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It’s been over three centuries since Morpheus has stepped foot into the New Inn. And since Hob has, and a distant part of him aches, can’t feel the dreams and wishes baked into the foundation as they walk in and sits down, this time near the windows.
The Inn… doesn’t look that different, Hob telling him over a century ago that the New Inn got historically listed as they were living in Australia then.
A shoe knocks against his and he blinks, Hob smiling at him, “you okay?”
Morpheus blinks and stares at the windows, as the table shows a paper-thin hologram, which Hob swipes down and away, expression worried. “I used to be able to feel all the dreams in here, so vibrant,” he frowns, can hear the other people talking and celebrating, “could feel the hopes and dreams of you, baked into the foundation, with the way you worked tirelessly to bring this place from a dilapidated wreck to the Inn we’re in today.”
Hob’s face flushes a light pink as dark eyes look to the centre of the Inn, “I didn’t know that. What’s it like now, then?”
Morpheus slouches in the chair and brings up the menu, considers the ache, getting used to a too-human body, “now, I can only feel something special about this place, the way any person can,” he settles on in the end, and Hob huffs as he chooses his own items. “It is not for me now.”
Hob huffs, and Morpheus goes cross-eyed at the finger pointing right between them, “this place will always be for you, you idiot,” Hob snaps quietly, then flicks his nose. Morpheus scowls and pushes the offending digit away. “So you’re not ― Endless now, so what. I did funnel money into this place for you in particular.”
Morpheus cocks his head, “is this place not for Daniel also? You do like him.”
There’s a groan and Hob covers his face with his hands, eventually scratching through his hair as Morpheus smiles and sits with the urge of wanting to put his own hands in the other’s hair. “Of course, Daniel is ― he’s fine, and I know he has all your memories and everything, but he’s still not you. For one thing, he’s more white goth than you.”
Morpheus grimaces, conceding at that point. “I could also be white goth,” he points out instead, just to be contrary.
Hob opens his mouth―and is interrupted by their food arriving, plates of chips and burgers lifting up from a sudan void in the middle of the table, closing back into the solid table-top.
The wind is cold, but Hob next to him is warm―”you’re drunk,” Hob says gleefully, and Morpheus considers getting out from Hob’s arm. Until he trips over the edge of concrete, making Hob crack up in laughter as Morpheus grips the other’s jacket so he doesn’t fall.
“I am perfectly sober,” he says with a glare. So maybe he had. An entire bottle of wine. But it was a celebration, being back at the New Inn, and Hob always indulges him. “And I think,” he frowns and leans on the other’s shoulder, letting out a happy groan as an arm goes around his waist, fingers digging into his hips, “you deserve a temple.”
Hob laughs even more as they slowly make their way to their small flat in London, “definitely not.”
“Wrong! You do! I will make you a fine temple,” he declares loudly, voice echoing throughout the street. Hob’s face is pink as Morpheus thinks things through, something slowly coming to him.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not a good enough person for a temple,” Hob says quietly, and this time it’s Morpheus who scoffs, stopping Hob with a tug on his shirt.
“I’m not a good person either, and yet you made me a temple,” he slurs. Hob opens his mouth, probably to argue, “I am not, I am learning, like you are learning, but. We are not. And yet, you made a spot. For me,” Morpheus whispers, fingers tugging passionately on the other’s shirt, throat closing up as he thinks of how―for centuries, he’s only just realising how much he wants Hob, for the good and the terrible.
“Okay,” Hob says softly, worn hands holding onto his as they begin walking again.
“And Zeus. He had a temple, had many, and he is. So you should have a temple,” he continues, and Hob sighs, a hand stroking up and down his hip.
“Still, he was a king of the gods, even if he’s a prick. I’m just me,” Hob says gently as they enter their block of flats, and Dream groans as they walk up the two required flights of stairs to reach their flat.
“Regardless, I will build you a temple,” he states loudly. “A Restaurant. At The Edge of the Universe, as immortal and as much a fixture of the universe as you,” he nods, smiling as Hob lets them into their flat. “No-one knows who built it, but I know now. I built it for you.”
“That’s sweet,” Hob says with an indulgent sigh, tugging him into their small kitchen as Hob gets out a glass, filling it with water. “And how do you plan on building this place that already exists for me, apparently?”
Morpheus frowns and takes the glass, putting it straight back onto the counter, “I will figure out a way. I may be only human now, but I do know things. I have friends in high places,” he nods, happy with line of thought as he lists onto Hob, the other man letting out a small oof as arms go around his waist.
Morpheus sighs, putting his forehead on Hob’s, stroking the soft beard as he breathes in Hob, the soft floral cologne he put on today, the scent of the bakery Hob works at.
Morpheus sways in, and he can feel Hob freeze as their lips touch, as Morpheus kisses him chastely. Humming, he hides his face in Hob’s shoulder, still frozen around him, “if I kiss you again when I’m sober, will you believe me about the temple?” He asks.
“Yes,” Hob breathes, arms tightening around him.
Fin]