Chapter Text
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The first thing he registered was the whirring of machines and the bright sickly light that filled the spotless white room.
He was laying down in a hospital bed, his body aching as if he’d laid there a week. Maybe he had.
His hospital room was nice, if not a little stuffy. The overwhelming smell of antiseptic soured the ambience. One wall of his room was entirely windows from ceiling to floor. It was a private room with a separate door that most likely led to the bathroom.
The shelves and nightstand were full of flowers and cards, from who he couldn’t remember.
The nurses told him his name was Bob Galden, but that felt strange and ill-fitting. Like a loose coat.
Apparently he had been hit by a car walking across a busy London street and hit his head pretty hard. Apparently he had been lucky to be alive. He suffered injuries in terms of being hit, but he’d been out for two weeks. His arm was broken for one thing, and he’d bruised his ribs as well as some scuffs and scrapes.
They were worried about his head most of all. He’d suffered a bad concussion that had left him with amnesia. The nurses had hopes it would clear up over time, but if not, what was he going to do?
And why had nobody visited him yet? All of those flowers and cards and nothing yet. Where was his family? Didn’t he have a good-for-nothing older brother?
There was someone important missing, something great that left a gaping hole in his heart.
He checked out the cards and flowers which were all addressed to him, with the letters all calling him ‘professor’. So he taught? Cool.
There was just one thing that wasn’t addressed. A black rose, as dark as midnight with a little gold ribbon wrapped around the green stem.
He didn’t even know roses could be black. When he picked it up and sniffed it, it smelled sweet and it was real.
He didn’t know why but holding it eased the ache in his chest.
“The man who brought that was very strange,” The nurse laughed when she came in and spotted him admiring the black flower. “A tall, dark sort of fella. Quiet and polite.”
“Did he stop by often?” He asked.
“Oh yes,” The nurse nodded, smiling pleasantly as she fixed his IV. “Almost every day.”
Who was this strange man and where was he now? Why hadn’t he stopped by to see him yet? To be fair, it had only been the first day he’d been awake and he just had to be patient, right?
“He’ll come, dear,” The nurse reassured. “He couldn’t stay away if he tried.”
The next morning, he woke up still not remembering much. So far, his one-day memory was leaving him in the dark.
The sun came out today, peaking through the windows and lighting up the room in yellow light.
He jumped when he saw a man standing at the edge of his bed, the stark black of his outfit a sharp contrast to the pure white of the hotel.
He looked handsome with angular features and wild dark hair and wilder eyes. Yet there was a certain calm composure that held him. He could’ve been standing there for hours or seconds.
“Hi,” He whispered to the strange, beautiful man, other-worldly man.
“Hello Hob Gadling,” The man replied, his hand coming to rest on the plastic frame of the bed.
Hob Gadling? That name was like a warm bowl of soup during a storm. It fit, like he’d had it since forever. And yet the nurses had called him Bob Galden. Was he some sort of criminal in hiding who couldn’t share his name? Either way, Hob was a better name.
He couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful stranger who knew his name, and in his demeanour, he seemed to know Hob very well. The beautiful dark-clothed stranger stared at him expectantly and then frowned when Hob didn’t say anything.
Was this the polite stranger that the nurses were talking about, the one who visited him all the time? The one who brought the black rose?
The stranger stalked forward, sitting gently down on the side of the bed facing Hob.
“Thanks for the flower,” Hob attempted, reaching for the rose that he put right at his bedside table. This seemed to please the man, and he nodded once.
“I have heard it is a human tradition to send flowers when a companion is unwell.”
So they were at least friends, familiar with each other. Hob smiled. How did he ever catch the attention of such a person? He was ridiculous, loud, clumsy, and outgoing. This guy was calm, elegant, refined.
Once again, the man waited for something, anything. Hob didn’t know what he could give that would ease this man’s growing frown.
“Sorry if this is awkward,” Hob said eventually. “I have amnesia so it’s going to take a bit to remember my life, and you-”
“You have amnesia?” The man repeated like it was a death sentence.
“That’s what the nurses told me. I didn’t even know my own name until yesterday. Anyway, I’m sorry I don’t know your name-” Hob cuts himself off when the man abruptly stands, his face dark and stormy. His eyes, like stars, are shimmering and is he on the verge of tears?
Is he just going to leave like that? Leave Hob?
Hob’s heart twists in his chest and everything inside of him constricts at the thought of this man, the only person who knows him, who he really is, the only person who’s stopped by to see him, the only one who knows.
“Wait stop please!” Hob begs, because apparently he does that. He feels like he’s asked this man to stay before. “Please, don’t go!”
The man is at the door before he stops, not daring to look back.
“Please don’t leave me here by myself. I don’t even know who I am. But you do. You know who I am. And I need you right now more than ever. I’m so lost, please don’t leave me here,” Hob is babbling at this point and nevermind that in his new memory he’s known this guy five minutes and that felt like a love confession at the end of a Rom Com.
And yet it works, and the man sighs, clutching the door frame tightly, he stands there for a moment, contemplating the state of the universe. For a second, Hob is worried that he will still leave him, but the man turns around and walks toward the edge of the bed, hands behind his back.
The man can’t quite meet his eyes as he sits back down on the bed. Whatever he must be trying to say must be a lot.
“Robert Gadling,” The man begins, “Is your birth name. You were born in the 14th century. We first met in 1389.”
Hob laughs, then frowns when he sees the man is serious. “You’re joking.”
“I do not joke,” The man said flatly. “You are immortal. As am I. My sister granted you immortality after you claimed you would never die. In my quest to better understand humanity and the fundamentals of living, we met every century to discuss your life and everything you’d experienced. Through this agreement we are bound in an arrangement that will last until the end of time. Unless you decide otherwise.”
“As in,” Hob frowned, trying to understand, “Til death do us part?”
The man nodded after a moment and then continued.
“Over the years, you have changed my perspective of humanity. The way you describe your life in each of our meetings has altered my opinion of mortals. You were always very optimistic of the world and everything it had to offer. It was very fortunate we had met, in truth, for I do not think there is a person more deserving of immortality than you. You have had your better centuries, with some failings, but never once did you give up. That is perhaps a preferred quality of yours, Hob Gadling. In the 18th century, you came to my aid against Joanna Constantine, who had discovered the truth of our meetings…”
He talked like that for a while, and Hob listened eagerly to put his past into place. He thought it was ridiculous that he could be immortal but this man in front of him - Morpheus or Dream he learns - is so sincere, so ready to tell him that it seems impossible it could be a lie. Everything from Dream’s mouth is like a song - how could he not believe this starry-eyed man? He is beautiful, Hob realises halfway through this explanation. His heart beats for this man, and then with that realisation, the hole in his heart is suddenly filled.
“...and I was forced to miss our 1989 meeting due to Roderick Burgess, though you most likely assumed it was because I was still angry. I would have given anything to be there, Hob Gadling, that I will assure you. We made amends once I located you in 2022, a year ago.”
Once he’s finished, Dream has scooted closer to Hob almost unconsciously, so much so that if Hob sat up, he could kiss this man.
He did sit up quickly, but that was his mistake because his ribs wheezed and Dream’s hands gripped his arms securely but not painfully, gently lowering him back to his leaned-back-against-the-pillows position.
“Please do not hurt yourself,” Dream whispered, his hands hovering.
“So, we’re married,” Hob blurted out because obviously that makes so much sense. Two immortal beings bound forever, together and the way Dream cared for him is just so oddly domestic-
Dream froze in place, eyes wide and god-
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Are those stars?” Hob sighed, his hand coming to brush Dream’s cheek and did Dream blush or is it just the light?
Dream opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“So anyway, am I professor?” Hob asked, before going on a rant of his two-day memory.
Dream watched Hob’s sleeping form in the hospital bed. The doctor decided to keep him one more night before sending him home(to be put on watch, with no work whatsoever) and the nurse had come in and given him something for the pain that had effectively knocked him out.
Every part of Dream was buzzing as he turned the events of the day over and over in his head.
He had been in turmoil when his dear friend had gotten into a car accident. He had been restless for him to wake up, knowing that he wouldn’t die but still.
Hob was in the hospital.
It had been a year since they had met in the New Inn for a drink and Morpheus had explained the reason he had missed their last appointment. Hob had been furious, not at him, but at Roderick Burgess and humanity.
“I am so sorry,” Hob had grabbed his hand. “If I had known I would’ve torn that place apart. All this time,” He had scoffed. “I’ve been living my life and you’ve been..suffering.”
“Not any longer,” Dream assured, quietly enjoying the warmth of Hob’s hand.
“Please let’s not meet every hundred years anymore,” Hob sighed and Dream feared for a moment that this was the end of their friendship.
“If that is what you wish,” Dream withdrew his hand into his lap, his eyes falling.
“Dream, look at me,” Hob chuckled softly and eventually Dream did. “I’d like to see you more often, if that’s alright. We could get drinks more often, yeah?”
“Yes Hob Gadling,” Dream nodded, a smile playing at his lips , “I would not mind that.”
And so they’d gotten drinks, met in dreams, and seen each other more often than they’d had in the past 700 years. Was there a warmth in their manner that had not been there before? Was there an admiration for Hob that had suddenly surfaced, but had been there all along?
Dream would not admit any of this to anyone, let alone himself but.
But there was the undeniable fact that Hob Gadling was his favourite human.
Perhaps his favourite being in general.
There really was nothing like the easy and carefree way that Hob carried on. He was a summer breeze in an eternal winter, a blooming sunflower in a sea of weeds.
Once, they had been walking through the park and Hob had stopped at a flower stand to buy one singular flower: a sunflower.
He smiled as if he’d grown it himself before giving it to Dream who took it after a moment of confusion.
“It reminds me of you,” Hob laughed, and they continued walking down the lane.
And no, sunflowers did not miraculously appear all over the Dreaming that night and NO , Dream’s favourite flower wasn’t suddenly a sunflower.
Now, a new problem has arisen. Hob didn’t remember him. That thought of losing his one true friend had been terrifying but it was pointless trying to rekindle that flame with a blank slate so he’d tried to take off. Hob had stopped him of course because how could he leave him?
And when he explained the whole of their situation, Hob had just come to the conclusion that they were married and Dream had been too stunned to correct.
Well Great.
The nurses said there was a likelihood his memory would return after some time and now Dream hoped it wouldn’t so he wouldn’t have to remember trying to kiss Dream like a dozen times.
The next day, Hob was released from the hospital with a prescription for pain meds that Dream had to watch over to make sure he didn’t take too much or something like that. Oh and also apparently Hob had to be taken care of by someone close to him.
“Don’t worry,” Hob smiled. “My husband will take care of me, won’t you, love?”
Dream, who had been at his shoulder this entire time, didn't answer and instead thanked the doctor.
It seemed that Dream was shy, Hob realised, and private about their relationship.
Dream couldn’t drive so he called his niece, Rose Walker, which sounded like a familiar name.
“She is a student of yours,” Dream said as if he could read his mind. “She is glad you are well.”
They were waiting outside in front of the hospital for Rose to come pick them up and take them home, and Hob was sort of leaning against Dream.
“I can’t remember if I like your family,” Hob sighed and scrunched his nose as he tried to remember.
“You called one of them stupid.”
Hob gasped. “Did I? How did they take it?”
Dream smiled. “She adores you.”
“Yeah?” Hob chuckled. “Great then.”
Rose pulled up in her cute little car and smiled at the two of them.
“Hi professor!” She waved. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”
Dream helped him into the car and when they were both settled, she took off. Hob took advantage of the fact that they were both in the back seat (despite Rose offering for Dream to sit up front, but he insisted even though he was too tall) to hold his husband’s hand.
Dream blushed but said nothing, not even when Hob rested his head against his chest.
Rose met Dream’s eyes in the rearview mirror, smirking. “Don’t you two get too comfy back there.”
“I’m kind of hungry,” Hob looked up to Dream, who simultaneously looked down. He could kiss him right now but obviously not because of his niece. But when they got home…
“There is a deli shop next door to your apartment building. We can stop there,” Dream answered.
“Do I like it?”
“It is your favourite, aside from the taco stand in the park three blocks from your building.”
“I love that you know that,” Hob smiled and he gave Dream’s hand a squeeze. This just felt so right. Like they’d been doing this for years. He would never tire of Dream’s loving gaze, his warm eyes, his soft voice. Hob was obviously the talker out of the pair and Dream loved to listen to him.
They were predestined, made for each other and all that other romantic stuff.