.

After the initial panic, Hob had reminded himself his friend was a very different type of immortal. What type, he didn’t know. Was he just an immortal? Or, undying like Hob himself? But he had infinitesimal powers, he could tell. Could he be killed? Was he sleeping or, dying? Was this him resting? Or, hibernating?

He wondered about all this and then gave up. There was no one to get answers from.

Hob didn’t think Morpheus had friends the latter would acknowledge even if they existed and long-life livers like them tended to have no family.

He stared at the mop of jet-black hair and the face that looked like it was cut from marble. His thin red lips stood out against his pallid skin like two little streaks of blood, his eyebrows like thick lines of Hob’s favourite pen’s ink. Morpheus’ face was gaunt but unlike his usual self, he was smiling.

Hob frowned. The expression was quite similar to his guests’ son's last night.

He quietly exited the room and locked it after him.

*

Hob poured himself a glass of Glenfiddich and sat down heavily in his seat.

He could hear his guests moving above him.

He took a sip from his glass as he scrolled through his emails. Several booking requests, invitations to school conferences, and certification courses. A few emails from some of his students and a couple of parents and school staff. Nothing unusual. Maybe other than the sheer number of booking for the coming months.

The book he was looking for was now available in the nearest library!

Also, his proposal to take his students to a historical site had been approved.

Hob knew he had lived quite a blessed life in comparison to most but so much working out in his favour?

A loud thud on the ceiling made him look up.

It was followed by muffled noises of scolding.

Hob smiled in fond memory. Children.

He looked back up. There was more than just the family on the floor above.

Morpheus was there too. In deep slumber (Hob hopes nothing else.)

Hob Gadling was a man with centuries of experience in his belt and he was willing to bet with all and every possession of his that the recent bout of nightmares plaguing him and anyone sleeping in the building close to his quarters was due to him.

After all, it did start with his arrival.

Hob chugged down the entire glass and licked his lips.

“Whatever new nightmares await me,” he told himself, “soldier on, my boy!”

He needed to be there for his future guests’ arrival.

*

Hob pulled his jacket closer. The cold was biting. It was warm. The floor beneath his feet was freezing but the air in the gigantic hall was warm. He would describe it as a friendly caress.

He brushed his hand along the tomes of books.

Why was his nightmare in a library of all places? Was it because he ordered books on the history of gardening practices?

But his nightmares were based on reality. In his lived memories.

Not this.

Unless he hadn’t retained something in his conscious memory.

Puzzled but delighted, he walked back and forth in the Library. It could rival some of the libraries he did remember visiting. Had he been to this place before, or, was it just a figment of his conjured dream?

“Hello there.” A smooth voice called out from the back.

Fully prepared to face an onslaught of memories and regret, he turned around.

To his surprise, he didn’t know this person. If he did, he sure didn’t remember.

“Hello to you too.”

Even if it was a dream, he still had to be cordial.

“Lover of books?” The stranger asked as he stood leaning against a wooden stack.

“Among other things.”

The blond man smiled in the most curious way, delighted by his response. His smile definitely attracted attention. Was it attractive? Hob couldn’t tell just yet.

“You’re a mortal.” Hob raised his eyebrow. “A human, to be exact. Not many of that wandering around in these parts, I’m afraid.”

The way he said human was too cheerful. Too much interest. The wrong kind he felt.

“And, what may you be?”

He grinned. “A nightmare,” he replied, smug. Then from the insides of his jacket, he pulled out a knife.

“I don’t think you want to do that, mate.”

This felt too real to be his dream.

But then again, he had been waking up with fading marks of his injuries in the waking world.

Hob took a step back as the other man stepped forward. “Let’s find out.”

The latter lunged at him. Hob, anticipating, reacted quicker. He leaped over the wooden railing.

To his horror, he kept falling floors and floors down.

Even if he survived this, he wouldn’t make it back to the real world.

He crashed against the hard flooring. He could feel the inside of his chest take the brunt of it. He opened his eyes expecting to have been dead except his fall was cushioned by whatever cushioned falls in dreams.

He rolled onto his knees, coughing, panting as he threw up blood.

He wasn’t dead yet.

Hob could hear him laughing. He looked up, his vision swimming.

The Nightmare was leaning over the railing, looking very much like a predator having fun with its prey. And, the library now looked like it was just one floor up.

Hob stood up with shaky legs and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

He flipped him the bird and took off in the opposite direction.

*

Hob was genuinely getting tired. Not the dream world tired. All of this felt very very real.

The Nightmare had managed to stab him in places and Hob hadn’t stopped bleeding.

He needed to wake up before he died in his sleep.

Hob inhaled sharply. Was this why people died in their sleep?

Probably. At least, some, surely.

“You know, this is my home. I was born here. Twice. Given birth to me, more like. The details. Who cares? Am I right?”

The cheerful voice floated through the walls of the echo-y chamber.

“So if you run or try to hide it only makes for a wonderful game.”

Hob scanned his surrounding. No exit saving that one opening in the wall.

The voice continued, “My Father says I shouldn’t play with my food. Lucienne agrees with him. She agrees with everything he says.” Hob looked back at the opening. It was wide enough for him. So odd though. Was it a trap? Maybe the nightmare was reshaping his surrounding without his notice. Till now he felt like he was stuck in a labyrinth and suddenly, he had an escape route. “Well, almost everything.”

“So, what will it be, Human? Do you give up or, shall we continue this for a few more hours? I can wait.”

Hob tip-toed as quietly as he could and moved this way and that way till he could squirrel himself away through the hole in the wall.

*

Maybe it really wasn’t a trick but it wasn’t much better either.

He had wandered off to the gigantic hallway of some castle. What was this place?

Was this really a generic dream?

He felt a certain pull in him as he hurried further and further inside the hall and pushed open a door. It led to an even bigger hall. At the end of this one, was a flight of steps and beautifully painted stained glass windows.

At the base of it, on top of the stairs was a large rectangle box. It looked like it was made of glass.

The Nightmare now off his mind, he quickened his steps. He had to see what was in the box.

As he climbed the stairs, he realized, there was a man in that glass.

Taking double steps at a time, his blood dripping profusely, he reached the top of the stairs in no time.

Hob gaped in silence as his eyes fell on the man in the glass.

But truly, he had suspected it from far.

He could recognize the sleeping silhouette of said man from anywhere.

Morpheus was in the glass, laid on a satin cloth that looked blood red. His hands were folded on his chest and lay still here as he lay in the waking world.

And, suddenly, it all clicked into place.

Morpheus was unmoving in the real world because he was sleeping in the dream world. He was Morpheus. He was lord of dreams after all. He was pulling them all into dreams too real and was not able to let go of those who were in his proximity. The dream and waking life were merging around him.

Gasping at his epiphany, Hob slammed on the glass case.

“Wake up, Morpheus. Wake up. I need you to save me. Wake up.”

He kept banging. “Please.”

He thought about the kid screaming in her sleep the previous night. He hoped nothing was happening to her.

“Wake up!”

“Get away from him.” A bald woman ordered as she appeared out of nothing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Well, well, well.” The blond nightmare said, appearing next to her.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Just a plaything that escaped.” She looked at him annoyed. “He came here all by himself! I would not mess with the ways of the Dreaming, Lucienne.”

“Sir,” she directed at Hob instead, “can you step aside?”

“Look, he is dripping blood all over Father’s coffin.”

“Corinthian!”

“He isn’t dead yet.”

Hob blinked at that.

“He is your father?” He couldn’t help but ask and then plastered himself to the case. “I need him to wake up. I need … him… to…”

The Corinthian cocked his head to one side. “Oh? I sense a history. A connection.”

He climbed the stairs one at a time.

“How do you know my Old Man?”

Hob closed his eyes for a second and exhaled through his mouth.

This close he was. So close.

He opened his eyes and stared right into the Corinthian’s face.

“You know him.” There was no doubt in his voice/

“Why are you still wearing the glasses?” Hob asked, licking his lower lip nervously. He noticed the nightmare being lean imperceptibly closer.

“Hmm?”

“Your glasses,” he had to know,” why are you wearing them here?” Call it an instinct maybe or, an itching curiosity.

“Some find it off-putting.”

“So, you cover them up to not distract your victims,” he surmised.

“Aren’t you glad,” the Corinthian smiled through gritted teeth, “that I haven’t killed you already?”

“May I see them?”

The nightmare seemed genuinely taken aback. “You could…”

“...”

Hob couldn’t tell what the other man was thinking. He couldn’t see his eyes.

“You’re not the first to ask so,” he said as began to take off his glass. “And, you won’t be the last to-” The Corinthian took a step back as Hob leaned forward to peer at his eyes.

“All teeth. Fascinating.”

He took another step back. “This is fascinating to you.” His voice sounded odd but Hob was in no state to discern anything about it. He had to do something.

Was he simply going to die here? Is this his end after all the centuries?

“Why?”

“Seen nothing like it before, I suppose.”

“Seen nothing like it before,” he repeated gobsmacked.

“Look, we can do this some other day. Right now, I really need this man to wake up. He alone has answers to my questions and he hasn’t answered any.”

“Sounds like him.” The Corinthian reappeared on the right arm of the throne and said, “do your best.”

“I have no idea what I am supposed to do.” He looked back towards the woman but she was gone. “Should I kiss? Is he like the Sleeping Princess? A Sleeping Prince?” He asked no one in particular.”

“If there was anything like that then I am the Prince.”

“And, what would he be?”

“He proclaimed himself the king once.”

Hob didn’t have the time to mull over it. “Then, what should I do? Help a friend,” he implored.

“I haven’t stabbed you yet. It doesn’t make us friends.” He was frowning.

Hob gave him a lop-sided grin. “Spoken just like your father.”

The Corinthian appeared in front of him in a flash and stabbed him straight in the stomach. “I am nothing like him.” Then he jerked back and dropped the knife, staring at his hands. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

Morpheus, just wake up.

I need you.

He pressed one palm against the glass as he slid down against it.

Wake up. Please.

Friend, don’t live me alone here. I deserve to see my lifelong companion one last time.

Especially, smiling.

Hob himself smiled fondly as memories of their once-a-century dates floated through his mind.

Perhaps, this ending wasn’t terrible.

His true ending would have been lonely and too painful. This was far more desirable. He had lived a decent life. He had tried to be honourable in the latter half.

This man literally had walked into his life and breathed into it.

Hob’s vision blurred.

Why, my friend, hadn’t you left me for an ending befitting me?

Why, had you chosen me?

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead gently against the glass.

Hob could hear the Corinthian say frantically, “He will not be pleased if his friend died here.”

“Why did you have to do it if you so feared his wrath?”

“It’s in my nature!”

“That is not true. Look at Gault! You can choose to do better.”

“You keep telling me to not do my job. I was designed for this!”

Hob tuned out of the conversation.

Sometimes in the quietness of the nights when I was still more human, I prayed for God to either take my life away because I was too stubborn to not do it myself or, to find a way to salvage my life. You were my dream come true. I thought you were the Devil at first. Then, a God but you were too -

Hob shuddered against the case.

And, then, you were just a friend. You made me better. You made me want to be a better person. Needed that validation just from you. I know you aren’t perfect but you’re to me. To my existence. I would like to tell you all this but I know you won’t want me to say it. Thank you, my friend.”

“Oh, my word! What have you done!”

Hob opened his eyes and saw Lucienne bounding up the stairs. He looked back and realized he had been leaning over Morpheus directly because the glass had thawed away like melting snow.

“Matthew, inform Death!”

He had no idea what happened or what was happening. He just knew the Lord of Dreams needed to wake up.

Hob grabbed Morpheus’ collar and shook him. “Wake up!” He shouted deliriously. “Wake up, my friend!”

“Move away from him,” she commanded.

“Sorry, no can do.” He pulled him by the lapels of his coat. “Morpheus!”

Dream snapped his eyes open.

Hob was still shouting as they both rolled off the bed and fell on the floor with a resounding thud. His head was spinning, ears were ringing. He was hurting like hell all over. He couldn’t breathe. Morpheus looked like a pile of bones but weighed heavier than a cricket team combined. It was very deceiving.

Morpheus blinked at him owlishly from on top of him. “How did you pull me out of the Dreaming?”

Chapter Text

Hob clutched the back of his head as he tried to sit up.

“How did you do it? Tell me!”

“Ge’ off me first, mate,” Hob groaned.

“I’m not your mate,” Morpheus said sullenly before he untangled his long limbs and moved off him.

Hob found it difficult to sit up, his head pounding. His body felt like it had been processed through a grinder.

Oh!

He checked both his hands and touched one hand to his face. No blood.

Relieved, he looked at Morpheus and smiled. “You woke up.”

“How did you do it?” He was looking at him funnily. Almost like with suspicion. Hob didn’t like that look.

“Do what?”

“Pull me out of the Dreaming?”

Hob shrugged and then scowled as it hurt. “Just begged you to wake up and you did. I’m surprised myself.”

“Are you a Vortex?” Morpheus’ lips were pressed into an even thinner line. Hob concluded whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Vort- Time Vortex?” Morpheus’ eyes narrowed. “You know, like the ones in Doctor Who? Are those real?”

Morpheus kept staring at him.

Feeling uncomfortable, Hob shifted on the spot. He decided to get up. Morpheus moved closer, standing up, and extended a hand towards him. Hob reached for his hand and clasped it.

As he was pulled up, Hob smiled.

“I am glad you’re back,” he said, and then his eyes widened.

He dropped the hand unceremoniously. He picked a bunch of keys from on top of the chest and hobbled out of the room. He went to the last room on the second floor and opened it in trepidation.

The bed was empty.

“What are you doing?” Morpheus asked, appearing over his shoulders.

Hob startled, jerked back, colliding into him. “Thought I took you out of the wrong dimension or something,” he mumbled.

“What?”

Relief filled him as pain and exhaustion caught up with him and Hob fell unconscious.

*

Hob opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was the ceiling of his attic room.

As he looked down, he saw the man sitting in the opposite corner of the room. Hob’s legs jerked in shock before he sighed in relief.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Morpheus leaned forward in his seat. “That was not my intention.”

Hob sat up on the bed slowly. “Well, it can be scary for us mere mortals.”

“I was only being courteous and returning the favour.” Hob gave him a questioning look. “You waited on me the first time I slumbered here at your establishment.”

“Oh.” Hob grinned. “In that case, thank you.” Morpheus tilted his head, confused. “Why, I must say I’m f- oh shit!” Hob just then noticed the time on the clock. “I am so late!” He threw the blanket away as he stood up on wobbly legs. “I missed my classes and had to check in with the guests.”

Morpheus’ hand brushed against Hob’s arm and the latter stopped.

“They have been taken care of.”

“Taken care of?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“It won’t be held against your record.”

“Yeah, but I like teaching my kids.” He searched Morpheus’ face before sighing. He was late anyway and not like he could change the time. “Ok,” he accepted. “I still need to check with Ayan and Lily and the guests if they’re here right now. A good host’s responsibility.” He smiled thinly and grimaced. He felt sick.

Hob grabbed a fresh pair of clothes from his cupboard and entered the bathroom.

*

He was about to put the toothpaste on his brush when he felt a light chilled breeze against the hair on his nape and he looked back.

“You still haven’t told me how you p-”

“Oh for god’s sake-”

“If you would just say how you broke the spell -”

“ Morpheus! Out!”

Maybe it was his tone that made Morpheus take a second look at him and he went away.

Hob just wanted to go lay down on his bed.

He started brushing his teeth instead.

*

Hob moved about his inn stiffly, wondering what excuse he can give to his staff and guests. Thankfully, Ayan’s shift was yet to start so he wouldn’t have tell him any further lies.

*

Hob was preparing materials for his next lesson plan aimed at getting all the children on the same level when he sensed a presence. He took off his glasses and looked at Morpheus.

“How did the investigation go?”

“What investigation?”

“How you woke up, why was this land so important, and so on and so forth…”

Morpheus took the seat opposite him at the kitchen table. “There is nothing important about this land.”

“No? Then why did you keep coming here?”

Morpheus’ expression was unreadable.

Well, he tried. It wouldn’t be like the other man to give a real answer.

Hob went back to researching for his next day’s class.

*

He was chopping aubergines for dinner.

He just knew Morpheus was in the kitchen again.

“Care to join me over dinner?” He knew what the answer was going to be.

“It is imperative that I know what exact words you uttered.”

Hob put the knife down, disappointed. “I said a lot of things as I told you. I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly even if I tried. The gist of it was I needed you to wake up. I called you a friend…”

“That was it?” Morpheus sounded disappointed too.

“That’s it, yeah.”

Hob resumed chopping.

*

The next day Hob was quite busy at school. There had been no more haunting dreams and he had a peaceful night’s sleep in several days.

When he came back from school, Morpheus was standing in the lobby, talking to his guest’s son. The Dream Lord - a mind-boggling idea in itself - glimpsed at him and then looked back at his subject of interest.

Used to it, Hob took his bag off his shoulder, putting it on a stool by the entrance, and walked towards the bar section to chat with Ayan and Lily.

*

“I do not think you understand how much of importance it is to know -”

“I am but a mere human! I am sorry if it doesn’t suit you but I cannot recall what you want to know.”

It was a lie and they both knew.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Hob began, “how and why you were put in a spell? What kind of spell was it? What would have happened?” Or, what are you really?

Morpheus disappeared.

*

Yawning, Hob turned the knob on his door and pushed it open. He flicked the switch on next to the door and held back the sigh.

“Welcome back,” he said to Morpheus who was sitting on his bed, and proceeded to put his phone and laptop on the desk by the window.

“I never left,” he said sullenly.

Hob looked back at him surprised. “So, what, you just apparated from the ground floor to the attic to avoid my question?”

“Apparated?”

Hob rolled his eyes. “I am really tired right now and unwell. I am not in the mood for evasive and deflective conversations.”

“You are not well?” Morpheus stood up. “What is wrong?”

Hob chuckled. “I may be centuries old now but I am still human. I was repeatedly stabbed the other day. I fell from floors above. I thought I was finally going to die.” Hob missed the look on Morpheus’ face. “It was too real even for a dream.”

“I apologise. I never meant to -”

“I know.”

“What can I do?”

“Can you take the pain away?” He asked rhetorically. Then he smiled. “Will you keep standing here? I’m too tired to care.”

Hob opened the button of his shirt slowly, careful to not further hurt his fingers. He gingerly removed it, pain crashing after an entire day of work.

Morpheus slowly walked around till he came to stand next to him. Hob turned slightly to face him.

The taller man was staring at his bruise-covered torso. Hob noticed the muscle of his jaws ticking. There was hardly any part of his skin left where it wasn’t covered by nasty purple and yellow shade of bruises. There were deep gashes over his chest and arms. His skin over the ribs was in the worst shape.

He had come too close to dying.

It hurt to breathe. One hip had several line fractures and one ankle was severely fucked.

Hob was proud of himself for holding himself up.

“Was all of this a result of my … condition?” Morpheus asked, not looking him in the eyes.

“Partially.”

“From your past activities then.”

“Actually, all of this was thanks to your son.”

Morpheus’ eyes met his finally and they flashed in anger. Hob had seen it once previously all those years ago in the pub before the elusive man in front of him had stormed out.

“The Corinthian did this to you,” he nearly growled.

Hob took one step closer. It was enough to grab hold of his hand. “Now, there is no need to be angry with him. It was just a nightmare.”

“You defend him,” Morpheus said, surprised.

“Not defend. He was- just doing his job, yeah?”

“You are an absurd man.”

“Well, if you really want to blame someone, blame yourself. It was all your fault clearly,” Hob countered with jest. However, Morpheus’ fell with that, anger changing for guilt.

“Can I take some of it?” He asked, raising one hand.

Hob stepped out of his personal space and shook his head slightly, refusing. Morpheus jutted his lower lip, in a manner of pouting. His eyes looked wet. Hob wanted to ruffle his hair. He would have but he didn’t know if it would scare the other man away.

“You can stay here with me longer if you wish.”

Hob glanced at Morpheus, at the unoccupied chair next to the table, and slowly walked back to his bed.

He didn’t look over his shoulders to check whether Morpheus was still there or if he had left. He settled down under the covers and slept.

His sleep went back to being untouched by the ghosts of his memories.

Chapter Text

The pain in his body ebbed in the way pain only ever does: slowly and over time. The gashes still remained but they didn't hurt as much - just evidence of what had transpired. His right leg was no longer in the best possible shape but it was doable.

He met with a car accident was his cover story back at his school which he had spun into a moral story for his children; what was the point of experience if not a lesson to be learned? Most of the time, that is.

“Are you sure?”

“I meant it the first time.”

Hob rolled his eyes. The sass of this man!

“More for me,” he mumbled and poured from the kettle a cup of tea for himself.

They were sitting in the living room where there was a TV hung on the wall, some random paintings to add to the modern look, a sofa, and a coffee table.

Hob drank from his cup of hot, piping tea and poured himself another one.

“With time and practice, everything does get perfect,” Hob said, admiring his own concoction.

Morpheus’s eyebrows barely twitched. “You will find most beings with time on their side do not agree with that statement. Quite the contrary.”

“If you had this tea, you’d be converted to my belief system,” Hob argued as he passed Morpheus to go sit on the other side of the sofa.

Morpheus’ lips definitely twitched. “I will take your word for it.”

“What are we watching? Frequently watching this Idiot Box - as it was once called - is part of the human experience in the present age.”

Hob picked the remote for his TV and drained his cup.

“I was not aware,” Morpheus interjected, “that drinking liquid at a temperature most humans’ skin would scald was also part of the human experience in the present age.”

“What?” Hob glanced at him, pressing the On button. “Eh. That’s just me.”

“Does it not hurt you?” He persisted.

“Would it matter?” Hob looked at him. “I won’t die, right?”

“H-” Morpheus picked up the kettle and poured him another cup. “Y-”

“Thank you.” He chugged the tea and put it next to him on the floor. Morpheus watched his action with consternation. “C’mmon! There are no guests today. No school. A free afternoon for once. Pick something to watch.”

“I would not know what to select and what was available.”

“Let me play one of my favourite episodes in human television history!” Hob said excitedly.

*

There was this new development. Morpheus hadn’t completely vanished from his life again for the next ninety years. Instead, he kept showing up at random hours of the day at the inn. Hob did not get it. Was he looking for something on the property? Was he biding his time for something? Was it because he had not received an answer from Hob that he deemed suitable? What the motive was, Hob couldn’t deduce.

Still, he did not ask just the way he would continue to not ask about many things.

Just about anything could remind Morpheus in a fit of anger that he only ever saw Hob once a century and not more.

*

“Sorry,” Hob laughed through his tears, “dunno what about this particular dramatisation moves me so much.”

Morpheus had that expression between a blank and a smiling face. It was not the latter but it was more than the former.

“Art is meant to evoke such response. That is why humanity partaking in it is essential.”

“Perhaps, but I like the kindness that has been offered to the man through this televised story.”

“Van Gogh did have kindness in his life. He also did have in abundance what is perceived negatively in the human world.”

“Kindness and misery need to be present in balance.”

“That cannot be guaranteed.”

“I know,” Hob laughed. “I have a privileged life than most. A most unfair existence.”

“Do you not wish for this elongated lifespan of yours?

Hob glanced at him shrewdly. “You know I will never ask for that.”

“...”

“I spent all of my young, prime, and impressionable days screaming and fighting and begging to find a place in this world. Begged to survive. Begged to be allowed to prove that I had a right to live too; to share the same space as others in society. You know it. I was once only a ‘Hob’ before I became a Hob Gadling.”

“But a long life to a mortal can become a burden.”

Hob chuckled, glancing out the window. “Oh, I know.”

“Hob-”

“I am not regretting the decision, Lord of Dreams.” He looked back at him. There was a hint of concern on Morpheus’ face. “I am too selfish to want to rescind what we all consider a blessing.” Hob leaned back on the arm of the sofa. “How do you a Dream Lord grant someone else what is basically immortality?” Dream hesitated to reply for a second. Hob hurriedly continued, “No, don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know.”

He did want to know.

“You can ask if you wish to know.”

Hob felt the way the question was phrased, there was a catch to it.

So he changed the topic.

“Tell me first, had you met Van Gogh?”

“No.” Morpheus looked like he was relieved from having to answer the previous question.

“So, no influence upon his life?”

“Not one I can tell you about.”

“Hmmm… “ Hob turned to face the paused LED screen. “What about this?” He pointed at the screen.

“You would need to elaborate.”

“Did you influence the making of Doctor Who? Inspire it?” Hob sat up, excited, folding one leg under him on the sofa. “Come to think of it, you’re a Dream Lord, he’s a Time Lord. Directly and indirectly, influencing lives of significant members of the society.”

“You see yourself as a significant member of the society?” Morpheus teased.

“Hurrr... There’s no need to be rude.”

The smile on that gaunt pale face was just a touch but was there nonetheless.

“You and the Doctors are surrounded by humans you keep in touch with sporadically. You lot come and go as you see fit. Tell me, have you really not inspired this?”

“The similarities are superficial.”

“But not out of the realm of possibilities. I know for a fact you have personally influenced some of the iconic figures of the local society. Have you not?”

“Are you asking I divulge the names of people whose dreams I have helped realize?”

“No, but you have.”

“I cannot attest to that.” Morpheus mirrored him and leaned back on his armrest. Hob gave him an incredulous look. “What proof do you have?” He said playfully.

Hob grinned. “I was around for some of them. It’s a shame I didn’t look into it more back then otherwise, I’d have tons of records.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Hob stared at him for a beat and then shook his head.

“You weren’t the Devil. I was not your friend. Nevertheless, I still wished to respect your choice to not share more about yourself. So, I didn’t inquire.”

Morpheus blinked.

Hob did not understand what to make of the silence. “Should I have?”

Morpheus sat up straight. “Entities like me… our existence is beyond man’s comprehension. Our existence is to serve.” Hob listened to him surprised, not having expected an answer. “It is not that I have to keep my identity a secret but it is for the benefit of humankind that they remain oblivious to our presence. Humans… do poorly with that knowledge…”

Hob wanted to trace his fingers against Morpheus’ eyes. They always looked so wet this close. Light shimmered in them.

This was no human even his appearance reminded the viewer constantly.

“I know about you though.” He reminded him.

“Not really. Not as much.”

Hob exhaled and propped himself against the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes as the breeze from the open window brushed against him.

When he opened his eyes, the second hand on the clock had ticked thrice.

He was sitting alone in the room.

*

With passing days, Morpheus was more gone than he was there.

The fact that he was there counted more.

This was the same man Hob had not met even ten times in six hundred years.

Morpheus sat opposite him at the table when he was preparing for school. He was sitting on one of the stools in the bar area when Hob was milling about with his handful number of staff. Morpheus stopped denying the extra plate of food Hob would serve him. He tried nibbling on them now and again.

Hob was confounded. Why? Why was he still there? Why did he keep coming back?

Why did he keep him company during dinner? Why was he around so frequently that even the guests knew about him?

What was the motive?

*

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.” Hob was wiping the table clean, humming. “Make him the cutest that I've ever seen.” He moved to the kitchen counter. “Give him two lips like roses and clover.” He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. “Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over…” He continued wiping. “Sandman, I'm so al-”

“Where did you hear that?”

Hob knocked his knee against the counter, startled. “Fuck.” He dropped the rag from his hand and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m beginning to think you need one of those bells like we put on cats.” He rubbed his knee. “Too quiet.”

“But where did you hear it?” He asked, appearing next to him.

Hob jerked back at the sudden proximity. How long would it take for him to get used to Morpheus’ soundless movements?

“Hear what?”

His heart was thumping loudly. He had drunk four bottles of wine a quarter of an hour ago. He was a bit tipsy admittedly.

“Sandman.”

“What, the song? It was by The Chordettes. Released in 1984. Won many accolades too. Was it by you? Is that why you’re asking?” Hob pushed the fringes of his hair back absently.

Morpheus’ presence continued to make lesser and lesser sense every day.

The Not Human stood too close to him; in his personal space.

Morpheus kept staring at him.

“Uh…”

Describing the moment as awkward didn’t cut it but calling it as what he knew it felt like he couldn’t do it.

Hob didn’t think he would be allowed.

The soft golden glow of the bulb contrasted brilliantly against Morpheus’ dark hair.

He looked back down and into the bottomless eyes.

Hob began carefully, “Is there anything…”, he searched his face for any answer, “you might - I can… do…” He raised his hand slowly and brushed his knuckles against Morpheus’ cheekbone.

The tall, pale man’s eyes shut fluttering, his lips slightly parting open.

Hob watched him with hawk eyes.

One second he was watching Morpheus lean into his touch and the next, Hob’s hand was falling through the air to his side.

Morpheus was gone.

He was by himself in the kitchen.

Hob turned around on his feet and stood there with his mind blank for an uncounted number of minutes.

Then, he picked the rag back up and continued rubbing it on the marble’s surface.

He hummed to no audience unbeknownst to him this time.

“Oh Sandman,” he restarted tunelessly, “I'm so alone.” He rearranged some of the condiment bottles. “Don't have nobody to call my own.” He shoved the washed forks and spoons aside. “Please turn on your magic beam…”

He dropped the rag at a corner and walked towards the door.

He switched off the light.

" Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…”

*

Hob was mentally noting down some of the historical gardening methods from the book he had borrowed from the Library. It was almost time to return it. He was sitting in one of the Faculty rooms of his school, the book opened on the table.

“How are you?”

Hob looked up, his eyebrows raised. “What are you doing here?” He asked with eyes saucer-wide. He quickly looked around Morpheus, towards the open door, and then back at him.

“Appointment?”, Morpheus replied with not his usual assertiveness.

“Okay…” Hob nodded and then narrowed his eyes. This was the first time ever in their shared history did Morpheus ask him this.

“I am doing very well, thank you. How are you doing?” He stood up, closing his book with a bookmark without looking at them.

“It is to my understanding that one exchanges such pleasantries with one’s acquaintances.”

Hob pressed his lips together, refusing to laugh at the poor sod.

He cleared his throat.

“Alright then.”

They stood in silence for half a minute.

“Do I show you around the school?” Hob asked, desperate to not let awkwardness stain the moment but also anxious and excited because Morpheus was here in his school in front of him asking him how he was.

“If you would like to.”

Hob smiled. “I absolutely would.” He walked around the table. “Let’s start with the Library. It’s a few steps down this door.” He walked up to the said door, turned around, and did a half-bow, grinning. “After you.”

Morpheus walked out of the room, knocking his hand against Hob’s. For a brief second, Hob wanted to grab it. He wanted to hold those cold hands.

*

Hob walked through the unending aisles of the Library.

He looked back at his day and concluded it had gone well. Morpheus was there in school and was sweet with the kids. Some of the staff stared at them. Many openly ogled at him while many of his own students giggled at them. Maybe it was the spiky hair. Morpheus had occasionally asked questions about the administration system, and the architecture, but had mostly remained quiet but at his side.

Hob looked up at the high-rising book stacks. Where did they end?

He walked and walked till he saw a familiar railing.

He touched the rich wooden surface, half expecting it to vanish. It was solid under his touch.

Was he in a dream right now?

There was only one way to find out.

He jumped over the railing and landed on his feet. He stuck to the main entrance this time. After passing through two doors, he arrived at the same hall where Morpheus had been lying in a glass case.

Unlike last time, the glass windows remained blank and there was no case in front of the throne.

He approached the stairs cautiously.

Hob put one foot on the stairs.

“Who allowed you here?”

Hob turned around. It was a man with a pumpkin head talking at him.

“Lucienne!”, he was shouting, “There has been a break-in. Come quick!”

Chapter Text

“I thought the Corinthian killed you.”

Hob smiled at the lady and walked down the stairs. “Hello,” he smiled, “you must be Lucien. Lucienne? Was a bit pressed for time the last time I was here.”

Hob raised his hand to shake hers. She was peering at him over her glasses with a calculating look. Reluctantly, she shook his hand.

Like any dream, he knew they shook hands but it didn’t have any physical weight to it besides the knowledge of it.

“I am Lucienne.”

“Oh good.”

Hob looked up and looked around the large throne room.

“I am Mervyn,” the Pumpkinhead man said.

“Nice to meet you, Mervyn. I am Hob. Hob Gadling.”

“So? Should we raise an alarm?” Mervyn whispered but just as loud.

They were both staring him down.

“We ought to,” Lucienne said, seemingly distracted.

“I mean no harm. Really,” Hob said hurriedly. “Not that I could. This is a dream after all.”

“It is a dream but it doesn’t mean it has no consequences.”

Hob hardly ever dreamed so he didn’t think he had any expertise.

And, if Morpheus was Lord of Dreams then …

“If this is a dream, why am I here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have never been here in the real world before. I have never met anyone like either of you before. Is this Library based on some memory of mine? I do not recall being in a place one such as this.”

“You are here. It is the Library of the Dreaming.”

Hob walked about, hoping Morpheus would walk in through that door.

He still didn’t know the rules of dreams. Did Morpheus control a different type of dream?

“Yes, but all dreams are based in reality, and believe me when I say I do not recall having ever visited a Library one such as this in my six hundred and more y-”

The door to the room creaked open.

Hob turned around, ready to greet Morpheus in his dream.

Hob blinked his eyes repeatedly before opening them. They were so dry. He stared outside through the window. It must have been only half an hour past dawn judging by the light outside.

He shuffled and turned on one side, adjusting under his blanket.

It was raining outside.

He glanced at the locked door and pulled his blanket up.

He wondered if he was supposed to be somewhere now but sleep pulled him under.

*

“But aren’t you both of the same ethnicity?” Hob overheard Lucy asking Ayan.

“Nope. She is of a whole different ethnolinguistic background. Her family’s tradition, culture, and language are completely unrelated to mine. And, different race, as you can see it.”

“I see,” Lucy said, frowning.

“Besides, she was born there. Lived there her whole life. I am just of Indian origin, you know? I am not even culturally Indian if you think about it.”

“How’s that?”

“My family tries but they don’t really get to practice it here.” He shrugged as he continued to wipe the glass. “Most diasporic communities are not able to, I guess. Though they do try.”

“So you don’t think you’ll have a chance with her?”

“I do hope so. She’s so nice.” He grinned. “I just hope if we have children, they get to learn about both our parents’ heritage.”

“Wow,” Lucy rolled her eyes at him, “ask her out on one other date first.”

“It’s good to plan ahead. What about y-”

“Hello, kids,” Hob interrupted. “Is everything alright?”

They both snapped their heads in his direction, startled.

Lucy cursed her under breath and Ayan carefully put the glass down on the counter, afraid of dropping it.

“We told you to stop scaring us like that!” Lucy said, exasperatedly.

Morpheus wasn’t the only one light on his feet. Centuries of living made you learn little tricks.

(And, other things.)

Hob smiled at them. “One of these days you’ll surely learn!” He said cheerfully before he walked up to the bar. “I have some time now. We can do our weekly meeting now.”

“Let me call Andy.” Lucy offered. “He’s upstairs, cleaning.”

“Alright.”

Hob pulled a stool closer and sat down on it. Ayan updated him on the stock of his bar and the pantry while Lucy shared the feedback they had received and gave suggestions. Andy informed him of the items that needed to be restocked.

He didn’t mind the work of running an inn by himself too much when these kids were around.

Hob felt he was more nomadic in nature than anything else. Was it in his nature or, circumstances that made it so? He didn’t know.

He had to travel, see the world, appreciate and take part in nature meaningfully.

Morpheus had now made him grow roots in a way he didn’t have to before which raised many questions in his mind.

The longer he stayed here, the longer something beckoned in him to leave, to travel. To keep going.

Though, where could he go?

For all intents and purposes, he was an immortal now. He didn’t have a home then and he had, eventually, grown to realize he would never have one that would stay long enough. If he was travelling around the world, could he keep doing so?

Every man needed a place of his own to call home. Didn’t they? Where was his?

*

Hob was chopping the spring onion with force, distracted and disturbed by the news he had been given.

“Do you want something?” Morpheus asked apropos of nothing.

Hob luckily just nicked his skin instead of chopping it off completely. “What the fuck,” he breathed out and glared at Morpheus.

“Just announce once before you step in!”

“I did that before and you still said the same,” Morpheus replied, unfazed.

(Morpheus had one time said ‘hello’ by way of an announcement from behind and Hob had almost tripped down the stairs in surprise. Morpheus had been quick to catch him, thankfully.)

Hob grumbled as he shuffled over to the sink and turned on the tap. He put his bleeding finger under the jet spray.

“Humans … You are so vulnerable. So easy to hurt.”

Morpheus walked closer to him. He pulled the injured hand towards him. He brushed his thumb over the cut.

When he was younger, when Hob was truly thirty-six years of age, he would have winced at the pain.

Now pain didn’t matter.

He looked up into Morpheus’ eyes. “But that is what makes life more interesting. It increases our drive to live.”

“Not you.”

“Not me. I’ll live for a thousand more and still want to live. Probably. I think.”

Hob glanced down as he saw the wound beginning to heal. He pulled his hand back.

“No.”

“Why?” Morpheus asked with his breathy voice.

“I like reminders.” That he was once a regular human.

He turned off the tap.

He cleared his throat. “Do you want some ramyeon?” He stepped away and picked up the unopened packets of instant Korean noodles. Morpheus only raised an eyebrow as a reply. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.” He resumed his chopping.

Hob increased the heat on the stove as the water continued to boil in the vessel. He opened the packets and put the noodles in them.

“You have been aware of some of my non-human capabilities for a while now.”

Hob gave a short bark of a laugh. “Now that is an understatement.”

“Yet, you do not ask me for any gift.”

“Maybe I have not yet.”

Hob lowered the heat and added all the vegetables and condiments into the pot. He finally topped it off by cracking an egg open over it and then covered the pot with a lid.

“Will you?”

“No.”

Hob heard no movement behind him. If it were not for his voice, he may as well have not been there.

“Why not?”

Hob glanced at his phone laying on the counter upside down. He was in more of a melancholic mood than he had previously thought.

“You know I inspire people’s dreams,” Morpheus reminded him.

“Clearly.”

“Then?”

“It’s heavy.”

“What is?”

Hob tore his eyes away from the phone.

“Dreams… for one man alone can be burdensome. One can spend all their life and be drowned under that. I cannot imagine what it must be like to carry the weight of the whole world’s dreams.” There was a stillness behind him. He could feel it pressing up against his back, a whispering he didn’t understand. He looked over his shoulder and smiled, “So, no. I don’t want you to be burdened with mine as well. I will not ask that of you.”

“You make arguments that are truly confounding.”

“Isn’t that why you keep me around?

Hob turned around expecting Morpheus to have left.

To his surprise, the Dream Lord was still sitting at the kitchen table. His hair was still up in all directions, his long coat pooling around him.

“I do not keep you around,” Morpheus argued, annoyed.

“But I am your weird pet project,” Hob said aloud, self-deprecatingly, smiling.

“...”

One of his facial muscles twitched. Hob didn’t know what to make of it so he turned back to his noodles and turned off the stove. He added the sauce to it and carried the pot to the table. He placed one bowl in front of Morpheus too.

Hob picked the steaming noodles with his metal chopsticks and said good-naturedly, “Cheers.”

Morpheus watched him with undisguised interest as he ate. Not very unlike the first couple of centuries.

*

Hob was walking through those halls again.

Now that Morpheus had woken up, why was he still dreaming? Was it an after-effect? But why this place in particular? Do dreams tend to recreate the same environment often? He needed to check if it was a regular phenomena.

“So you’re the human everyone keeps talking about.”

Hob swiveled around. It was no man. It was a crow. A raven? It was a blackbird either way. He needed to brush up his knowledge of the avian.

“Hello. I may be?”

“No, you definitely are. I’m Matthew. I’m Morpheus’ friend.”

“Oh. I am Hob.” He frowned. “I would like to say I have heard a lot about you but I’m afraid I don’t. Morpheus doesn’t … share much about himself.”

“Does sound like our Master,” Lucienne remarked, appearing at the corner of the aisle. “Do lower your voices. This is still the Library.”

“Good Morning, Lucienne.”

“It’s still night where you are, Mr. Gadling. What brings you here?”

“Yeah, how are you here? Why are you here?” Matthew asked with a lot of energy for a little bird.

“I am here because I am dreaming? I’m not sure how this works. I have not had many dreams in my life. Not before Morpheus, at least.”

“That is not entirely true.”

They start walking down the corridor. Two of them, at least. Matthew hopped and jumped from book stack to book stack to keep up.

“It seems,” Lucienne began, “there may be a reason after all for you visiting here so often. This Library,” she waved her hand about, looking around herself proudly, “contains all the books that have been written.”

“Do they?”

“Yes, among others. Now, I have read the books on your life.” Hob halted, alarmed. “On all the lives you could have lived based on all the choices you made at varying points in your life.”

“Is that allowed?”

“To read them? Why, of course.”

“They belong to the Library, Genius. A Librarian won’t read it then who will.” Matthew chirped from above.

Hob didn’t bother to argue with him.

“When you say all my life choices -”

“All the decisions you have and would have made.”

“I don’t know if I want to read them.”

“The interesting part, however, is that for your universe -” Hob stared at her with wide eyes - “the time you were born has passed centuries ago.” Lucienne pointed out at a rack covered with particularly thin volumes. “You do not seem to have lived a long life in any of the other versions. Neither are you anything but a mortal.”

“And here you’re in flesh and blood. What’s the secret, Mister?” Matthew asked, hovering over Lucienne’s shoulder.

Hob paled.

“I-”

“Yes?” Lucienne asked, peering over her glasses yet again.

He hadn’t discussed this with Morpheus. Was it okay or not okay to share the fact that his life expectancy had been expanded considerably by him?

“I don’t think I am at liberty to discuss such matters… You may ask your… Master, did you say? Why do you call him your ‘Master’?”

“He is our King. Our ruler. He’s a monarch of the Dreaming realm.” Matthew huffed. Hob wanted to stroke its - his? - feathers.

“Oh.”

“Enough, Matthew.”

Maybe there was some truth to the Corinthian’s words.

There was only one option left for him.

“You know,” he said nervously, “I will take my leave.”

“Take your leave?” Matthew repeated. “How will you take your l-”

Hob glanced at the books meant to be records of his miserable, pitiful lives and in what was turning out to be a common method of exit from here jumped over the railing.

He kept falling.

Hob opened his eyes, his head dizzy from the severe drop.

Fuck fuck fuck

Why were his dreams starting to feel so real? He clutched his head as he sat up in his bed.

Even in his dreams, could he not have made up better lives for himself?

Was this then the best version of it?

*

Hob was about to pull the door shut when Morpheus appeared behind it.

“Jesus Christ!”

“I am not. I am Dream, King of -” Morpheus looked absurdly smug.

“If my heart stops working, you do realize I will officially die?”

“You will not,” he said sullenly as he walked out of the door and stared up at the sky. Hob looked up to check if he was looking at something in particular but no. “I will not let it come to that.”

Hob locked the door of his inn. “Good to know.” He pocketed his door keys and fished out the car ones from his jacket. “Because it seems like you’re enjoying scaring me.”

“...”

Morpheus stood with his hands in his coat’s pockets. His pale neck stood out against the darkness of his hair and coat. The tip of his hair remained untouched by the blowing breeze, unlike his coat. Hob wanted to run his hand through that hair.

Morpheus glimpsed at him. Hob looked towards the parking lot.

“There is somewhere I need to be right now.”

“I am not stopping you.”

Hob walked a couple of steps towards his car. Like always, he offered Morpheus more.

“If you want to come with me…”

“Where do we have to go?” Morpheus asked, looking down his nose, his head slightly tilted.

He looked so regal sometimes. Regal, ethereal, unworldly. Dream-like.

Sun was shining all around them as it always did.

To Hob, Morpheus looked like he was in between the dream state and the real world. He was here but was he really?

Almost as if his presence was just an afterimage.

“Hob?”

“If we are going anywhere, we will go by my humble car.”

Hob didn’t think he was ready for supernatural transportation just yet.

*

The ride was quiet and comfortable.

It was as they got closer to the hospital, Hob got jittery. He kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Morpheus didn’t draw attention to it. If he noticed at all. He had sat quietly on the passenger seat, his coat folded around him.

Morpheus followed him patiently inside the hospital, asking no questions. His hands were folded behind his back as he looked around the building.

Not too unlike Hob’s favourite fictional character. He laughed as he watched Morpheus and a child stare at each other and he felt his mood brighten.

“Hello,” he said to the Receptionist. “I’m here to see a Mr. Knight.”

*

The nurse pushed the door to the ward open. “He still needs quite a bit of rest so please -”

“We won’t take a lot of his time,” Hob smiled politely at her and entered the disinfected room nervously.

“Hob?” A shaky voice floated across. “Is that you?”

Hob took a deep breath and walked towards the bed slowly.

“Yes, love. It’s me.”

Tumelo beamed at him as Hob covered the rest in big steps and hugged him.

“Ouch,” Tumelo laughed, mouthing over his shoulder, “I’m not as strong as before.”

Hob pulled back and drank the sight of his old friend and lover in. “You should have been. Just as strong as you have been always in spirit.”

Tumelo looked at him bashfully. “You have always known how to make a man blush.”

Hob couldn’t look away from the wrinkled skin, the significantly receded hairline, the patchy lumps of curled hair. He picked his one hand gently and caressed the back of it.

“I only speak the truth.”

“Oh, my magical man.” Hob kept stroking the back of his hand. “How did you know?”

“Ava told me.”

A tear slipped down his eyes. “I do not know if I should be thankful to my family for allowing me to see my beloved in years or, curse them for they kept you away from me all these years.”

Hob looked up. “I should have walked away all those years ago. Then you would have been spared this pain.”

“Nonsense. I would choose this again if it meant I could see you again. Know you again. Only if for a brief period.”

“You put too much faith in me.”

“I believed in you.”

They smiled at each other even after so long that there were some jokes, some knowledge shared just between them. Their own language.

Just like every other person Hob had lost, this too was going to go away with this brilliant man.

Tumelo intertwined their fingers and leaned forward to kiss their joined hands. Hob pressed his forehead against his. His inside may have been crying but his body had no tears left to shed.

“Does this young man know who I am?” Tumelo asked slowly.

Hob opened his eyes and looked to his right, having completely forgotten about Morpheus who was watching them from the door, his face expressionless.

“He …” What explanation could he give?

“Is he the man who led you to our meeting?”

The twitch in his movement betrayed Morpheus’ shock.

Hob looked back at Tumelo. “Yes.”

“It is nice to finally meet you, Friend.”

Hob chuckled as Morpheus grunted and nodded in reply. “Forgive him. He’s not very emotive.”

“Is today your anniversary?”

Hob flushed. He knew perfectly what the question meant. “No.”

“Oh,” Tumelo smirked, with a glint in his eyes. “Things have changed in my absence.”

“It is only a very recent development. I don’t even know why.”

“You never seem to.” Tumelo covered his hand with his own. “Be happy, my love. Give yourself a chance. Don’t wait so long.”

Time was never enough.

Hob looked down at their laps, at their joined hands, at the contrasting tones of their skin.

When would it have been enough?

The nurse knocked at the door, signaling the end of the visit.

Tumelo turned to his left, facing Morpheus. “Please take care of him in my absence, sir. He was my one and dear friend.”

Morpheus came to stand next to the bed. “I will, Mr. Knight.” He smiled at him.

The nurse knocked again. “Sir, you have t-”

“Yes, just a moment.” Hob stood up, brushing the sheet. He then hugged Tumelo. “All the time in the world and it is still not enough.” There. He said it.

“Perhaps so but there will always be more opportunities around the corner.”

Hob kissed the top of his head.

“Take care, Tum.”

“Goodbye, Hob. Remember to not forget who you truly are.”

Hob kissed him on the knuckles. “Goodbye.”

He was smiling because of his friend but he was seething inside.

Life was beautiful but it was also so cruel.

How could he ask Morpheus for any more gifts when he was still paying for the one he hadn’t even asked for?

*

Hob was driving back home.

“I was not aware that…” Morpheus trailed off.

Curious, Hob glanced at him. “Aware of what?”

“That you are hurting under the veil of happiness. Is it all just a performance?”

Hob gripped the steering wheel tight. “Performance of what?”

“A charade of being happy.”

“You think, I’m pretending to be happy to deceive you?”

“...”

“You truly know how to make someone feel better.” Hob sighed. “I am a human when all is said and done. We are very emotional beings. I am both happy and I am sad. I can be both. There are ups and downs in life. There is no deceiving, alright. Not to you, anyway “

“What do you mean?”

“My whole life I have been deceiving everyone around me because I cannot tell people I will outlive them. That my existence is an anomaly. But to you I don’t have to.”

“And yet, you told him.”

“I did not tell him as much as he observed it himself.”

“...”

“His father and I were business partners. We used to meet each other a lot. At least, I met his family a lot. I left for about two decades and when I came back Tumelo was all grown up and I couldn’t explain away why I still looked the same.”

“So you told him.”

“Eventually.” Hob side-eyed him and said fondly, “We found each other’s company quite refreshing. It didn’t last long. Couldn’t last long but as long as it did, I found solace in it.”

“You never feared he would use that knowledge to betray you?”

“And do what? Harm me? I didn’t really think about it.” Morpheus was glaring. “I was too far gone in love to really consider it.”

“You are a foolish man.”

“Perhaps so but I am also a believer. I want to believe in the better of people. People are almost always better than you think of them, Morpheus. Humans deserve more credit.”

Morpheus gritted his teeth.

“You never asked for this,” Morpheus said as if he just had the realization.

“No, but I never said no to your another one hundred years.”

Morpheus was most likely working himself up to a rousing speech the way he was tense so, Hob naturally changed the subject.

“What about you? Have you had someone to love? Partners? Lovers?”

He fully expected Morpheus to not reply.

“You are trying to change the subject.” Hob gave him a sheepish look. “Yes, I have had.”

“More than one, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. Cannot live such a long life without that.” Unless… “Or, do you mate for life? Once in a lifetime? Your partners must live as long as you.” What being lived as long as him? What would they be the rulers of?

“Sometimes. We separate our paths often akin to humans’ breaking their bonds.”

“Hmmm… If it is similar to humans, do you mind when a former partner finds a new lover?” Hob waved a hand about in the air. “Just curious.”

Morpheus settled further into the seat. “Who they choose after you have separated your ways is of no consequence.”

“Alright. That’s good. It would be strange if it was otherwise.”

“We do not share.” He asserted. “It matters no longer if we have unbonded.”

“I see.”

“You do not approve.”

Hob tapped his fingers on the wheel repeatedly. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“...”

“For me, I am at a point where my partners have to know I have been and I will be with others. Tumelo has seen me with multiple people now. Of course, most of them don’t know that. They think they are making a lifetime commitment. To me, it is only a brief period of time. The only person who truly knew couldn’t be there longer.” He corrected, “Only person other than you.”

“Why did you break your bond?”

“His family didn’t approve of us. I appeared too young to them after a point. It was giving everyone the wrong idea. I couldn’t let his image be tarnished over anything. I couldn’t take his family away from him.”

“Yet, you didn’t ask me for any gift.”

Hob looked at Morpheus, confused at his tone.

“What would I need to ask you for anything? I just need enough money to sustain myself and my multiple identities. Cannot get captured, right? I don’t wanna miss my appointment with you.” He winked at Morpheus. “So I have to always be on the move. What else do I need? Food. I am teaching now so I have achieved that too. Formulating the minds of the younger generation. However much I can.” Hob opened the glove compartment, took his shades out, and put them on. “I have done some horrible despicable things. I deserved retribution. Nevertheless, I will strive for penance and do my best to keep giving back to those communities, to those people I so wronged.”

If Morpheus hadn’t advised him all those years ago, he could not imagine what further horrors he would have committed.

“I need to save enough money,” he continued with affected cheer, “so that I can one day do interplanetary travel. There are aliens here already so I’m sure that will become a reality one day, right?”

“Not a terrible observation.”

“Thank you. I aim to please.” Hob turned his car at the signal. “As I was saying, I will move to a different planet and hand over the responsibilities of the inn to someone.” Morpheus was watching him carefully. “I will always come back on the eve of our anniversary - meetings - so that I’m not late for it. How does that sound?”

“A lot of plans.”

“Yeah. For none of these, to answer your questions, I need to ask you for a favour. You’re not a Djinn. You’re not my genie. I dunno why you are insisting on it.”

Was it why he was still here? Expecting Hob to ask him for something?

“Everyone wants something.”

*

They had been sitting in silence.

“You are wrong.” Hob had blurted out.

“About what?” His voice was just above a whisper.

“I had asked you for something once.”

Morpheus looked at him with those long eyelashes and eyes reflecting the stars they held in them.

“I had asked you for the gift of your companionship,” Hob confessed.

Hob felt foolish for saying it out loud but he felt better.

It would only be later that he would mull over Morpheus’ reaction to his statement and wonder if Morpheus was that unaware of Hob’s want of his company.

Chapter Text

“You sing the song quite a lot,” a voice whispers beside his right ear.

Hob nearly rips the blanket, eyes squeezed with barely suppressed startle.

The soft but deep voice laughs, amused and pleased.

Hobs exhales loudly. “I would hardly call it singing.” Hob glares at Morpheus weakly. “Must you scare me this way?”

Dream turns away with a smidge of a smile that Hob has come to learn means more than just an upturned corner of lips. For the immortal, he might have been grinning for the way his eyes twinkled.

So dark. So fathomless.

Dream approaches his little reading table by the single chair next to the window where Hob sometimes likes to sit to sleep. It is perhaps his favourite corner of his current house.

Hob puts the blanket down. “What brings you here, my friend?”

Dream picks up the book Hob had left on that table last night. Hob watches as Dream traces the edge of it.

“Is that what you would like to know?”

“It has been 6 years and 11 months since you last stepped in here. Before which, you were showing up here every other day or every few months. Before which, we would meet each other strictly once every century on the same very day.”

Dream’s fingers pause, briefly touching the bookmark Hob had placed in the book.

“Something changed. I know you have changed. I met somebody new, you know? I didn’t think I would, but then I did. I lost her, too. Just like I have lost everybody else. I was only getting to know her. She was young, kind, and so full of life. All the people I meet usually are.” Hob stares at the back of Dream’s jet black hair and corrects himself. “Almost all of them, anyway.”

Dream puts the book down and stares out the window at the people milling by, as an older man trudges towards the inn. He crosses his arms behind his back.

“Are you upset with me then?”

Hob makes a face, confused. “About what?”

“That I haven’t visited you in 6 years.”

Hob snorts. “Why would that upset me?” He says it rhetorically.

Dream tilts his head, not quite turning to look back. “Because I deviated from our -”

“Morpheus,” Dream looks back at him, not expecting to be called by his name, “an explanation would be wonderful, but again, this is you we are talking about. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time you wouldn’t be explaining something.” Hob moves closer to him to stand close to him, but not right next to him. He too looks out the window over Morpheus’s shoulder. “So, no, I am not upset because you stopped showing up here.”

Morpheus stands still rigidly. His presence was cold and null at the same time. Hob burned next to him, warm and with life.

“I see.”

This close and even then Hob couldn’t quite tell if he heard Dream’s words more in his head and not because Dream uttered them.

Dream leans his head forward ever so slightly, gazing back at Hob through his eyelashes, eyes glinting with mischief, and Hob is snatched with a feeling so sharp, so arousing and gripping, he starts to reach out for the other man to do something – anything – about it.

Then, Dream says, “Why do you hum that song so often now? Is it a prayer then?”

“What?” Hob drops his hand unceremoniously.

“‘ Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Make him the - ’”

Hob feels his cheeks heat up and swats Dream on his arm before he can think about it. They both glance at the action.

Hob clears his throat, chagrined. He turns around and walks back to his bed. “I was upset,” he says to change the line of topic. The teasing. Because Morpheus isn’t entirely wrong, but it definitely isn’t a prayer. No, it is a lament.

No sooner had Hob uttered those words, he felt the realness and heaviness of said words settle in.

Dream turns around, his silhouette contrasting against the sunlight pouring in through the window, his expression visibly hidden in his own shadow.

Hob feels slightly unnerved. “You are an immortal being who stuck to his words and met with me strictly under the very conditions you had first pronounced.”

“I wish to not interfere with your life.”

Hob chuckles. “It is a bit too late for that, isn’t it?”

A very slight crease crosses his forehead, and Hob smiles. That’s his friend frowning.

He picks up his blanket back up to do something with his hands, to keep himself focused on some action to be able to utter the words he needs to. He knows Morpheus will not wait till the end if he says these words facing him. Last time he did, Morpheus didn’t show up for 2 centuries. Yes, he knows now that he had been held up, but Hob can’t help but wonder if professing any kind of feelings to Dream only spells trouble.

“I owe you an apology, nevertheless.”

“I was upset,” Hob begins, “because I was worried because the only other time you had deviated from your schedule was when you were held up against your will. Admittedly, showing up at my doorstep is also not part of your schedule, but you kept coming here over and over and so frequently that people in my daily waking life knew to recognise you by name and face. My wife, with whom I got to share such an incredibly brief moment of life, also knew of you because all the other people with whom I shared passing moments of my life knew about you. When most of my existence, you were all but like a figment of my imagination, save for the long years I kept living.” Hob can’t help but glance up and look at Dream. “Then, one day, you turn up here, and then you kept turning up here, fainting, seemingly dying at my doorstep, in my hall, in my bed, in my arms, I -” Hob pauses. “I don’t know,” he turns to move towards Dream, but stops himself. “I don’t know what happened to you. I thought you were dying. Then, I thought surely not. Then, you seemed to be fine. You looked fine. And, you still kept visiting. You weren’t fainting at my doorstep, so it wasn’t like you were hiding in here. You were well! Then, you just stopped visiting. I was trying to look for you. I met Johanna – you know the sorc -”

“Yes.”

“She said you hadn’t paid her a visit in a while. I didn’t know who to turn to. I thought – no, I hoped you were doing well. That you weren’t locked up or held up somewhere again against your wishes. For all the knowledge and skills I possess as a human, none of them tell me how to save you. Find you. Then, I met this wonderful woman,” Hob tries to hold Dream’s gaze, “who uplifted me from my useless depressive state. I am glad to have known her. I was happy with her. But I was also miserable because I didn’t know if the person I called my friend was well. I felt helpless at the idea that I wouldn’t be able to do anything - wouldn’t even know – if something happened to you.”

Hob feels like his throat is starting to choke up. He looks away first this time.

He drops the blanket on top of the bed and whispers,

“Am I just supposed to keep waiting?”

“…”

“Do I just keep wondering if I am going to see you again, not knowing when it is going to be the last time? Not knowing the last time has passed? Is that what’s to become of my time?”

Morpheus, who had been standing still, one with his own shadow, shifts an inch.

“Friend -”

Hob winces. “Sorry about the outburst,” he says quickly.

“That wasn’t the predicament I wished to leave you in.”

“…”

“It wasn’t what I desired, as it has never been.”

Hob feels embarrassed about his sudden outburst and regrets Dream choosing this morning of all to visit him, a morning Hob was feeling quite morose.

“Hob.” The human looks at him, surprised.

“No ‘Gadling’?”

“I can give you your answer should you wish to hear it.”

Hob bats an eye. “Ah, it is something that I wouldn’t like to hear, is it?”

Dream’s eyes crinkle with a faint expression of a smile, and Hob is once again hit hard with a painful sense of yearning. He wants to kiss those soft eyelashes and the corner of his eyes. The emotion is so strong, he sways on the spot.

He wants to bridge the gap.

“It never usually is, I’m afraid.”

Hob swallows. “What is it? Out with it then.”

“Time is understood differently in my realm, as does my existence from here in the waking realm. What you see may not always be what it is.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“I am dying, my friend, as I was and as I have been. As I will be.”

Hob thinks his heart stops beating for a second. If he were a regular human, he would have died already, with the crushing sense descending on him.

He licks his lips, forcing himself to ask, “What can I do to help?”

There has to be some way.

“There is no other way,” Dream says gently.

“Fuck off.” Hob takes the two steps and hugs Dream at three. “You don’t mean it.”

Dream continues anyway, “I have been informed humans tend to live their lives the way they do is because they know the ending is inevitable.”

Hob thinks of the unmoving, bloodless, lifeless body of Morpheus in this very room on his bed. He shudders at the memory.

“I did you a disservice last time by never asking you beforehand. Hob Gadling, may I have permission to visit you more often?”

Chapter Text

Hob frowns and pulls back from the hug, his hands still on Morpheus’s shoulders,

“Is this a trick?”

Morpheus, with his arms limp on both sides, stares back at Hob, his head tilting only imperceptibly as if confused.

“Trick?”

Hob clears his throat loudly.

He pulls back completely and says, “You never say what you are doing or where you are going. Granted, I never ask, but we both know you wouldn’t answer such questions."

“No, I wouldn’t,” Dream acquiesces.

“So, why tell me you are dying? Is this a test?” Hob narrows his eyes at him, unhappy, as a sudden thought crosses his mind. “Is this because you want to find out if I meant about not wanting any ‘gift’ from you?”

“Six years back, you told me I should warn you if I was aware something was going to change.”

“Last time you said it would take you a while to come back. But you came back to the Inn within 3 days. Are you sure you're going to die or do you think you may die but you don’t believe it and mentioning it to me just because I said you should?”

Morpheus had a tendency to take words too literally sometimes.

The Lord of Dreams flicks his fingers, and Hob’s blanket lies folded neatly on top of the mattress.

“I suppose, in a way, I do wish for it to just be a possibility.”

“Mr. Gadling!”

Hob had completely forgotten about his customers, and Charlie and Lisa attending to them downstairs. They have two new guests coming today.

“So, you are really dying?” Hob asks quietly, not believing it for a moment. “It isn’t nice if you are joking.” No, but Hob would prefer it to be a cruel joke over the alternative.

“Why would I be joking?” Morpheus asks, perplexed.

“Mr. Gadling!” Charlie’s voice sounds closer.

“Yes, be there in a minute, buddy!”

“Okayyy ..”

“I really need to go check downstairs and check with the kids.”

“As you wish.”

Morpheus purses his lips, looking unhappy. Hob thinks he could be projecting. Hob glances towards the door and back at the Immortal.

“Do you want to join me downstairs?” Hob adds hurriedly, “I am not done with the conversation.” He shifts on his foot, unsure. “If you have time.”

Morpheus smiles, “Time is all I have left, Friend.”

Hob frowns. He doesn’t want to ask why. He doesn’t want to know why.

They both head to the ground floor, where customers are milling about.

“Wait here,” Hob tells Morpheus, before he walks away towards an adolescent with fair hair behind the bar counter. The boy looks from Hob to Morpheus, surprise written clearly on his face, back to Hob again.

Morpheus puts his hands into his pockets and heads towards the garden that Hob had nurtured lovingly.

Morpheus pushes the back door open to step outside. He looks at the varied flowers, potted plants, and shrubs that crowd the little garden.

He walks around, looking at each one, admiring them. He gazes at the frangipani tree that is growing well now. He doesn’t remember seeing it the last time. Morpheus doesn’t find the rose shrubs that were in bloom the last time he had visited.

Morpheus walks over to the cowslip flowers that are in bloom. His hands brush the delphinium in the next aisle as he passes by.

“My guests always get curious about how I am able to manage the most chaotic order of gardening and still manage to keep them alive.”

Morpheus, who has been peering at some of the bright coloured flowers, looks over his shoulder with his hands behind his back.

“I suppose to the human eye it might seem that way.”

Hob walks down the three steps, still smiling. “They grow and bloom irrespective of the season.”

“Do they?”

“It is your handiwork, isn’t it?”

Morpheus only silently waits till Hob comes to stand next to him.

“At first, I thought I really had green thumbs. That all my effort and reading books had brought me these results.”

“Do you mind if it wasn’t?”

Hob lightly brushes one of the cowslip petals. “No, I am grateful to have what I do. I love looking at them through the windows. My guests would love to look at them, that is if I give them access to here.”

“Why not?”

“Flowers and plants growing and blooming out of season year after year? It attracts attention.” Hob’s voice lowers as he says it.

“Attention must be avoided,” Morpheus says hollowly. He hadn’t thought about it.

“I had to uproot many of them and stop planting a couple of them. I was testing if those completely unsuitable to this climate would grow as well. Blooming out of season is one thing. Flaura not meant for the climate is another." There is a pregnant pause followed by a "Sorry.”

Morpheus looks at him, surprised. “The apology should be mine.”

Hob shakes his head. “I think the funniest was when Night Queen kept blooming every night for a fortnight straight. I realised then that this was no ordinary garden.”

“Hob,” Morpheus begins in consternation, “none of them would bloom or grow if you didn’t put in the effort.”

The human laughs. “Good to know. That my effort wasn’t wasted."

“…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”

“It just reminded me of Fiddler’s Green.”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe I will get to introduce you to him someday.”

“Him?” Morpheus nods. When the Immortal doesn’t explain further, Hob continues by himself,
“You missed the scorpion grass I had. A little rascal always visits my garden. I have no idea what fascination she has with those flowers but she tears them to shreds.” Hob points at the only little bald patch of land.

“Who?”

Hob smiles wider. “She is a little pest. A small little kitty with the most gorgeous pelt ever. She kinda reminds me of you.”

“Me?” Morpheus smiles.

“Yeah, she’s got this real jet black fur.” Hob looks up at Morpheus, “like the dark night sky like she’s almost blue.”

“I see.”

“She’s the tiniest thing you’ll see. She hasn’t visited in a while, though. The guests love her. Though she avoids them.”

Morpheus hums, “Allow me to correct it then.”

“Correct what?”

“If the one who ruined your flowers is like me, then I ought to fix that for you.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t mean to -” Hob pauses as Morpheus moves his right hand in the air and offers him a thick bunch of forget-me-nots.

“Here, Hob Gadling, allow me to apologise on behalf of One Who Is Like Me,” Morpheus says, his lips up, amusement colouring his voice and expression.

As Hob is about to take the blue flowers from Morpheus, stunned, the door to the garden opens, and a young woman pokes her head out.

“Hob?” Then, she notices the flowers being given to Hob, and her eyebrows rise. “Just wanted to check – I can come back later.” She is gone just like that.

“Err …” Hob looks back from the door to Morpheus. He looks down at the flowers in his hands and wonders if Morpheus knows what they mean. “I have to go back in.”

“Did you leave your school? This hour, you tend to be at the school.”

“I left it a year ago. Suspiciously have looked the same for more than a decade now.” Hob shifts on his legs, steps one foot back, and says almost apologetically, “It is time for me to start making preparations.”

“You have to leave here.”

Hob nods. “I do.”

“Where will you go?”

“There are a few places I have shortlisted. I have to decide and have to make arrangements for.” Morpheus keeps looking at him with an expression Hob cannot decipher so he adds, “If you have time, you can help.”

“Help?”

“Help me decide where I can go next. It takes elaborate planning.”

Morpheus thinks Hob didn’t respond to his question; if he could have his permission to visit him more, but the human is surely inviting him to stay around longer.

Hob reads Morpheus’s silence as a no.

“I guess you are busy. I’ll take your leave then.” Hob nods, dejected, and turns around, not wanting to hear a no.

“Hob Gadling,” Morpheus says aloud, finally.

Hob is almost at the door. He looks back surprised, not expecting Morpheus to still be here.

“It would be my pleasure to help a friend.”

Hob grins. He turns the doorknob around and holds the door open. “After you.”

Morpheus walks in through the door, back into the Inn, his coat swishing around him, a pleased smile playing on his lips as Hob bows at him.

Hob follows him in, grinning. He is a simple man. He is satisfied with just this.