Blind Date

by LinzOd

Summary:

Hob Gadling stares across the table, his fight or flight response on full alert. After living for centuries now, he knows when to engage, and when to turn around and run. And now is a time to retreat. As he starts to fidgit in his seat, brain racing to devise a way out of this predicament, the handsome man across from him continues, “That deliverable was a real example of corporate synergy. We were easily able to spin the whole recall situation and ended up easily leveraging the 18-25 demographic.”
***

Hob Gadling is glad to have Dream of the Endless back in his life. He knows his stranger’s name, they are meeting regularly, and everything should be wonderful. Well, it would be if he could somehow control his pining over his oldest friend… after all, there is no chance an ancient, all powerful being like Dream could want a real relationship with a mere mortal, is there? Hob decides to try a few blind dates to see if he can move forward, but instead is affronted by the utter anguish of modern dating, while his attachment to Dream only grows as they open up to each other. Oh, and he is almost certain that he is being tailed by a raven, but that is neither here nor there….

Notes:

I actually started this Dreamling fic before a few of my others, and just loved putting Hob in uncomfortable positions and trying out his POV. This whole story is just fluffy and soft. Hob’s blind dates open his eyes to just how much he cares for a certain anthropomorphic personification of Dreams, and might work the other way as well…….

Chapter 1

Hob Gadling stares across the table, his fight or flight response on full alert. After living for centuries now, he knows when to engage, and when to turn around and run. And now is a time to retreat. As he starts to fidgit in his seat, brain racing to devise a way out of this predicament, the handsome man across from him continues, “That deliverable was a real example of corporate synergy. We were easily able to spin the whole recall situation and ended up easily leveraging the 18-25 demographic.”

The man beams a winning smile at Hob, obviously waiting for some response. His teeth are incredibly white, skin tan even in the fall weather, and every inch of him seems tailored. Hob can’t imagine a hair out of place on his head. Through the centuries Hob has delighted in the changes to the English language, slang, and parlance. He firmly lands on “Finance Bro.”

Hob snaps to, as the man’s hand inches across the tabletop towards his own. Hob quickly grabs his wine glass, bringing it to his lips and buying time, as his mind races. At this point, any response will do frankly, and Hob tries his damndest. He is if anything, unerringly kind. “Uh, wow mate. Sounds well played?”

“Absolutely. Nothing better than closing a deal like that, well except for a good lay, you know.” The smile on the man, Jackson or some fucking stupid name like that, becomes more sly.

It takes all of his formidable self control for Hob to avoid rolling his eyes. In frustration, he thinks that even with having literally all of the time in the world, this date is wasting more of it than he can abide right now. The worst part of this whole scenario though is that he is the insturment of his own torture. Other torments have come from a variety of places but this is not a witch hunt nor a war. He instead is destroying himself with just a weak moment on the internet, and the ease of slapping a profile up on a few online dating sites. He is his own worst enemy at this point.

It isn’t that Hob hasn’t dated this century. It’s just been different. He sees dating as simply another facet of the human experience. Recently he has had a few short relationships, but more often has opted for brief flings and hook-ups. Over the years he has become increasingly uncomfortable with the thought of a long term relationship and his need to leave, lest he face the agony of watching someone beloved age and eventually die, as he stands there, forever 33 years old and hale.

He does value his deep friendships which, while meaningful, are simply easier to walk away from when the time has come to step into a new life. He gets too wrapped up when he is truly in love. For Hob, deep, abiding, romantic love truly depends on the person, and while Hob loves everyone he meets, at least a little, those true romantic connections can be numbered on one hand over all of his years. It is not an inconsequential thing and the shadows of these loves fall over centuries.

His thinking comes back around to the beginning, and as much as his cognitive brain tries to say otherwise, he knows that the real reason for his current difficulty is rattling around in his subconscious, dangerously close to every waking moment. He tries in vain, as he stares at the vapid face in front of him, to rein in his thoughts. He uses every fiber of his being to keep his imagination from replacing this face with another. A face that is so much more handsome and striking. A face that is truly loved. A face that he is trying desperately to distract himself from. A pale face with unruly black hair, sticking up in every conceivable direction and eyes made of literal stars. Dream.

His stranger, who Hob now knows by more than a few different names, has crashed back into his life the past year. Their centennial anniversaries have turned into biweekly chats spent at the New Inn, and sometimes continuing in his flat above, late into the night. Entirely unbidden, the pining that he has had in his heart for centuries has flared into an utterly all consuming obsession. He cringes at the next attempt at a smoldering look the man sends his way. What kind of a fool had he been to think that fucking online dating could help fix things or distract him at this point.

“Robert, earth to Rob. You thinking what I’m thinking? That we should get out of here to my place?”

Hob blinks in confusion, realizing that his reverie has been wholly misinterpreted. He looks up at the man in front of him. Fuck, is it Blake? Or Tad?

“Or yours?” The man offers unhelpfully.

“Sorry I disappeared for a minute. I have had a lot going on at work. I had a great time tonight, but I think I’m going to head out solo, mate.”

The man blinks a few times before running his hand through his brown hair. It barely budges. He does not seem like the type who gets turned down very often.

Hob reaches out to shake Jackson/Blake/Tad’s hand, puts money down on the table to cover their dinners and wine, and with a smile and a wave, heads out into the night.

As he steps out of the restaurant he hazards a glance in through the window. The other man does not look upset, just confused, and Hob allows himself a smile. At least he still has it. Even when utterly distracted. He takes a deep breath and starts to walk towards the tube. The air invigorates him and he finds himself taking the more meandering path through the park to his destination.

As he walks forward he feels as though he is being watched. If that corporate shill is following him, it would frankly be just what he deserves for this harebrained scheme. He stops, turning slowly, and sees a large raven in the path, standing eerily still and looking directly at him.

Hob chuckles a bit. “Sorry bud, no birdseed on me. Next time I’ll bring you some leftovers from dinner, but frankly, I had to get out of there and quick. That guy was insufferable.”

The black bird cocks its head to the side, as though considering Hob’s offer before flapping its wings, and rising into the air, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

What a fucking weird night. He definitely would not be sharing any of this with Dream at their next date. Their next meeting, his more conscious mind corrects. And with everything, all of his errant thoughts and longings, firmly placed back in the correct boxes in his mind, he saunters on through the night towards home.

***

Hob loves his life and loves his job teaching history. He likes to think that his zest for living is legendary, after all, in essence isn’t that what earned him his immortality? But despite this, it doesn’t mean that he isn’t allowed a bad day, and this one has been a doozy. All he can think about is shutting his brain off and enjoying a pint at his table at the pub, and then going upstairs to read something wholly unrelated to his aforementioned job.

As he stumbles through the doors of the New Inn, lost to the world and considering all of the interdepartmental drama that is currently making his life a living hell, he stops suddenly as he approaches his reserved table. Someone is sitting there, and that someone is Dream.

His heart lurches a bit. The last time Dream had been waiting for him was the day he had told Hob his name. He remembers like yesterday the recitation of his titles followed in his sonorous voice by, “But this closest to me call me Dream, and I would ask you to call me by that name.”

Dream waiting for him that night had been remarkable enough, but now that he knows the broad strokes of what the man, being, deity, anthropomorphic personification of the collective unconscious is, it is even more remarkable that he is simply sitting at a table, lost in thought, waiting for Hob of all people.

He strides over, resting a hand on Dream’s shoulder, because after a year of these meetings that is somehow something they do, and smiles before sliding around the table to take his space across.

“Hob Gadling, as always it is a pleasure. You looked indisposed upon entering?”

“Oh, what a day. Do I have a story for you, dearest friend,” Hob says, his worries slipping away, almost as though he is caught in an actual dream.

 

***

As Hob stares across the table at the beautiful woman, marveling at her tawny skin and beautiful brown eyes, he smiles. This one is absolutely different. There will be no grafting of his friend’s visage onto this vision of a woman.

“So then, I plopped down in front of all 3 feet of him, trying to get to his level. He startled to calm down. He asked me if things would be fine, and I told him that they surely would. He looked at me with the funniest expression and said, Miss Pallavi, my name isn’t Shirley.” Her laugh rings out across the cozy restaurant. “I swear, I thought that misunderstanding was only in the movies!“

She smiles fondly and Hob mirrors her right back before replying. “As cute as that is, I still would not trade my college class for your classroom. Though they are also as clueless about classic cinema as your three year old friend. I couldn’t do what you do honestly, At least if I slip up and curse, it makes me cooler and doesn’t land me in time out.”

Her laugh rises up as clear as a bell, and Hob continues to be smitten. Maybe this is a good idea. He looks deeper in her eyes. A very good idea.

Their conversation flows. She is amazing. Smart, kind, sweet. And bland. Too nice. Too kind. Too sweet. He wishes for sharp edges, sharp remarks, a sharply sly smile, a sharp jawline, and damn it all. There it goes.

She is even kind when he gives his “it’s not you, it’s me excuse” and all but flees for the door.

Hob stalks down the street. He pulls his phone out and calls a ride. He deserves a comfortable, silent ride home. Or on second thought, maybe the driver will be chatty, the better to distract him from this abject mess of a life.

He isn’t always reserved, but Hob usually isn’t the type to swear to himself at the crosswalk, yet here he is. “Shit. Why won’t this fucking work.” He drops his tone, answering himself more quietly, “Because they aren’t him, you fool, you utter dumbass.”

He stews, glowering at his boots for a moment before he casts his eyes up at the sky, as though looking for strength. Just then he sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around in time to see a large black bird rise out of the treetops into the sky.

The back of his brain prickles in vague recognition. That night he dreams of beautiful black ravens, streaking across the sky in the dusk, messages clasped in their dark talons.

***

It is the end of a lovely day and Hob walks slowly through campus, headed for home. Things are looking up. Somehow the situation in his department has stabilized, and he had some great interviews this week with potential post docs to start next semester. Despite his disaster of a date last night, he does not hold sadness in his heart, just a growing understanding of his own feelings. The feelings that inconveniently continue to hijack all of his daydreams and spare waking moments.

Despite his positive disposition, one of these feelings, in addition to longing and lust, is mild worry. Through dribs and drabs of content thrown out in conversation, Hob is still figuring out what Dream’s power entails, so he periodically flushes with panic upon waking as he hazily recalls the explicit content of the dreams his traitorous unconscious spins. He literally dreams of the manifestation of all dreams. And if that isn’t a proper mindfuck, he does not know what is.

Despite it all, as he thinks of Dream, he feels lightness. He had had a wonderful evening when he had seen him last week, after the date with the finance bro. They had spent the night talking, eventually opining at length on the intersections between art and history. Hob floated in a relaxed, warm and blissed out state that stood in stark contrast to the discomfort of his other recent interpersonal interactions.

As the New Inn had started to close they had trekked upstairs to his flat to finish the conversation. Finally, their chatter had slowed, and in a floaty way, Hob had leaned his head back on the couch with a smile. Dream had looked at him in, what Hob had considered, an exceedingly fond way, before gently saying, “Sleep well, dearest Hob.” Hob had not remembered falling asleep on his friend, and when he awoke the next morning, remarkably well rested despite the uncomfortable angle he was lying on the couch, Dream was gone. In his place was a majestic text he had never before encountered on the topic they had been discussing. He had a sneaking suspicion that this tome had not been published in this world, and his heart soared again.

As he daydreams his mind pauses on to the changes in their interactions. As lovely as their last meeting was, and it had been lovely, his heart stutters a step as he realizes it will be a few weeks before he sees Dream again. Their meetings certainly have a pace, and he is becoming used to it. He knows that Dream is busy, but he also knows that he is visiting a significant amount. He wonders if Dream is trying to make amends or rather making up for lost time. Or maybe this is their new normal. A new evolution in their centuries long acquaintance.

He also hasn’t missed the slight changes that his friend seems to be mindfully making in their interactions after his extended absence. Their conversations are less one sided. Dream smiles more, glowers less. He remembers clearly most words that Dream says to him, but the one thing that sticks in his craw is that upon seeing each other for the first time in 133 years, Dream had noted that had not meant to be late and had been indisposed.

He has been mulling over this turn of phrase for weeks. What could indispose an entity more powerful than the gods themselves? Hob knows that something is there. Dream had shied around his absence repeatedly, even as he has become more candid in most things. Hob knows that there is no benefit in rushing Dream or pushing the man. They are both timeless creatures, and the way things are going, with increasing comfort and peace being found in their meetings, it may be shared someday when Dream is good and ready and not a moment before.

Hob is pulled from his thoughts, suddenly startling, when out of nowhere, footfalls appear beside his. He looks over, and is surprised as he notices the presence of Dream, walking lock step beside him. Had he drawn Dream here with his thoughts and longing? Unlikely, but seeing the man beside him, so much more real than in his mind, he has a vague feeling of inevitability.

“Dream.”

“Hob.”

“I’m surprised to see you. We met last week, I wasn’t expecting you for a bit. To what may I owe this pleasure?”

“No reason. I surely don’t need an excuse to visit with a dear friend.”

Hob’s pulse starts to race at the endearment. This is incredibly inconvenient as he really does not know the specifics of what Dream can perceive outside of his realm. Can he hear his heartbeat? Still, despite the momentary panic over his obvious pleasure to see the man, the phrasing of Dream’s response makes him laugh as well.

Dream looks over in confusion, inclining his head in a silent question.

“It’s nothing. Just, well, I was out on a date the other night and there was a bit of a running gag about that word. Surely. And how it sounds like the name Shirley. Just a dumb joke from an old movie.” Hob smiles, in what he hopes is a winning and casual way, at his friend.

“Well. That is not one I inspired,” is Dream’s haughty response.

“No doubt, duck.”

Dream narrows his eyes as they continue on, still walking closely, seemingly uncaring of the curious glances from the students returning to their dorms. His voice takes on a tone that almost sounds suspicious, beneath it’s usual smooth sedate surface. “A date? What is it like to date with your years of experience? I can’t say that is something I commonly experience in the minds of the dreamers.”

Hob is a bit surprised by the change in Dream’s countenance. His friend remains as inscrutable as ever, holding Hob’s gaze, before Hob looks away, a bit embarrassed suddenly.

“Oh, well. You know. Not great. It is harder to feel a deep connection beyond the physical the longer I live. Not that I don’t enjoy the company of friends and companions, but the thought of a love changing, moving towards your sister’s realm in body as well as spirit, as I remain the same, gives me more pause than it ever has before. I guess I just want things in that vein to be more meaningful now. It is much harder to leave a lover than it is a friend when my time in a life is through. I can stretch it out, people look younger longer these days, but it is inevitable.” Hob looks up, finally meeting Dream’s eyes with a quirk to his mouth. “Though you are older than I am, so maybe you can tell me someday.”

Hob has trouble finishing the statement as he finds that instead of their typical deep blue, he can track the passage of stars and galaxies in the dialated pupils of Dream’s eyes.

Dream looks thoughtful, and lowers his own eyes before responding with a soft sigh, “That has been a very very long time ago for me as well. And certainly before my recent, challenging events.”

“Care to share? Friends are always glad to share the other’s burdens. And you are indeed the one friend who has stayed with me.”

Dream suddenly looks saddened. “Maybe next time, dear Hob. I must take my leave. Thank you for the conversation.”

“Any time, love.” Hob replies. And he means it more than any words he has spoken in some time.

As Dream walks away, off the path and into the darkness, Hob notices a fluttering of black wings headed towards his shoulder. Before he can see more, Dream is gone.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Some more spying, another bad date, and the emotional catharsis arrives. Thanks for reading!!! Hope you enjoyed!

As Hob hurries to the coffee stand near the history building he reflects on how restfully he slept last night. Really, every night since Dream had re-entered his life. Hob supposes this is a perk of being friends with the Lord of Dreams. As he ambles along, he again can’t help but think about his recent meetings with Dream. If they have been mostly pleasant, save a few notable exceptions, over the years, now they bring Hob some of the truest pleasure he has had in centuries. He feels known and heard, and the interactions continue to weigh on him. The weight, however, is not suffocating or worrisome. It rather makes him feel soothed and contented, and he really has no idea what any of this means.

He shakes his head and resettles his thinking. The frequency of their meetings is more than he could have hoped for all of those years ago. What more should he want, the greedy son of a bitch that he is? And yet what was he doing, but walking to a meeting, Dream haunting his thoughts. Or his dreams, as it may be?

He again tries to clear his mind as he looks over and spots Renee, his newest, and youngest colleague in the history department. Renee had been Hob’s favorite recent post-doctoral student, and when the faculty position had opened up he encouraged her to apply. While he still offers mentorship in his more senior faculty position, it warms his heart every time he realizes that they are truly colleagues now. She is smart and funny and destined for big things.

Hob waves at her where she waits with two black coffees at a shaded table. “Dr. Ahmed! I was supposed to treat you!”

She smiles. “Not your student anymore, Dr. Gadling. I can treat as well. After all, my salary is marginally better as junior faculty.” She takes a sip of her coffee before reaching to the center of the table for a packet of sugar. “Marginally.”

Hob laughs and lounges beside her. They have been planning to do a few joint lectures on areas of expertise that overlap, but soon conversation turns to staff gossip.

“Hob, are you coming to the mid semester faculty mixer? It would be my first year, and I don’t know if I want to subject Sam to the whole affair. They may very well break up with me if it is as bad as I hear.”

“I always go. Helps avoid being the target of the ever present gossip. Plus, something shocking always happens.”

“Renee smiles up at him. You told me you had a date the other night. Planing on bringing anyone?” She asks coyly.

“Oh nah. That didn’t work out.”

“That’s a shame. You are such a nice guy, Hob. People out there are missing out.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Hob suddenly feels the urge to talk to her. Other than Dream, he has very few people to share his deepest thoughts and concerns with these days. A few of his closest friends had recently taken jobs at other universities and he misses seeing them regularly. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Renee with personal information, but she has always seemed like someone who would become a dear friend and confidant. After centuries, he has a sense of these things.

He rubs his hand through his hair. “Actually, I’m just a mess. I’m pining over an old friend, and he is not the type who could ever recriprocate.”

“Oh dear. Is he in a relationship? Does he not date men? Or is it something else?”

“Absolutely in the something else category. Though, despite our long friendship, he doesn’t say much about his personal life. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever work up the courage to tell him how I feel. He is way out of my league in a lot of ways, and I couldn’t live with myself if I lost his friendship.”

Renee shakes her head. “What I said stands. You’re a catch Hob. If you don’t put yourself out there you will never know.”

Hob smiles kindly. “Well, maybe we will see at the mixer, right? It is honestly just a few steps away from an undergrad formal, and every bit as embarrassing and fun if you attend with the right people and in the right spirit.”

Renee laughs and they segue back into their work conversation.

As Hob leaves, he bends over and kisses her cheek. “Thanks for being a good friend Renee. And for the pep talk, even though I think I am just fine with my unrequited feelings. Lends me a tragic air, right?”

She swats him on the arm as he rises. “Same time next week?”

“Absolutely.”

Hob turns and decides to take a short cut through the grove of trees near their table. He is brought short by a low branch, upon which is perched a large raven.

Hob gulps. He feels a little crazy, but he has to know. He looks at the raven and speaks. “Oh, it’s you. Tell Dream I say hello.”

The raven stares directly at him, and in an American accent says “Yeah, I can let him….” Before whipping its head around in an incredibly human appearing look of surprise before rapidly flying off into the sky.

“Hmmm.” Hob muses. Should make for an intersting conversation. Adding spy birds to Dream’s list of peculiarities hardly seems out of place. And why has he been following Hob on his disastrous dates? Hob walks home even more confused and lost in thought

***

Hob firmly shuts his laptop after grading the last of his midterm exams, and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and relishing the stillness of the flat. He reaches to the center of the table where a very nice vintage of Bordeaux has been left open to breathe. He pours himself a glass and takes a sip, sighing in contentment. Now hopefully his mind can quiet as much as his surroundings.

He hears a slight creak, and opens his eyes, to see Dream sliding into the chair beside him.

“This is a nice surprise, though one of these days. you are going to catch me in a fine state, my friend. With all of the slipping in without knocking, you know.”

Hob sits up fully and smiles at Dream, who of course, does not look abashed in the slightest.

“Hob Gadling. I do hope that this is a good time.”

“Of course it is, it is always a good time as far as you are concerned. Would you like a glass? I promise this is spectacular, and I probably will feel much better in the morning having shared it with a friend rather than my previous plan to drink it all by my lonesome.”

Dream inclines his head in a slight nod, and as Hob rises to get a second glass, he sees a fine crystal goblet materialize in Dream’s hand.

“You are a handy one to have around, aren’t you,” he says with a smile as he pours a glass.

Dream simply looks at him as he raises his glass to his lips, his eyes closing gently after he takes his first sip before opening them and catching Hob in an intense gaze.

“This is very good.”

“It is. I bought a case back in the late 1800’s and cellared it. Figured now was the time. Even the good stuff can go to vinegar if you let it too long.”

“Was this before or after our disastrous meeting?”

“Uh, it was after. I had a slightly increased affinity for alcohol at that time. Figured my haste and greed had cost me one of the most important things in my life. Drinking my feelings away didn’t help, but it did leave me with a pretty great wine cellar.”

They had talked about this a bit before, but had never really gotten deeply into it, and if Hob was surprised by Dream bringing it up, he tried not to show it. This new matter of fact, more communicative friend was well received, and he wanted to repay the favor with candor.

“You do know, it was never you,” begins Dream in a halting way, so unfamiliar from his usual swagger and confidence. “I realize now you were lonely, and I was as well. You were trying to find commonality. I just have never taken well to others knowing me better than I know myself. I have since learned the error of my ways.”

“I have as well, Dream. While I can’t say I wouldn’t have wanted to discuss these similarities in our experiences, I would have been more nuanced, and made fewer assumptions in our conversation. You are owed that.”

Dream hums to himself, and takes another sip of wine, a small pleased smile coming to his face.

“I do enjoy that I can speak freely to you. I have my siblings. You may have guessed that they are eternal beings as I am, and as such I do not burden them with my concerns for the most part. We have complex and, at times, fraught relationships. I have my subjects, who are my creations, and my staff, who work for me.” He looks directly at Hob, mischief in his gaze. “I think you met my raven, Matthew recently. But what I wish to say is that now, and for quite some time, you are the dearest friend I have. The friend who I care to keep. Who I trust and cherish.”

Hob smiles softly, his stomach tightening in fondness, in hope, and in a small amount of longing. “I am not endless. As such I can not have more than a poor understanding of your nature. But even in the span of centuries, which must seem so short to you, I understand the loneliness. You have always been a lodestone of sorts to me, the one that I can trust to know what I am. Who I am. Where I am, and to come back to me. I understand what you say, and it is yet another reason I am so glad to spend time with you as well. In whatever capacity you can.”

Hob feels like in the past year, he must have eared the equivalent of a PhD in understanding Dream’s subtle expressions, but the one on his friend’s face is impossible to parse.

Dream’s voice is as low and soothing as ever, but something in it seems to echo in Hob’s chest. “That is an apt metaphor.”

Hob leans towards Dream, placing his hand atop his friend’s which is resting on the table. “Glad you think so, though I am certainly no poet. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Your friendship means more to me than you could know.”

Dream begins, haltingly again, “I am pleased we are of the same mind regarding this… friendship. As such, I was hoping to share a tale with you tonight. I only now have begun to realize the burden it places on my heart, and that I have not even begun to parse out its meaning. To who I am, to what I was, and to what I shall be.”

Hob nods. “I will hear of any of your burdens and share them in the small way I am able.”

Dream’s lips curl up yet again, this smile small and sad. “Someone dear to me told me that talking with your friends can help.”

Hob nods. His eyes gaze into Dream’s, and again he sees the galaxies swirling in their depths as Dream begins, telling his tale of the past hundred years to Hob for the first time.

“It was 1916. I was in the waking world, chasing a rogue nightmare. In truth, one that I had put much of myself into, and held in great esteem. But his nature had changed. Instead of helping the dreamers process their fears, he wished to become his frightening purpose in the waking world, and in doing so cause destruction and chaos. As such, I had, what I felt was only one choice. To find him, and unmake him into the dream stuff from which all of my dreams and nightmares are formed.”

Hob leans forward, absorbing every word. Dream’s hand flips over, and Hob holds it firmly, drawing himself closer, and falling into the story of his friend’s life.

 

***

Hob had said he was not doing this again, but this date could not be skipped. It was set up by a dear friend and colleague ages ago. David’s cousin is in town for a few months, acting in a production of the Royal Shakespeare Company being hosted at Hob’s university, and no accounting for taste in playwrights, David had thought that they might hit it off.

And this one, god damn it... This one, Adrien, is just his type. The man has sandy hair, is tall and lithe, self-deprecating and witty. Hob can tell from the onset that no one could stand against this wit, and it would be used to defend those closest to the man, if ever wronged.

Adrien has turned his substantial charm on Hob from the moment he had spotted him, and they banter back and forth in a way that would usually pull out sparks and heat from the center of Hob’s being. They sit close in the darkness of an upscale cocktail bar. Adrien’s reflections on the past and his role as an actor are fascinating. Hob wants to fall headfirst into the moment as he may have in years past, but instead he is just going through the motions, mind drifting back to two nights ago when Dream had bared his soul. They had ended up talking on the couch long into the night. As the evening drew to its close, Hob had been bold and reached out to hug his friend, who had accepted and even returned the embrace, and more shockingly, who had dropped the smallest kiss to their entwined hands before he took his exit in a swirl of sand.

Still Hob initially tries with Adrien. He can tell that while this conversation is entertaining and animated, that even his most winning smile is not reaching his eyes. There is no true pleasure in this, even when dunking on Shakespeare, one of his favorite hobbies, which seems to bring an inordinate amount of glee to the man beside him. Hob does not want to be rude, but he knows he needs to end this date soon. It is not fair to the person beside him that he does not have Hob’s attention in the slightest.

Of course, whatever it is that is going on with Dream would not be overcome by a string of meaningless blind dates. Trying to trump the deeply meaningful with ultimately fruitless connections will not help him. He has come to the conclusion, quite obvious in retrospect, but now no longer being pushed down, that he is in love with his friend. He has also decided that even if they remain simply friends for eternity, he will be content.

Yet despite his revelations, he still can not imagine how one with Dream’s power could confide in someone like Hob in the way that he had. And he can absolutely not imagine that it would be possible to be loved by a being such as his friend. That is a step too far. Entirely impossible.

Centuries have honed Hob’s social abilities, and he does not think Adrien is aware of his detachment as he sidles a bit closer to Hob’s elbow. “So, is the dating scene as atrocious here in Cambridge as it is in London?”

Hob nods his head in agreement. “It’s all shite, honestly. Can we just go back to the days before apps and dating sites began dictate our social interactions, especially of the romantic kind?”

“Have you ever known anything else though? Outside university of course, and you know as well as I do how dire that situation was.”

Hob can’t suppress a laugh. The man is charming. “I’m a bit older than I look, so yeah, I remember. And I know that what I’m looking for is not really amendable to the algorithm.”

Adrien leans in even further and Hob turns to the side, facing him, trying to get a bit more space between them, while contrarily making his position more welcoming. Oh well, nothing to be done. “I’m looking for someone who really sees me. Who knows me, through my best and worst, and who cares for me despite that. Someone with some shared experience, but with the ability to surprise me.”

Adrien scoots back a minuscule amount, possibly seeing something in Hob’s eyes. “Sounds like you are looking for the elusive friendship turning to love trope. I see it enough in my plays. But I don’t know that it really exists.”

Neither does Hob. It took an embarrassingly long time to look into his own heart to see what is really there. And now Hob knows without an ounce of reticence that it is not any of them, any of the dates. It is all him. They are not his stranger. They are just not…

Hob senses someone in his personal space on the other side from Adrien and rotates his head toward the interloper in mild annoyance at the proximity. As he turns he starts to glimpse pale skin, and dark hair and he starts, eyes widening. “Dream?”

“I am sorry to interrupt, Hob Gadling, but I was free for the evening and came out in search of my dearest friend.” Dream’s voice is resonant, as always, and he is as ethereal looking as ever, entirely incongruous to the setting.

Hob can’t help it. He knows the look he is shooting at Dream holds a mix of pleasure, longing, and lust. He knows his pupils are blown wide, and his lips are parted. He needs to get control of himself. He blinks his eyes, looking forward, only to see the bartender smirking at Hob’s situation and the engrossing personal soap opera playing out in front of her.

Hob swallows hard, and schools his features, before pushing his stool back from the bar a minuscule amount and falling back on lifetimes of social graces. “Dream, this is Adrien. My good friend David introduced us so that we could meet up. He is in town for an acting gig. Adrien, this is my oldest friend, Dream.”

Dream looks devastatingly handsome and Hob notes many of the eyes in the room intermittently darting to his visage. All in black, with clothes fitted and fine, hair artfully tossed, and those searing blue eyes. He is a literal vision. Something out of a movie, or more aptly, a dream.

“Dream.” Adrien says the name with a mix of displeasure and surprise at the interruption. “So, you and Hob are close friends?”

Dream nods his head towards Adrien in a courtly fashion. Hob can almost feel the vibrating energy in his friend, but can’t decode it. “We have known each other for quite some time, but after an absence, we have found our way into each other’s lives again.” Dream’s hand finds its way to Hob’s shoulder, where it presses down firmly, stroking patterns into Hob’s arm through his shirt. It feels possessive, and with that thought lightening bright in Hob’s mind, he turns to Dream, staring fully and deeply into his gaze.

What he sees there nearly brings him to his knees. Jealousy, but beneath it deep caring, fondness, and that elusive “something else” that he has not been able to name.

Hob barely feels Adrien’s hand on his arm, as he excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Hob just keeps falling into Dream’s eyes, casting up and down his face, trying to catch the smallest motion, the slightest expression. Dream’s movements are sparse and always meaningful. So what is Hob to think of the fact that Dream’s tongue has snaked out of his mouth, moistening his beautiful, pink lips, while directing that unparsable, incredible expression at Hob.

They stay like that for what could have been minutes. Frankly, it could have been hours for all the external awareness Hob is able to muster. In all of his centuries, Hob thinks he has learned some modicum of self control, but it flies out the window in this moment. He lifts the arm not being clasped in Dream’s grip and brings his hand to the man’s jaw, running his thumb along that sharp and gorgeous cheekbone. He swallows again. “I am very glad to see you, my friend.”

“I am very glad to have found you. Tonight, and in every moment we have met in your lifetime. In my lifetime.”

Hob’s brain may literally short out. Everything else fades away. Well, no time like the present, Hob thinks before asking, softly and haltingly, “What are you saying, Dream? Really saying. You are the master of stories and I want to know the meaning of this one.”

He draws a ragged breath and Dream’s eyes turn, if possible, even darker. They focus like a bird of prey. Of course, Hob has glimpsed the stars in his eyes again, unnatural and extraordinary, and they are blinding. He is so lost looking up into Dream’s eyes, that he does not notice the movement and sound of Adrien removing his jacket from the stool beside him and walking slowly away.

“Surely, you must know.” Dream smirks at his apparent cleverness.

But Hob needs to hear it, really hear it. Finally he can speak, and though he hates to break the spell between them, they owe it to each other to really talk. To share their feelings using actual words. So he says something. He says something stupid, but at least he can speak.

“Why did you have Matthew following me on those atrocious dates?”

“I wanted to find out more about you.”

“You could have asked, duck.”

Now it is Dream’s turn to look uncomfortable. “You did not mention lovers, or dating in our conversations the past year since my escape. I began to wonder if you were… protecting me. I was certain you could see my devotion, so I was surprised. That is all.”

“Wait, hard stop here buddy. I have had the best year of my entire, long, existence this year. Seeing you so often has brought me nothing but joy. And a realization that I have been pining for you for centuries.” And now that that is out there, Hob knows he can’t put it back. The boxes in his mind are lying scattered in front of him, for his friend to examine and pick through. He has no choice other than to be brave and keep going “You have chosen me for friendship, and the gift of your time is more than I could have hoped. I could not have conceived more. Can you… Can you just tell me what you mean by devotion before I make a bigger fool of myself here?”

“I am saying, Hob Gadling, that you are the most important one to me in this or any other realm. I may not have admitted it, but my ordeal, as we discussed, gave me time to think. And your actions and care mean more than you can know.”

Hob smiles softly. There is no chance he can respond with that level of eloquence, his brain is still several steps behind.

Dream continues, “Your friendship is paramount to my happiness. I would not threaten that by getting in the way of your romantic relationships. I know how important your continued connection with humanity is. But I had hoped. And perhaps misinterpreted some of our conversations. I sent Matthew to better understand.”

Hob is about to get whiplash from this conversation. Since he has known Dream, and especially the past year, he knows that meaning is rife in every word of his flowery and beautiful speech. But Hob is nothing if not forthright when the time comes for it.

“I went on those dates to get my mind off my feelings for you, Dream. My romantic feelings. I could not conceive of a world where a being such as you would want someone like me. But after living centuries, I have realized you are what I want. But as you said, I would also never risk our friendship.”

Dream blinks. Confusion is written across his face.

“We are both saying the same thing.”

“Indeed we are, love.” Hob finally puts it together and realizes the look on Dream’s face, that he has been trying to place. It is not indescribable. It is love. The same emotion that drips from Hob’s every pore. “I guess it just takes us time to properly communicate. Perhaps because we have all the time in the world. Or maybe we are just two dense immortal idiots.”

Dream smirks at Hob’s admonishment. “I may be able to say that more poetically, I am after all…”

It is impossible for Dream to finish that sentence. Hob drifts closer to him, before capturing his lips in a soft kiss. With that small touch, Hob feels electricity surging through him, and in this moment he feels that everything is right in the world. He is happy, and content, and this is inevitable. The feelings, if possible, surge higher as Dream deepens the kiss, tasting Hob in a way that speaks of untold longing, as if they are both trying to pour centuries of devotion into this most intimate of communications.

And if time was wobbly before, well he has no idea how long they are locked in their embrace. He can only guess using dream logic, which is fitting for the dream lover before him. Hob does however come back to himself as he hears, very nearby, a wolf whistle followed by a slow clap. His unfocused, lust blown expression is directed reluctantly away from Dream, towards the bartender who speaks in a bored, unaffected manner.

“Well boys. You have certainly made this shift more interesting, and I enjoyed the show. You are both very pretty. But it is getting to be closing time.” She looks at Hob, “That bloke you were with there, before you threw him to the curb for the goth here, said you would get the tab.”

Hob quickly throws his card down on the bar, fingers itching, reading out for Dream’s wrist, as though he may disappear during this brief interaction. As the bartender holds out the credit card machine, Hob enters a sizable tip. Her smirk turns into a genuine look of pleasure and she nods, putting her hand to her temple in a mock salute. “Godspeed, gentlemen.”

They drift outside, walking down the street in no particular direction. Hob is the first to break the spell. “I don’t know if I can ever look Matthew in his beady little eyes again . He has seen me make a fool of myself way too much recently. I said it before, but I want you to know going forward that you can ask me anything. I will not shy away from you, no matter how big our feelings are.”

Dream makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh to Hob, and the sound is new and glorious. “I know that now. It has, how do you say, been a while, and before trying this sharing of feelings that you have insisted upon, I wanted to make sure I was not getting in the way of your happiness.”

“How could you ever think anyone else could hold a candle in any way to you? You are beyond compare. Every minute spent with you makes me want to spend centuries more getting to know all that you are, even though it is doubtless I could ever understand you truly. You are the most amazing person I know.”

“I’m not a person. And that is a dangerous proposition my friend.”

“Sometimes living life fully is a bit dangerous. You don’t scare me with your ‘I am not a human’ speeches, or your mercurial moods as long as we can talk. Or your spy ravens.”

That sentiment elicits yet another pleased sound from Dream, and Hob lights up from inside. He slides one arm through Dream’s and looks up, closer than close. “Where do we go from here? I think we can do better than a lame bar.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I surely am.”

Notes:

Some shameless self promotion!

If you liked this, consider tuning in for some more Dreamling confusion and hijinks with a Good Omens twist You Make My Dreams Come True

I also wrote the Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Sandman crossover that no one asked for.. ever… but people seemed to enjoy, and I had a BLAST writing. Slaying Nightmares

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