Space Man

“Wanderer.”

Dream Lord’s call echoes and bounces throughout the space, just as deep and piercing as it had been the first time he voiced your moniker. Instinct jolts your shoulders upwards, sensing the slow curl of his power wrapping around you long before he comes into sight. 

“Morpheus.”

Dream’s serious expression cracks at your greeting, splintering his sullen, severe mien. You’ve spent centuries attaching one name after another to him. Perhaps none as grandiose as those others bestow upon him, but uniquely yours and his all the same. Despite it, his proper name, the name he insists upon hearing from your mouth with an increasing frequency, still feels clumsy on your tongue. The effect it has on him, however, is something you savour. 

It thaws something buried deep under that ancient, stubborn cast. It is a small, insignificant victory, but it is yours nevertheless.  

“I felt you enter the Dreaming hours ago.”

His muted footsteps cut closer, his arms at his side. There’s an edge to his words, though, a disquiet Dream rarely, if ever, permits to show. 

You drop your fingers from the smooth leathery spines, concluding your search. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” You turn towards him with a relaxed shrug. “I was helping out Lucienne at the library. Then we had tea with Abel at the House of—”

“You did not come to see me.”

You swallow, briefly licking your lips. Candles flick at Dream’s curt words, wobbling on their wicks. A particular hush blankets the library, snuffing all sound out. Dream’s power burns from within him, and you eye him for a lengthy, weighted moment. 

“You were busy,” you say lastly.

Your feet carry you towards the nearest table, polished and mahogany, material smooth under your palm when you touch it. Scooping up multiple volumes, you slot them back on the shelf. More study on human magic. Spells, and their coequal, curses. 

“You were gone for three weeks.”

There are entire universes, languages, and poems dissolved in that single sentence. It says I missed you; it says I am glad to have you back with me, my reckless Wanderer; it says I breathe easy now that I am reassured you are safe. Of course, with Dream, all of it is unspoken. And there is, of course, an unanswered question scorching and pulsing through everything. 

Why did you not come to me?

Because sometimes it’s still hard—to forget what transpired between you two, what cost it exacted, how long was stolen from you. 

“I had Cori with me,” you retort without looking at him. “It’s fine. Good luck to anyone trying to go through him.”

Silence, heavy and tense, then: “Corinthian has much to make up for.”

Once more, your spine straightens, but this time in defence, not happiness or anticipation. 

“Yes, he does.” Those words come out factual, not some mindless presupposition or appeasement. “But we’re trying. We’re working on it together. Better than holding grudges for centuries and eradicating any possibility of happiness.”

You sound sharp, and you acknowledge as much immediately. Your mouth falls into a slack, near grimacing line. Great. Biting your inner cheek, you pivot on your heels, an apology ready on your tongue. 

But Dream of the Endless is already next to you, your chest bumping into his. Tall, grim, and looming. Slight furrow you’re so intimately familiar with cuts between his strong brows. You have to banish the itch in your fingertips to reach over and smooth it. Lay a kiss there. 

“I do not wish to fight,” he whispers, his words a silken caress. 

Exhaling deeply, you let your rigid muscles relax. “Neither do I. I'm just… sorry.” You tilt closer, your bodies brushing against each other. Dream’s intent, heated stare burns into you wordlessly. You can’t help but reach out, ghosting your fingertips over his sloping jaw. “What is it? Have you missed me, Dream Lord? Is that it?”

Dream’s lids hood, but he doesn’t otherwise react. Fuelled by sly intent, you let your thumb settle against the soft edge of his lips. Electricity sparks where your skin meets, each nerve come alive. 

“Why ask me when you already know the answer, stardust?” His soft breath tickles your hand, and you shiver. Subtle shadows have knotted around you, holding you close and veiled, providing you privacy. Dream’s voice is the gentlest murmur; a single, shining crack in his proud cast: “My heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own.”

You tuck yourself closer, resting next to him, breathing together for a long moment. Hearts are such impetuous traitors. Yours flutters with simple, unconstrained happiness at his muted, fierce declaration. 

Your nose settles near his collarbone. “I missed you lots too. Lots and lots.”

“Good.”

Your lids have slipped shut, and his quiet, finely laced smug remark pries them open. Your head jerks upwards, your faces inches apart. Squinting, you can’t help your short laugh, pleasantly surprised. “Good? What kind of response is that?”

His dark hair brushes over your forehead, his unblinking stare on your mouth, the fond smile sitting there. “One that gets you to smile.”

You purse your lips, biting back another laugh. “Ah, smooth talker.”

Dream browses your features with such dedication, such fervent longing, but not a word escapes him. He’s glimpsed your face a thousand times—more than—but right now, it’s as if he’s rediscovering you anew. Every time, unfailingly, upon your return, you meet again. 

Hello, Dream Lord. 

“What plagues you?” he wonders.

You brush your noses together. Brief, light contact; a playful graze. “A dream.”

Something hot swirls in those blue depths; his words sound gentle, prompting. “A dream.” His hand settles lightly on your lower back. “What is this dream, Wanderer?”

“I dream…” Your palm settles on his cheek, breaths mingling. Other brushes over the lapels of his black coat. You don’t care who might see you; there are no worries, troubles, or lost time right now. Just him. “I dream about a handsome Dream Lord giving me a kiss.”

His lips whisper over your own. Close, but not quite. “Just the one?” he rasps. 

Your grin is taunting and sharp-toothed. “Well, I suppose that much depends on whether the first kiss is any good.”

“I see.” His arm winds around you tighter. “Then, this handsome Dream Lord of yours should endeavour to ensure no doubts are left behind.”