I need some sleep

Hob stood from his bed, his knee buckling under him, forcing him back down. His hand holding the joint as if body heat was all that was needed to ease the pain from a nearly 4 centuries old wound.

The conversation that he had with Dream popping into his head. He still couldn't figure out how Dream knew of the wound, let alone how it happened. He had tried and tried to figure out a single way that Dream could have been there, but in the end he always came out with a blank slate. Hob knew for a fact, that if Dream had been anywhere near him that he would have been drawn to him, as he always was. His eyes would find him no matter the situation.

Yet, nothing. Nothing came to mind.

This repeated every time Hob's knee twinged or buckled. The ache would come and go and so would the thoughts. It nagged at Hob as he went about his days as usual; teaching at the local university, marking papers, reading a book that he's read nearly 100 times but never gets old (they just don't make books like that anymore), before finally relaxing for the night and repeating.

Which is how they ended up here; Hob in his kitchen making food in his small kitchen, whilst Dream sat on his bar stool watching. He was making creamy sausage pasta, luckily Dream had showed up before Hob had decided to even get up and make it, so he had a chance to add a smaller portion alongside his regular portion.

His back toward the other man, the stove sizzles and pops as 1 cup of chicken stock is added and brought to a simmer until the contents in the pan have been reduced by half. He watches, trying to remember what the next step was. Right! Herbs! He side steps, keeping one hand on the spoon stirring the pot, the other reaching from muscle memory to the rack filled with small bottles of spices; grabbing one and reading the bottle 'Italian mixed herbs'. Usually he would add some chilli flakes, but seen as he's making food for Dream as well, he skips that step. His knee twinges as he stands normally again, reminding him.

"You know, you never told me how you know about that battle." He stirs in a rough amount of herbs, hoping it's the right amount. He knew he didn't need to elaborate.

"I did not." comes the familiar voice behind him.

Hob pours the cup of heavy cream into the pan, stirring it, before leaving it. Turning whilst it simmers, facing Dream. "So, fancy telling me?"

Dream blinks, staring back at Hob from his place at the breakfast bar. "Shadow."

Something takes a second to click. That one word, well, name. Hob frowns, "My horse?"

One nod, the regal type.

"I don't understand, what's my horse got to do with this?" He checks the sauce over his shoulder, he should have a little bit until he needs to parmesan.

For a moment, there is nothing, just the bubbling of the sauce. Then with a blink, Dream was gone. Nothing there, or so Hob thought.

"Dream?" Hob looks around, no swirl of sand that occasionally followed Dream when he came and went, just nothing. He shrugs, turning back to the pan, maybe something urgent happened in the Dreaming. He thinks nothing of it, sprinkling the grated parmesan in.

Meow

Hob freezes, he doesn't have a cat, nor are there any cats in the area that he would be able to hear through the living room window. He turns the heat off, turning towards the sound.

Sure enough, there's a cat. A black Maine Coon, sat proud on the counter top. Right where Dream was. There's no way...that can't be...but the eyes, they're so alike. That's Dream's eyes. He'd know them anywhere. A flash of the horse Hob had in the 1500's popped into his mind. Shadow. Those eyes, they were the same.

"No..." Hob looks shocked. "No, there's no way." He shakes his head, turning towards the stove. His hands braced on the edge of the counter. "You were shadow."

"I was." Back is Dream's voice.

Hob moves on auto pilot, moving the pasta and mixing it into the sauce. Neither of them say anything to each other as Hob dishes up; making up his own plate and Dreams. Eventually sliding the plate over the counter towards the other, settling opposite with his own. He doesn't eat, not right away, simply sat trying to focus his thoughts. "Why?" is all he ends up asking.

Swallowing, Dream almost looks unsure.

Hob picks up his fork, stabbing into a piece of pasta and fixes him with a look. "Dream."

Following his moves, Dream picks up his own fork, not using it, simply holding it. "When you told me about your battles, I was curious."

Hob chews, "You were curious?" he swallows, "What where you curious about? You've never seen a battle before, I swear you're older than me, you must have?!" He's not angry, his tone still uplifting just more just disbelieving.

Dream raises one eye brow ever so slightly. "I have seen many-a-battles." He lifts his fork to his mouth, sniffing at the pasta, clearly deeming it safe to try.

Hob watches as Dream chews, his face staying neutral, but his eyes shifting with every flavour. It was one of Hob's favourite things to watch. "So why, if you've seen so many battles, did you want to see those ones?"

"I wanted to ensure you were safe."

Well, that's not what he was expecting. Dream wanted to make sure that Hob was safe, before their friendship. "And the best way to do that, was to be a horse?" He laughs.

Dream puts his fork down, he had only one bite. "It seemed the most appropriate."

Hob nods, a grin breaking out onto his face. "Can I ask how it was being, well...a horse?"

"It is the same as any other form I take."

Pursing his lips, Hob hums. "Cryptic." He stabs some pasta, holding the fork mid air. "Wait." Hob's face grows pale, humour fading. "Shad- you got put down..." His hand lowers back to the plate as he stares at Dream. "I saw it you- you got-" He trails off, the image in his head as clear as the day it happened.

Dream lowers his gaze slightly. "I was 'put down', yes."

Hob swallows. "Did that, i mean- did it hurt? No, that stupid," he pitches the bridge of his nose "of course it hurt."

Blue eyes meet his. "I am immune to pain as mortals feel it."

A breath of relief escapes Hob. The mere idea of Dream being in any sort of pain is an uncomfortable one. "So, you didn't feel it?"

"No. I did not feel it, it caused no pain."

Nodding, Hob lifts the fork in his hands slightly. "Good, that's good..." He doesn't seem quiet right.

"Hob." Dream says sternly, waiting until Hob meets his gaze again, having drifted off. "I am well."

Hob seems to shake himself back to the present. "Right." He lifts his fork to his mouth, letting a small smile spread across his face. "My cooking that bad?" He gestures to Dreams, still full, plate.

Dream glances down, not moving his head, a tiny scrunch of his nose the response he gets. "This does not sit well on my palate."

"Yeah, many of the pasta dishes I've done, you don't like" Hob shrugs.