✗ || MORPHEUS

So he had withdrawn. The doors to his chambers had remained closed, not by command, but by quiet decision. Lucienne had brought reports and found her entry denied. Matthew had called his name from outside, only to receive silence in return. Even the shifting halls of the palace had seemed reluctant to disturb him. Yet it was the Corinthian, ever so BRAZEN, that chose to enter and Morpheus, with his unspoken bias, allowed him to do so.

Morpheus’s attention lingered elsewhere for a time, until he felt the mounting urge to look upon his creation, pale eyes first finding the BLADE that he caressed.

a   sickening   saccharine   twist   to   lips ,   alike   a   𝑐𝑎𝑡   so   thoroughly   dinned   on   nought   but   𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 .

❝   careful   brother   𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓   ,   one   might   assume   you   aren't   𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍   to   see   me   .   .   . ❞

❝Pleased?❞ He repeated, his own countenance remaining carved from SOLEMN stone. ❝That would depend entirely upon your purpose. You have seldom sought my company from affection, and never without some design concealed behind that smile.❞

His eyes, ancient and fathomless, did not leave Desire’s face. They searched not for honesty, for that would have been a FUTILE endeavour, but for the shape of the game already unfolding.

❛⠀well, i did have an incident with a laptop on fire. then one of my mates broke up and we spent a night tryin' to cheer him up only to lose him through the night and he somehow ended up in faringham. and, oh ! someone brought in a goat last week. they claimed it was for the ren faire, but that's total bullocks, if any. i googled, and ren faire isn't for another two weeks. ❜ hob ends with a finality, huffing, though he does scratch his chin a moment later, pondering.

Morpheus listened without interruption, as he always had, allowing Hob’s stories to unfold in their own UNTIDY fashion. They leapt from burning machines to broken hearts, from misplaced companions to errant goats with a logic that belonged solely to Hob Gadling, and yet Morpheus found that he could follow each turn without difficulty. It had become familiar over the centuries.

A ghost of amusement SOFTENED the severity of his features as Hob spoke of the goat. The memory it summoned reached back through centuries: the White Horse Tavern, damp air thick with smoke and spilled ale, the noise of livestock and merchants, and one remarkably stubborn man who had declared he would never die.

I have a suggestion. You won't like it. Go on.

TOM STURRIDGE as DREAM OF THE ENDLESS/LORD MORPHEUS

@twxnstars continued from x

It's not that he wasn't mad, it was just that he didn't have the energy to be angry right now. But there was so much to be mad at him for , Considering he had thought he would never see him again. ❝ Its not that I am not mad at all, I am..., I just don't even have the engery for that right now.❞ After he got some rest, maybe then it would have the energy to be mad at Dream. He had felt like his emotions were being messed with lately with all the we wont meet again stuff and then him showing up. He really had be scared it was the end. Now here he was standing infront of him. He didnt know what Dream expected him to think. Because yes Hob had every right to be pissed. Instead he was much calmer than one would expect in this moment. Anger perhaps would have been the easier reaction.

❝ No I suppose not... , but then take it as congratultions I am not mad at you.... yet.❞ maybe for him it was also words of relief that his oldest friend was still alive. Because he had indeed lost so much, that Dream was perhaps the only constant. The one being and person he thought he'd never lose, yet he'd almost thought he was going to lose all that too. That thought had been the harshest gut punch in all the years he lived. Would that have made him give up this immortal life? No perhaps not as he would always find some reason to go on. But it would certainly be harder, More lonely , more empty. The immortal let out a tired sigh as he leaned back into the couch rubbing his face. It was late an the only other sound was the tick of his clock on the wall of his kitchen. He should have been deeply asleep hours ago. ❝ But thats not to say I don't want to be mad at you for putting me through all that. I know you have your duties and to protect your realm.❞ He guessed it didnt matter, not when there were bigger things. ❝ I thought this time .... I thought I really was going to be alone.❞ Did the lord of dreams perhaps not realise he would be missed.❝ I know the Dreaming comes first...., But I would have missed you.❞ At least he was alive. He tried to wipe away the tears that were quickly forming in his eyes.❝ Besides if you clock out too early, You don't get to see yourself lose this wager. Because I am living forever.❞ He managed a small tired smirk as he sipped some of his drink.

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Morpheus listened without interruption as Hob’s words came in uneven currents, worn thin by exhaustion, threaded through with something far more difficult to face than anger. Fear. Loss. The UNBEARABLE weight of almost. Almost losing him. That, more than anything, settled heavily within Morpheus’s chest.

For all his existence, for all the centuries he had shaped nightmares and woven destinies, it had not occurred to him, not truly, what his absence might carve into the life of one who remained. He understood loss as an abstraction, as a force, as a story told a thousand times. But this, this was Hob Gadling, seated before him, too tired to rage, too worn to even hold onto the anger he was owed. And still, he had been AFRAID.

Morpheus’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the small, human details; the way Hob leaned back, the drag of his hand across his face, the quiet tremor beneath his attempted composure. The ticking clock filled the silence between words, its beat ENTRANCING until Morpheus found it in him to respond, but not without the faintest smile touching his lips. Hob was relentless when it came to that wager; stubborn in a way that quietly impressed the Endless with every passing century.