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The first competition Hob Gadling ever went to as a professional skater (the first one that mattered, anyways), he was warned about Morpheus Endless. Repeatedly, in fact. The skater who went by Dream (according to himself and his fans, of which Hob was staunchly not one, nope), was arrogant, demanding, and had no time for anyone he didn't consider competition. Truthfully, he sounded like every other entitled prat who'd had parents who paid for the best figure skating teachers, moved to the best cities, and got the best coaches.
Hob took a deep breath and slid out onto the ice, relaxing as the familiar chill air surrounded him as he did a slow lap around the rink. Practice didn't begin for another hour, but he'd wanted to take the time to gauge the arena. He hummed his music selection under his breath and went over the routine in his head as he did slow lap after lap around the rink. The sound of another pair of skates hitting the rink made him open his eyes and he blinked at the sight of Morpheus joining him.
Hob shifted and skated closer, raising his eyebrows. "Joining me for a bit of free skate time before practice?" He moved in a slow circle around the other skater and didn't miss the scowl that got him. His grin widened. "Rink's free, you know."
"Perhaps if you dedicated yourself more to practice, you would have a chance of reaching the podium of this event, rather than taking up space the rest of us would use," Morpheus scoffed, striding away from him.
Skidding to a stop, Hob put his hands on his hips and scowled after the other man. Well, if that's how he was going to introduce himself, then he would just have to do something about that. He would show Morpheus Endless that he wasn't someone that you could ignore. Even if it meant doing things that his coach would say he definitely shouldn't!
-
Hob didn't place on the podium. He didn't even place in the top ten for the event. He adjusted the ice on his thigh, his hamstring aching. But he had added two quads to his routine that had not been there before and he had plans for even bigger things. It would just take him time. When Morpheus' eyes met his, a superior little smirk on his lips, Hob barely managed to resist baring his teeth. Everyone needed a good rival, and it looked like Morpheus Endless was going to be his.
~!~
Four years later, Hob settled back in the waiting room, having checked his skates for the fourth time as he looked up at the monitor. The itch to get out there and onto the ice was under his skin, making it hard to sit still, but he was going second to last, with Dream (now officially Dream, he no longer went by Morpheus, and what a scandal that had been), after him. He rubbed his hands together and grinned.
He was going to make some waves tonight.
He might also get kicked out of professional competition for the rest of his career, but if that was what happened, he was going to do it with style.
Hob adjusted his sleeve, the bright white blending into silver lycra fluttering around his arms. The white and silver that gleamed with rhinestones might have been a bit much for him, but it fit his theme, at least.
"Do you always fidget this much before you skate?"
Hob blinked and looked up at Dream, who was standing in front of him, arms crossed. He leaned back in his chair and nodded. "Yup. It's all energy. Can't wait to get out there. My heart settles once the cool air of the rink hits me." He gave Dream a smile. "You ready for your long program?"
Dream raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Are you still planning risking nearly killing yourself?"
Hob laughed, his head falling back as the buzzer in the room sounded, reminding him to get up and into position. "You know, with some of the stuff that we pull, and is pulled in Pairs, you'd think this wouldn't still be controversial." He stood up from his chair and stretched, moving around Dream, heading for the door.
"Hob Gadling."
Hob paused, and turned to look at Dream, raising both of his eyebrows. He wasn't sure that he'd ever heard Dream address him directly. "Yeah, Dream?"
"Don't injure yourself."
Hob blinked, but in a flash, Dream's headphones were back on and he had once more settled into his seat to wait. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, making his way to the ice, where his coach, Michael Caxton was waiting for him. He stepped up beside the rink and watched as it was cleared.
“I know I can’t convince you not to do this,” Caxton started. “We’ve had that fight enough times already.”
Hob tightened his hands into fists and let out a breath. “We have,” he agreed.
“So instead I’m going to tell you to make your remaining triple a quad instead. Three quads, plus the jump you’re planning.”
Hob blinked in shock, his eyes widening. “Wh, what?”
“Might throw your routine off by a second, you’ll have to do a rotation or two less at the end,” Caxton added. He gestured up to the scoreboard. “You haven’t been paying attention. You’re in second, right behind Dream. You pick up another Quad, plus your surprise, your starting score is higher than his.”
Hob sucked in a breath and stared up at the scoreboard, doing the quick mental calculations before he shook his head. “I can’t add another quad, it makes the final jump too risky.”
Caxton scowled. “When you got this ridiculous idea in your head, you told me you planned to make everyone, for once, look at you, instead of at Dream. You wanted to do something that he couldn’t.” He paused and raised an eyebrow, holding open the gate for Hob, holding his hand out for the skate protectors Hob handed him out of habit. “If you were serious about that, you’ll do as I’ve told you.”
Hob stared out the ice, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath, then another, the cool air burning his lungs until he felt calmness settle over him like a blanket. Caxton was right. That was what he’d wanted. That was what he’d planned for. He nodded and pushed himself out and onto the ice, waiting for the end of the commercial break.
Caxton glanced over at Lucienne and cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows at her. “You’re gonna want to tell your boy to watch this.”
Lucienne scoffed and adjusted her glasses. “Watch Mr. Gadling injure himself?”
Caxton shook his head and smiled, watching as Hob grinned, bright and wild. “He’s not going to injure himself. He’s going to give Dream the push he’s been waiting for.” He could feel her frowning at him, but he only shook his head and turned his attention back to the ice where he could see Hob breathing in deeply as he settled into the middle of the rink with a few final twists and turns on the ice.
–
Dream frowned when Lucienne strode into the waiting room, an irritated expression on her face. He looked up at her, about to ask, when she turned and flicked the television to the live feed of other skaters, gesturing for him to take his headphones off. He scowled at her, even as he lifted them briefly. “I do not-”
“His coach ordered him to alter the routine at the last second,” Lucienne said. “He’s doing it to try and beat you. You will respect the attempt and watch.”
Dream snapped his mouth shut and stood, walking closer to the television as she turned up the volume, the rink dark. He scowled and watched the crowd settle at last.
–
Hob breathed in deeply and waited for the light lift the second the music started. There was a shout of recognition across the crowd at the song and he grinned, spreading his arms wide before he launched himself into a hard push across the ice, picking up speed as he carefully wound around the arena. This first jump was always the hardest, but the music swelled, and Hob let it carry him away.
Getting enough momentum for the Quad Toe Loop followed by the double instead of the Triple-Triple had him grunting, but he managed it with one last push, landing cleanly with a triumphant grin, leaping into the second jump immediately, before he slid lower, his chest heaving. He would never score as high as Dream did on the artistic side of things, but he had learned over the years what people liked. Spinning, slowly, Hob took his time building into the next jump, breathing in deep as the song began to rise again.
The anticipation in the arena was growing by the second, and Hob knew some of that was being spread by the knowledge that he had altered his program, and people wondering precisely what else he could have added. More than one of the coaches had told him that Caxton was foolish for having the toughest of the three jumps as his third, but it was what fit the song, and Hob bent backward, sliding his fingertips along the ice as he held the pose until it was time to build up speed once more.
Another pass by where Caxton was standing showed him that Dream had joined him at the arena to watch and Hob couldn’t help the grin that split his face as he twisted, lifting one leg above his head in a position he knew would give him those few extra artistic marks before he slid out of it and whipped around the edge of the arena, the song crescendo making his heart pound.
One, two, three more pushes and dig in the toe pick!
Hob launched himself into the air, managing all four rotations before landing easily, his leg swinging wide as he slid just as easily into another series of spins. It was getting harder to breathe, but the music was there, picking him up once more. Mouthing the words (something he was known for, even if it cost him the deduction in points) as he pushed harder, moving into the step sequence.
He swung, twisting and laughing as he danced his way across the ice, the music getting louder and louder by the second, filling his chest instead of air. Next was the impossible jump, the jump he’d been called stupid for adding, for doing so late in his program, but he was going to show them all. All of them. Hob heard the crowd begin to shout as he turned to face the rink and pushed forward, adjusting himself at the last second. Four and a half rotations.
Now!
The quadruple axel (what had been a triple-triple before his alteration) was the hardest jump in figure skating, and Dream was known, reliably, as the only competitor to land them regularly. Hob touched down, swung one leg wide, wobbled, and then pushed through the wobble to the crowd screaming as he laughed and leapt up into a split, falling into a spin, sinking down to the ice, twirling again and again, the music carrying him as he pushed himself upright. He'd done it, he'd managed it, landed the quadruple axel!
Time for the finale!
Throwing his hands up as he danced and threw another triple loop for the sheer joy of it, Hob laughed and skated up the sideboard, mere inches from Dream as he blew past, the air biting at his cheeks and his face as he picked up more speed. It couldn’t be too much, and he lifted one hand, turning his back to the rink.
One breath.
Two.
Hob swung his right leg back, and then forward, moving his whole body into the motion as he flipped, head over heels. The ice swung into his field of vision and he brought his left leg down. Trust his instincts, he knew where his skates were, he did, he did, there! He shook, bending low to absorb the blow, his other leg bent out to show proof of his landing on one skate before he began to spin, managing ten rotations before he planted his toepick into the ice, ending with the music, one arm flung wide as he panted.
The crowd erupted into screams and Hob grinned proudly.
Watching the ice get pelted with roses, Hob took a few seconds to breathe, waving to the crowd as he moved to pick up a few. He laughed and pushed some of his hair out of his face that had fallen out of the gel and moved to head back to the gate where Caxton was waiting. He couldn't stop grinning, and even though his legs felt like jelly, he stepped through without tripping. When he was immediately pulled into a hug, he laughed again and held on tight.
“Come on idiot, let’s see what they thought of that,” Caxton urged.
“You got it,” Hob panted, sliding on the protectors for his skates as they made their way to the booth. He waved to Dream, who was standing by the entrance. “Good luck, Dream!”
–
Dream stared after Hob, his heart clenching painfully at the friendly grin and wave he was given. He had been nothing but dismissive and rude to Hob over the years, because… Dream closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to settle himself once more. Again and again, Hob had offered him nothing but friendship and camaraderie, even when they competed together. His congratulations had always been sincere, and he had always, always, been a friendly face to the others in the circuit.
And now, to put on a routine like that?
How could he ever begin to match it?
“Dream.”
Lucienne’s voice snapped him to attention and Dream stepped onto the ice, gliding around the rink in slow motions as the scores were announced. Artistic marks first, slightly above his usual averages. Dream closed his eyes and waited for the proverbial damocles sword to drop. Hob’s jumps had been immaculate, with a difficulty level far surpassing what he had once thought the skater capable of and-
Dream froze at the first score of a seven point five. And the second at an eight. He skidded to a halt, his eyes flying to the booth where Hob looked stunned and his coach looked furious. Every score afterward, the full listing, took Hob immediately out of medal contention and the booing of the crowd was growing louder by the second. Forgoing the usual etiquette, he pushed himself to the scoring box and slid to a stop in front of it, looking to Hob.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
Hob stared at Dream in surprise and glanced at Caxton, who was arguing with one of the judges on the other side of the box. “They’re disqualifying the backflip, and as punishment, downgrading one of my quads.”
Dream was furious. “It was a completely legal jump, it is simply frowned upon, but your technical mastery of it was clear. Under what grounds have they-”
“Dream,” Hob interrupted, smiling sadly at him. “It’s all right. We thought this would happen. It was a risk with doing it.”
Dream frowned. “Then why…”
“Well,” Hob managed a more real smile for Dream. “Had to make you look at me somehow, huh?”
Dream blinked at Hob Gadling for several long moments, backing away from the scoring box when an official insisted. The crowd was still murmuring angrily after Hob’s scores. Indignation filled him and he paused, turning to Hob once more.
“Right leg for momentum, left for landing?” Dream asked, narrowing his eyes.
Hob blinked in confusion. “I… yes?”
Dream nodded decisively. “Good.”
Hob watched him skate away, his usual all-black outfit shimmering with every color of the rainbow before he realized precisely what Dream had asked him and, worst of all, why he had asked that question. “Dream-” he cut himself off as the lights lowered, demanding silence, watching the ice in horror. He shoved himself out of the scoring box and back to the entrance of the rink, his hands clenching the banister tight as he heard the music begin to rise.
–
Reworking the mental map of his routine was the work of a moment. The final Quadruple Lutz would be removed and in its place would be his attempt at what he had no doubt would become Hob Gadling’s signature jump. Dream closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, deeply, and shifted his arms and legs into position. A fitting tribute and censure for those who would rob him of the achievement, all in one.
The music began and Dream moved.
It was liquid, washing over him, pushing him into motion as though nudged by the volume itself. Arching himself easily, he lifted one foot from the ice and slid from one pose to another, to another, before the time came for his first jumps. Triple lutz, triple toe loop, then immediately pushed into the speed needed for his first quad. Dream tilted his head back and breathed deep, pushing down hard on the ice as he turned and propelled himself forward.
Quadruple flip, perfect landing.
Dream swung his leg wide and arched himself back, grabbing his foot to glide along the ice and into a crouch before back up and into another twisted arch, before moving steadily into more acrobatics. He slid down, one knee nearly dragging against the ice, his head arched back. In his mind’s eye he could see Hob in a similar pose, already exhausted, but pushing harder. When was the last time he had felt the need to push himself similarly?
Pulling himself out of the pose and into another tight spin, Dream changed his direction and began to gain speed, gearing up for his second (and final, for now), Quad. The jump was the easiest of the three he had planned, but it was one to do easily incorrectly if he did not pay attention. Flipping himself around, he launched himself into the air and landed easily. Now for the more upbeat part of the song that was for footwork.
Dream launched himself into the sequence, one that he knew was technically beyond Hob’s capabilities, moving fluidly into pose after pose, trotting and dancing across the ice. However, there was none of the steadily growing anticipation, none of the energy that had characterized Hob’s performance. The energy was simply not the same, and as the music slowed, Dream carefully slid from one pose to another, lowering his arms to his sides as the music began to swell.
In a split second, he spun around and faced Hob and began to mouth the lyrics. There was a gasp across the crowd, but Dream ignored them and kept mouthing the lyrics that he had heard hundreds of thousands of times over for this routine. Now, they carried a different meaning and a meaning that would make a difference for someone else.
From now on, there’s no looking back
Full-steam ahead on this one-way track
From this day forth, I will make a promise
To be true to myself and always be honest
It was high time that he learned to be honest. Hob deserved that honesty. So Dream pretended to sing the words just as Hob did, the lyrics swelling stronger and stronger.
For the rest of my life
I will do what’s right
I will do what’s right
He would make this right. For Hob. He would make this right. He would do what he could to make it right for them both.
Right leg for momentum, left leg for landing.
Dream repeated the command to himself, spinning around so his back was to the rink.
When I'm step out on the verge
Dream launched himself into the air, grunting with the effort to get himself up and into the air as easily as Hob had made it seem. His left skate alone hit the ice, but his momentum was too much and Dream tumbled to the ice, sliding to his knees and then back onto his skates a moment later. He’d had worse falls in competition. He leapt again, a split in mid-air, his arms spread wide, a wide grin on his face as he moved to the middle of the rink, falling into the slow rotations that became faster and faster. Bend to touch his forehead to his knee, up, arch, and plant his foot.
The crowd was silent. Dream closed his eyes, breathing hard.
“Hell yeah, Dream!”
Hob’s shout ignited the crowd, and Dream spun to look at him (his back to the judges) as they surged to their feet all at once, shouting and screaming with the same enthusiasm they had shown Hob. Dream let his head fall back as his eyes shut in relief before he opened them once more and managed a smile back at Hob before he skated toward where he was waiting. Several steps away was Lucienne, clearly giving them both the space she believed they deserved.
“Hob, I…” Dream panted, trying to find the right words, but they were stuck in his throat. It was easier to skate, to put everything into every motion on the ice. It was and always had been his medium of choice.
“You know,” Hob said with a laugh, opening the gate to the exit. “I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen someone do. And I willingly watch romance movies.”
Hope made his heart leap and Dream paused, several feet from the exit of the rink. “Have you seen Yuri on Ice?” He asked and waited, his heart pounding as Hob stared at him for several seconds before throwing himself onto the ice, and at Dream.
It wasn’t the same, it couldn’t be, but Hob’s hands, warm, rough, and so gentle, cupping his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, were even better. Dream sank into the kiss, even as the crowd screamed louder than before around them, reaching up to cling to Hob Gadling as they kissed again and again under the rain of roses being thrown onto the ice.
“Knew you liked me,” Hob whispered against Dream’s lips, grinning at him as he brushed their noses together. “Wasn’t expecting a free skate love letter though.”
Dream swayed in closer, intoxicated by the way Hob had not moved back, had not turned to acknowledge anyone else in any way. It was only them, standing on the ice together, the air still ringing with a statement they had both made. “Apologies,” he managed, his voice hoarse.
“We can both apologize later,” Hob breathed, stealing one last kiss before he took Dream’s hand. “For now, let’s see your scores.” He tugged the other skater off the ice, and laughed when Dream refused to release him, tugging him into the scoring booth on the other side while they waited.
The judges were talking, and talking, and talking, and Hob had to turn and muffle a laugh into Dream’s shoulder. While his own backflip had caused a few ripples, the both of them doing it was causing a clear scandal. “Sounds to me that we’ve given figure skating circles a proper scandal, love. Would you agree?”
Dream hummed and turned to press his lips to Hob’s hairline. He tightened his hold on Hob’s hand, only to find his squeeze returned in equal measure. His heart ached at the thought that he had denied himself this for as long as he had. “Imagine their horror when I invite you to use my training facilities for the foreseeable future.”
Hob’s breath caught and he tilted his chin up to look at Dream’s profile as he stared at the judges across the arena. “Really?”
Dream glanced at Hob and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have one of your own?”
Hob snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a prat, Dream. You know damn well I don’t. But I also know that you like your space.”
That was the truth. And before Hob’s defiance of the entire sport, before his goal of making Dream look at him, before all of it, Dream would never have considered offering it. Now? Now the idea of only seeing Hob every few months between competitions was an unacceptable one. He needed Hob, he needed his defiance, his determination, because he would be pushed, would be better, would improve, and-
“Stop thinking so much,” Hob murmured against Dream, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “If you want me to use your facilities, then yeah, I will. Pay you for their use and everything.” He squeezed Dream’s hand again, but the judges were still discussing amidst the crowd getting louder and louder.
Dream turned his eyes back to Hob and leaned in to press their foreheads together, breathing out slowly. “I understand this is sudden and likely unexpected, perhaps not even desired. I will explain myself,” he promised.
“Hey,” Hob coaxed, his voice softening despite the growing confusion of the crowd. He smiled when Dream tightened the hold on his hand and nudged his way closer to steal a soft, gentle kiss. “You like me, I like you, we’re going to be kissing a lot more in the future. That sum it up?”
Dream snorted. “Inelegant, if accurate.”
“That’s me, in summary!” Hob teased, grinning at Dream again. “But we live complicated enough lives, Dream. This? Us? Doesn’t have to be complicated. I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”
The raw honesty of the quiet statement left him blind to everything else happening in the arena and Dream swallowed, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Hob Gadling’s hair, pulling him in for another hard kiss. He wanted, more than he had wanted anything else, and there was a small part of him that was terrified if he let go he’d lose it.
The crowd shouted, booing loudly.
Dream blinked to awareness and dropped his eyes to the scores, scoffing at the low numbers. He would finish in eighth. “Ridiculous.”
Hob managed a quiet huff and shook his head. “Sorry.”
Dream turned his attention back to Hob and raised his eyebrows. “Planning to forgo the jump in the future?”
Hob smirked, his eyes sparkling as he shook his head. “Not a chance, love.”
“Good,” Dream growled, pulling him in for another kiss. “Neither am I.”
“Together then,” Hob promised. He felt the shudder that went through Dream and smiled into the kiss. Together did sound rather perfect.