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Hob sat at his usual table at The New Inn, marking the stack of exams. It was a weeknight routine he had maintained for years now, established the minute the New Inn finished construction. He always chose the same seat, the one with a clear view of the front door, just in case a certain dark stranger ever chose to walk through it again.
“Long night of marking, Robbie?” a voice beside him asked.
Hob looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile when he saw his bartender Nellie over his shoulder.
“Not too bad.” He told her. “Term just started, can’t torture them too early in the year."
Nellie gave a laugh, leaning against the back of his chair casually. “Can I get you anything from the kitchen? You shouldn’t be working on an empty stomach.”
“Not at the moment, but thank you.”
“Sure thing. Let me know if you change your mind,” she said, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat before weaving back through the tables.
Hob nodded, his eyes dropping back down to the essay in front of him. He dipped his pen to leave a comment, but before it could touch the page a shadow fell across his table. The ambient noise of the pub seemed to dim a fraction. He froze, slowly looking up.
Standing in front of his table, thirty-two years late, was his stranger.
The elaborate, suffocating layers of velvet and silk from previous centuries were no where in sight. Instead he wore a long, sweeping black coat and dark jeans. His hair was wild and windblown, casting sharp shadows across a face that looked even paler and thinner than Hob remembered.
“You’re late,” Hob said. The words were soft, but a massive, unstoppable smile was already spreading across his face.
Something visibly loosened in the stranger's rigid posture, a subtle dropping of his shoulders, as if he hadn’t been entirely certain of his welcome.
“It seems I owe you an apology,” the stranger said a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face. “I have heard it is impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”
Hob’s grin widened. He sat up straighter, gesturing warmly to the empty chair across from him.
His friend sank into the chair, relaxing into the wood with a quiet, fluid grace. Hob felt a warm ache in his chest as he watched him settle easily into his seat, as if he were finally let himself relax. In all the centuries before, he had sat as stiff as a statue, always poised as if ready to vanish into thin air.
“It was not my intention to miss our meeting in 1989,” the stranger began, his eyes locking onto Hob's. “I would have attended, had I been able.”
“That… that’s good to know,” Hob said softly. He placed his pen down on the exam paper. The weight of thirty-two years of wondering, of worrying he’d pushed too hard, seemed to lift all at once.
“So,” the stranger said, his gaze drifting to the modern decor of the pub before settling back on Hob. “Will you tell me of your life, Hob Gadling? It appears I have missed quite a lot during my absence from your realm.”
Hob mentally put a pin in the phrase your realm. It was a strange choice of words, but Hob decided not to press. Not yet. Instead, he scrambled to figure out how to summarize over one hundred years of a rapidly changing world.
“Well, I’m a professor now,” Hob started, letting out a nervous, self-deprecating laugh.
“A professor?”
“Yeah. At the university. I teach history,” he explained, gesturing to the stack of papers.
"Does it not count as cheating, if you have lived it?” His stranger asked, a hint of dry humor in his tone.
Hob let out a bright, startled laugh. The unexpectedness of the humor catching him off guard, warming the space between them instantly.
“It’s not cheating if the textbooks get it all bloody wrong,” Hob shot back with a grin.
“Indeed.”
Hob’s smile softened, turning a bit more introspective as he looked down at his students' messy handwriting. “Besides… someone’s gotta make sure these kids don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
The stranger regarded him for a long, quiet moment, something unreadable crossing his features.
“It is a noble pursuit.”
“Thank…”
“Oi, Robbie! Why didn’t you tell me you’d have company?”
The intrusion was so sudden that Hob’s stranger visibly startled, his posture snapping back into a rigid, defensive line as Nellie approached the table with her hands on her hips.
“Er, sorry Nellie. Wasn’t expecting him, honestly,” Hob said quickly, holding his hands up in a peace keeping gesture. He glanced between the two of them, suddenly realizing he was missing a vital piece of information. “This is my friend… er…”
“Dream,” the stranger cut in softly. He looked up at Hob, a tiny, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hob felt his own eyes go wide. “My name is Dream.”
Dream. After six hundred years, he finally had a name. And apparently all it had taken was introducing him to a bartender.
And judging by the tiny smirk lingering at the corner of Dream's mouth, the bastard was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Nellie, oblivious to the tiny miracle she just witnessed, gave his stranger a slow once-over and let out a low whistle.
“Well… you certainly look like one,” she said with a grin.
Dream’s smirk vanished, surprise flickering across his face so quickly it was almost easy to miss.
Hob couldn't help but grin as he processed the sight of his stranger being casually chatted up by a bartender in an East End pub.
And, if his expression was anything to go by, he was not processing it well.
“Thanks, Nellie,” Hob cut in, voice carefully even as he fought off a grin. “If you could get him a glass of whatever red you’ve got open, that’d be lovely.”
"Sure thing, boss."
Nellie gave a mock salute and sauntered off, leaving Hob to turn back to his companion eyebrows raised. He paused a moment to savor his friends expression, taking a slight guilty pleasure in seeing him thrown off kilter by a bartenders compliment.
“So…Dream?” Hob prompted.
“Indeed,” he said, relaxing a fraction. “'Boss'? Do you own this establishment, Hob Gadling?”
Hob sighed, accepting the deflection for what it was.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “When they told me the White Horse was closing in ’89, I figured we needed a new place, just in case…”
He trailed off, looking around the warm, bustling room of The New Inn. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just in case you showed up. Just in case you still wanted to find me.
“I stopped at the White Horse first,” Dream said softly, a shadow flitting across his sharp features.
“Yeah, I figured you might,” Hob said, his expression turning a little wistful. “I tried to save her. I really did. But the city wasn't having it.”
Dream’s gaze locked back onto Hob, a subtle, amused glint returning to his eyes. “The arrows?”
Hob winced, his face warming as he self-consciously rubbed the back of his ear. “Ah. You saw those, huh?”
“They were hard to miss.”
“Had to make sure the bloke who only showed his face once in a hundred years didn’t get lost,” Hob said, forcing a laugh. He looked down at his hands, his tone softening into something entirely earnest. “’Sides… couldn’t let you go thinking I’d disappeared, too.”
Dream was quiet for a moment. When he spoke his voice was almost lost beneath the noise of the pub.
“No,” he said softly. “You did not.”
Before Hob could reply, Nellie reappeared, smoothly sliding a glass of dark red wine in front of Dream, along with basket of pub chips.
“It’s not much, but Robbie here will work all night without eating if we let him,” she said, casting a pointed look at the exams before flashing an easy wink at Dream. “If the professor starts to bore you, feel free to come join me at the bar.”
“Nellie,” Hob said, letting out a weary, long-suffering sigh.
“I’m going, I’m going,” she laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender as she melted back into the crowd.
Hob watched her go, rubbing a hand over his face before turning a sheepish look back to his friend. “Sorry about her. She’s... a lot.”
“She cares about you,” Dream said softly, his eyes fixed on Hob. “She worries that you work too hard.”
Hob stared at him, utterly baffled for a moment. He blinked, turning back to look at Nellie before quickly looking back Dream.
“Are you ever going to tell me how you do that?” Hob asked, half-awed, half-amused.
“It is a part of my function. To know,” Dream said quietly.
Then, completely defying six hundred years of rigid etiquette, Dream slowly reached into the chip basket, pulling one out and popping it into his mouth. He chewed with an entirely passive expression, as if he hadn't completely destroyed Hob's perception of him.
Hob paused and pointed to the basket.
“Did you just steal one of my chips?”
“They are... well-seasoned,” Dream said, before turning his gaze back to Hob. “Tell me a story, Hob Gadling. It has been a very long time since I have heard one."
Hob studied him for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. The words had sounded like a demand, but there was a quiet, seeking quality in Dream's expression that softened the edge.
“Well,” Hob began, leaning in. “Would you like to hear about the time I saw the Leviathan?”
Dream froze, his hand halting halfway to his wine glass. He looked up, his blue eyes widening a fraction.
“You saw the Leviathan?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. “Very few creatures can make that claim.”
Hob smirked, relaxing back into his seat. This was familiar territory. He might not know his friend's true nature, but he knew how to tell a good story; six centuries of living had given him plenty of practice.
“This was in the early 1900s,” Hob began. “I owned a vessel called The Sea Witch. I didn’t go out to sea as often by then, but for this voyage, I happened to join the crew. It was me, a deckhand who went by Jim, and the rest of our men. It wasn’t until we were already out in the deep water that we found a stowaway on board. Another immortal, far older than I am. He was the king of an ancient land, named Naram-Sim.”
Dream relaxed into into his seat as Hob began to weave the tale, taking slowly, measure sips of his wine.
“One night, we were sitting out on the deck under a blanket of stars,” Hob continued, leaning in conspiratorially. “And Naram-Sim was telling us the story of how he received his immortality thousands of years ago. Jim was absolutely convinced he was having us on. Kept laughing, insisting he was making the whole thing up.”
Hob grinned. “Then, right out of the black water, this giant sea beast rose. Just a massive, towering wall of scales and teeth. It completely shattered her worldview.”
Dream paused, his glass hovering near his lips. “Her?”
“Yeah,” Hob said, his expression softening into something warm and distant. “She was a runaway. Disguised herself as a boy to find work on the docks and see the world. Her real name was Peggy. She left the ship shortly after that adventure, but we crossed paths again just after the Great War.” He smiled faintly. “We wound up getting married.”
Dream’s eyes locked onto Hob, a flicker of surprise passing through them. “You took another wife?”
“Yeah… I did,” Hob said softly, his voice dropping. “She even knew what I was. Couldn't really hide the whole immortality thing from her, not when I hadn't aged a day since she was on my ship. It was... nice, not having to hide.”
Dream watched him silently, the glass held loosely in his hand.
“We were together until the forties,” Hob continued, his gaze drifting past Dream. “She was killed in the Blitz. Her and our boy.” He swallowed hard. “Well, he was hers by birth, from before we reunited. But we raised him together. He was my son.”
Dream was quiet for a long moment. “The Blitz?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.
Hob blinked, looking up at him. “Yeah. During the second war, when Germany was bombing the hell out of us.”
Dream put his wine glass down carefully, though his hand trembled slightly as he did. “I remember now,” he said quietly. “I could hear them from…”
He stopped himself abruptly, a shadow passing across his features. After a moment, he looked back at Hob.
“I am sorry, Hob Gadling,” he said softly. “That you have endured such losses twice in your life.”
Hob regarded him for a long moment but said nothing. He had learned his lesson in 1889 about prying. Something had happened to Dream in those missing years, something significant. But if Dream wanted to tell him, he would do so in his own time.
“Well, that’s about the most interesting story I’ve got for you from that era,” Hob said, leaning back in his chair and deliberately steering them away from the heavy topic. “But there’s plenty more. The human race has been busy. We’ve even been to the moon now.”
Dream looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “You have?”
“Yeah,” Hob said, a proud smile breaking across his face. “Over fifty years ago now. Granted, it was the Americans who did it, not us.”
“And that diminishes the accomplishment somehow?”
“Not at all. Just means they got the bragging rights,” Hob chuckled. He shook his head, looking down at the table with a sense of genuine wonder. “It’s mad, really. Feels like yesterday I was praising the invention of the pocket handkerchief, and now we’ve got tiny, powerful computers sitting in our pockets.”
To demonstrate, Hob reached into his jeans and pulled out his smartphone, setting the sleek, black glass rectangle onto the dark wood between them. Dream eyed the device with a look of detached curiosity.
“And what does that do?” Dream asked.
Hob paused, looking from the phone to his friend. “You haven’t seen one of these before?”
“I confess I have not,” Dream replied softly.
“Right then,” Hob said, excitement creeping into his voice as he tapped the screen until it lit up. There was something unexpectedly delightful about being the one to introduce Dream to a wonder of the modern age. He leaned closer, scrolling through the apps while Dream watched the glowing screen with undisguised confusion.
“I actually had one of the earliest mobile phones back in ’89,” Hob said, angling the device so Dream could see it better. “They were a lot bigger then. About the size of a brick. Completely impractical to carry around, really, but I thought they were fascinating.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Back then, all they could do was make phone calls.”
“Your world has changed a great deal,” Dream murmured.
“Yeah… especially in the last thirty years,” Hob said. “Electricity was one thing, but once computers and the internet hit… I almost think it’s moving too fast, you know? More than we can handle.”
Dream nodded. Hob smiled opening another app to show Dream as he absently reached for a chip, pausing as his fingers brushed the bottom of an empty basket.
Dream looked away, his jaw tightening in a flash of what looked remarkably like embarrassment.
“It has been some time since I’ve eaten,” he admitted quietly.
Hob stopped to take a proper look at his friend for the first time that evening. The sharpness of his jaw, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the way his coat hung off a frame that was much leaner than he remembered. He did not like what those missing years suddenly seemed to imply.
“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Hob started for the bar, but a sudden, sharp spike of dread hit his chest. He stopped, turning back. “Don’t go anywhere….. please?”
“I will be here.”
The absolute certainty in the tone made Hob nod shortly, the phantom weight lifting from his shoulders. He walked over to the bar, where Nellie looked up with a welcoming smile.
“What can I get you, Robbie?”
“Can you put in a special order for my friend?” Hob paused, remembering the empty basket. “Actually, make that two specials. And another big basket of chips.”
Nellie glanced past his shoulder, eyeing the pale stranger critically. Her playful demeanor softened.
“Good idea,” she said with a firm nod. “He looks like a strong breeze could knock him right over.”
She turned back to Hob with a conspiratorial grin.
“You’ve gotta tell me where you found him, Robbie. He can’t be the only one out there.”
Hob rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a sheepish smile touching his face.
“I’ve known him most of my life, but we haven’t seen each other in a long time,” he told her. “And I don’t know when I’ll see him again after today.”
He reached for his wallet.
“Can you bring the food and another glass of red to the table when it’s ready? And a pint for me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She waved him off with a snort.
“Just go enjoy your tall, dark, and goth,” she said, smacking his arm with a bar towel. “The place won’t collapse if the boss takes a night off. Now quit holding up my bar.”
“All right, I’m going,” he said with a laugh, turning back toward the table.
He turned back toward the table and felt himself smile. Dream was right where he left him, seated beneath the warm glow of the pub lights, waiting.
“Your bartender is quite…forward,” Dream told him as Hob slid back into his seat. “She’s very familiar with you.”
“Yeah,” Hob said with an easy laugh, shaking his head fondly. “She’s like a little sister to me, really. Keeps me grounded.”
“You are fond of your employees?” Dream asked. There was a genuine, quiet curiosity in his voice.
“Most of them,” he said with an easy smile. “I’ve had a few bad eggs over the years. But most of them are pretty great.”
Dream nodded slowly, looking at the bar in contemplative silence.
“I…” Dream began, haltingly. “have a Librarian.” He paused before continuing. “She is rather... irreplaceable.”
Hob smiled slowly.
“That is three new things I’ve learned about you today,” Hob said, leaning back in his seat and counting them off on his fingers. “Your name. You have a mysterious function that allows you to read minds. And apparently you have a librarian. Isn’t three some sort of magical number in old lore?”
A slow, smirk crossed Dream’s face, a genuine spark of quiet mirth in his expression.
“It would be… if you had actually learned three things,” he said, a hint of dry humor bleeding into his voice. “I do not read minds.”
“But… you…” Hob stammered, glancing toward the bar and then back at Dream who regarded him with quiet amusement.
“One of these days,” Hob declared, pointing at Dream accusingly, “I’m going to figure out how you know so much about people.”
“One day,” Dream murmured, his eyes sparking under the pub lights. “But that story is not for tonight.”
Hob swallowed, pushing aside the flicker of disappointment before it could settle. He couldn't be greedy. He had learned more about his stranger in the last hour than he had in the previous six hundred years combined.
He was spared from finding a response when Nellie swept up to the table, expertly balancing a laden tray.
“Right then,” Nellie announced brightly, setting everything down with practiced ease. “Fresh glass of red for our resident hot goth stranger, two specials, a pint for the boss man, and another massive basket of chips.”
“Nells…” Hob groaned, already anticipating trouble.
Dream, however, simply looked at Hob in quiet confusion. “Goth?” he asked.
“Your whole... everything,” Hob explained, gesturing vaguely in Dream's direction. “You wear black almost exclusively, you're pale enough to frighten a Victorian child, and then there's the long coat. You've got the aesthetic down perfectly.”
Dream considered this for a moment. “That seems an oddly specific classification.”
“Trust me,” Hob said, grinning. “You'd do numbers online.”
Dream glanced down at himself, then back at Hob, visibly perplexed.
Nellie laughed, leaning in slightly. “Don't worry, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it works for you.”
Dream glanced between the two of them, his brow furrowing in a faint frown, but Hob merely shrugged. “You'll figure it out eventually.”
“Or you'll accidentally start a new subculture,” Nellie added cheerfully.
“Let's not give him ideas,” Hob snorted. He watched as she collected her tray and gave them a parting nod. “You boys let me know if you need anything else,” she called out, disappearing back toward the bustling bar.
Left alone again, Hob sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face before turning his attention back to Dream.
He gestured toward the steaming plates set between them.
“Go on,” he said. “I ordered them for you.”
Dream looked down at the plate with barely concealed confusion. He picked up the heavy fork and cautiously prodded the golden pastry crust.
“What is it?”
Hob blinked.
“You've never had a steak and ale pie?”
“I do not require mortal sustenance,” Dream replied matter-of-factly, as though that entirely explained his ignorance of British pub cuisine.
“Maybe not,” Hob responded easily. “But you do get hungry.”
Dream paused, considering the logic. Then, with a slow, solemn nod, he cut a skeptical bite of the pie and took a small bite.
“Good?” Hob asked, smiling a bit.
“It is ….adequate.”
Hob leaned back in his seat, a quiet warmth settling in his chest as he watched his friend slowly but steadily make his way through the dish. When Dream finally finished, looking remarkably more present than he had twenty minutes ago, Hob gently pushed the second plate toward him.
Dream looked at the food, then up at Hob, and gave a slight, definitive shake of his head.
“Fair enough,” Hob said with an easy shrug, pulling the spare plate back toward his side of the table. “Can’t let good pub food go to waste anyway.”
He took a few bites, but his mind kept working, searching for a way to ensure his friend was more comfortable.
“I promise this isn't the way it sounds,” Hob said.
Dream looked up at him, confusion plain on his face.
“My flat is just upstairs. I doubt you want a room full of people staring at you all evening, and if you stay down here, Nellie will absolutely come back and interrogate you,” Hob continued. “Would you like to go upstairs and continue our discussion about the last century?”
Dream stiffened almost imperceptibly. His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, and his eyes flickered briefly from deep blue to bottomless black.
“I…” Dream paused. “I would rather not be… contained at the moment.”
His voice had turned thin and fragile.
Hob froze, slowly putting his fork down. He took in the rigid lines of Dream's shoulders, the sudden weariness of his posture, and now nearly palpable aversion to enclosed spaces.
The picture Hob was painting in his head was becoming deeply unsettling.
“Right then,” he said, pushing his half-eaten meal away and stuffing his forgotten history papers into his satchel. “Let's go.”
“Go?” Dream asked, blinking up at him.
“Out,” Hob said. “Walk around. Get some air, if that's all right with you.”
Dream regarded him for a long, quiet moment, assessing the look on Hob’s face. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found because he finally nodded and rose to his feet, his long black coat billowing behind him.
“There's a lovely path near the river,” Hob told him, guiding him to the exit. “I'll show you.”
Once they were a block away from the pub and the noise had faded behind them, Hob slowed to a more even pace.
“I'm just going to come out and ask,” he said.
Dream immediately tensed, his posture turning guarded.
“I'm not upset with you,” Hob said quickly. “I was hurt in '89, sure. But you've already apologized. You said you would have come if you could. I believe you.”
Dream gave a single, tight nod.
“But you're reminding me an awful lot of some men I knew after the Great War,” Hob said quietly. He stopped walking, turning to face his companion. “We've known each other six hundred years, and I know I don't know much about you. I’m okay with that,” he added with a crooked smile. “Mostly. Curious as hell, but you can keep your secrets.”
The corner of Dream's mouth twitched.
"And if I'm crossing a line, tell me to shut up and I'll do it,” Hob promised. He took a breath, his voice softening. “You don't have to tell me what happened. It's your business. But something obviously did happen, and you're my friend. I'm worried." His expression gentled. “So... are you okay?”
Dream met his gaze for only a moment before looking away. He took several steps forward, shoving his hands into his pockets as his gaze fixed on the night sky.
“I was… kept,” he finally said, his tone carefully even. “Against my will.”
"That sounds like a really fancy way of saying held prisoner," Hob said quietly.
Dream gave a single, curt nod.
A chill crept down Hob's spine. He had suspected. He'd hoped he was wrong, but hearing the truth spoken out loud...
“When?”
“1916.”
Hob frowned as fragments of their earlier conversation clicked into place. I remember now. I could hear them from…
From where? Hob had wondered at the time, but he hadn't asked. The Blitz had been decades later.
“When did you get out?”
Dream's jaw tightened. “Ten days ago.”
“Dream...”
He stiffened. "I do not require your pity.”
“This isn't pity,” Hob said, closing the distance between them. “But you've only just got free. You should be resting. Healing. Something.”
A bitter shadow crossed Dream's face. “I did nothing but rest for one hundred and five years.”
“That wasn't rest,” Hob said, his voice catching.
His mind raced as he tried to think of what to say. I would have been there if I knew... But giving voice to that guilt would only put more weight on Dream’s shoulders. He glanced over at his friend, noting how the easy warmth Dream had worn in the pub was completely gone, replaced by a distance in his eyes Hob had never seen before.
“Thank you for telling me,” Hob said softly. For trusting me. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Dream nodded stiffly. “There is work to do. Much to make up for.”
“Because you were gone?”
“Yes.”
“Was there no one else who could do it?”
Dream shook his head. “It is my duty.”
“Can I help?”
Dream turned to look at him slowly, his eyes searching Hob's face. “You would take on my burdens, Hob Gadling?”
“Yeah,” Hob said with a faint, reassuring smile. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”
Something eased in Dream’s posture, just a fraction. “What I am cannot be shared,” he said at last. “But I would have your friendship.”
“I can live with that,” Hob told him. “I waited over a century to hear you say it. I’m not going anywhere now. But you’re welcome to come visit anytime. You don’t have to wait another hundred years.”
“There is still much you have yet to tell me,” Dream murmured.
Hob smiled to himself and started walking again, his pace easy and unhurried. That sounded, if not like an outright agreement, then at least like something close enough to hope for.
“I honestly haven’t even scratched the surface,” he said. “I still haven’t even told you about Queen or Elvis.”
Dream’s gaze shifted to him as he fell into step beside him. “What are those?” he asked.
Hob looked at him, his expression softening as the reality sank in. One hundred and five years, and the world had just kept moving without Dream in it.
“Musicians,” he said softly. “Elvis was a singer from America. Queen were ours. A British rock band, and they were absolute legends. They were known all over the world.” A small smile tugged at his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I used to be convinced that Freddie Mercury was one of yours. Like Shaxbeard was. He was their lead singer. Wrote some of the best music I’ve ever heard. I thought maybe you had a hand in it.”
Dream studied him for a long moment. “Then perhaps you can show me their music,” he said at last. “There is much I must catch up on.”
Hob nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll make a whole list for you. We’ll have to take our time with it.” He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze forward as they continued walking. “We’ll start with the big names,” he added lightly, injecting some steadiness back into his voice. “Then move on to some of the smaller ones. The ones you would never hear otherwise, but absolutely should have.”
Dream nodded. “That sounds… acceptable.”
“And you wouldn’t be able to wait a hundred years for our next visit anyway,” Hob pointed out.
“I have heard friends visit more frequently.”
“Most do, yeah,” Hob said. This time his laughter came out a little too quick, a little too relieved.
“I do not know how often I can step away from my duties,” Dream said, his tone turning serious again. “My realm… suffered greatly in my absence.”
Hob looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You keep using that word,” he said. “Do you have a kingdom or something?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Hob blinked, then a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re enjoying this, aren't you? Making me guess.”
“Perhaps.”
Hob ducked his head, pleased despite himself, thoroughly enjoying this unguarded side of his stranger. “I’ll figure your secrets out one of these days.”
“Maybe,” Dream told him. “But for today, I choose to be Dream, Hob Gadling’s friend.”
Hob fell silent for a moment, a profound warmth settling deep in his chest. “That sounds good to me,” he said softly.