#actor hob

Hob hadn't thought he would find love like this, not again. Not in his late thirties, and certainly not with a man. A man who'd also been married to a woman, who had also lost his wife and child in sad circumstances; who had also been, by turns, perturbed and baffled and ultimately delighted by the unexpected connection the two had forged between takes on a film set two years before.

Coming out, at that point in their respective careers, had not been an easy road. There had been pushback – both from their own people and from the public. There had been scandalized op eds published in gossip rags. Hob had had to bite his tongue on more than one red carpet when an interviewer asked them something a little too off-color (Dream had simply looked cold and imperious and stern, which he was very good at, and which was probably a more apt response, all things considered).

But even now, dodging photographers and pedestrians on the streets of New York, Hob wouldn't change a thing. Not a single blessed thing, because he had Dream's hand in his, and they were together, and they always, always would be.

They finally shook the photographers by doubling back through a busy bus stop, dodging down an alley, and walking on opposite sides of the street for a block and a half, before reuniting right in front of their hotel and slipping inside under the watchful eye of an impressively broad doorman.

They walked hand in hand across the lobby to the elevator. The receptionist gave them a friendly and professional smile, and Hob nodded gratefully in return. It wasn't until the elevator doors closed behind them that he let out the breath he felt like he had been holding for the past twenty minutes.

He would have felt self-conscious about it, were it not for the way Dream was letting out a similar exhale and melting against him as the elevator whisked them away to their suite on one of the upper floors.

"Do you ever regret it?" asked Dream suddenly.

Hob knew exactly what he was asking, and was having exactly none of it. He turned toward Dream and crowded him against the mirrored wall of the elevator, framing his narrow, noble face between his hands.

"Never," he said firmly. "Never, ever, for one singular second, have I regretted going after you." He kissed Dream once, firmly, on the lips, and a second time, more gently, just on the corner of his mouth. "I would live forever, if it meant I could spend it with you. In fact," he declared, "I plan to."

"You're going to live forever?"

"Yes." He kissed Dream again. Felt him melt just a little more.

"An eternity of this? Of running?"

"If necessary. Everyone does it. In some form."

The corner of Dream's mouth lifted. "You are not a sensible creature, Hob Gadling."

Hob laughed, throwing his head back, warm and fond and in love.

"I may be a fool," he said, as the elevator carried them ever higher. "But I've made up my mind."