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kydrogendragon · 4 months

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Dec 30 - "May I Have This Dance?"

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

It’s six in the evening and the New Inn is just beginning to have the crowds trickle in. There are various streamers and colorful centerpieces scattered around the place. The number 2024 was embellished upon the walls and tables and even on the glasses of some of the staff. Hob himself donned a pair, much to Morpheus’s chagrin. The cheesy gold and silver lettering on the tops of the plastic frames looked ridiculous. Morpheus hated how much they made him smile.

Morpheus has been present for many new years over his long life. And while he hadn’t paid much attention to them or to the passing of time in general, he knows well the festivities they bring with. Ever since mankind first kept track of the changing of the seasons, the turning of the year was a time that was observed with reverence. In this modern age, it seems to be observed by getting completely sloshed and lighting off colorful explosives.

Hob’s running around, getting the final pieces in place. He’s checked the karaoke machine and made sure that everything is charged and ready to go. He’s double checked with the staff that their supplies are filled and prepped, that the glasses are cleaned and the food is cooking. He’s adjusted the New Years banner that hangs above the bar top no less than five times and it’s when he goes to tweak it on the sixth that Morpheus finally rises from his corner booth to check on his fretting boyfriend.

He places a hand against the small of Hob’s back, guiding his attention to him as he speaks. “The banner is straight and centered. You need to adjust it once more.”

Hob chuckles and he climbs down from the stool he’d been using as an impromptu ladder. “Sorry love,” he says, curling into Morpheus’s hold. Slender pale hands find their homes upon Hob’s hips. He rubs gentle circles with his thumbs against the soft cotton shirt.

“You are nervous.”

Hob leans down, pressing his forehead against Morpheus’s shoulder. “Am I so obvious?”

“I do not understand why you are nervous. You have experienced many New Years before this, here at this Inn, no less.” Morpheus tilts his head to the side, letting his cheek rest upon his lover’s soft chestnut hair.

Hob sighs and winds his arms around Morpheus’s waist. They stay there, for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence in the relatively empty room until Hob speaks.

“It’s your first New Year, though. As a human. Wanted to make sure it was perfect,” Hob mumbles into his shoulder. Morpheus’s heart flips in his chest. The care and love Hob holds for him never fails to surprise him.

“Hob, look at me.” Slowly, Hob lifts his head, those brown eyes soft as he trails his gaze across Morpheus’s face. Taking his hands from his hips, Morpheus cradles Hob’s head between them. “You need not fret over such things. I am able to enjoy this celebration here with you, now. And that is in thanks to your kindness and generosity. This New Years will be perfect because you are here at my side and for no other reason.”

There are tears threatening to fall at the corners of Hob’s eyes. “Not even the world’s most straight banner could make it better?” He says, chuckling as a tear falls down his cheek. Morpheus thumbs it away before pressing a kiss against Hob’s lips.

“Not even that. Although I feel you are quite close to achieving that title.”

Hob laughs, a proper laugh this time. He tilts his head up, wiping away the water from his eyes as Morpheus’s hands fall back to his side.

“Thanks, dove. Think I needed to hear that.”

“I shall endeavor to tell you thus as often as you desire, then.”

“Good. Might need to hear it a couple more times tonight.” Hob says, placing another kiss upon Morpheus’s lips.

It’s just around nine when unexpected guests appear. Morpheus is at the bar top, watching as Hob demonstrates how to make his famous New Years drink he’s dubbed “Immortality”. It’s is an indulgent thing that’s sole purpose is to taste delicious and still get you drunk so you feel “immortal”. At least, that is the story Hob tells him as he works the cocktail shaker. He’s got a variety of different liquors and mixers contained within that he then pours into a glass over ice with a sugar coated rim. The key detail, he claims, is the frankly obscene amount of edible golden glitter he stirs in after.

It’s a pretty drink, Morpheus will give him that. And when he pushes a freshly poured glass in front of him, Morpheus has to admit it is rather tasty as well. It’s sweet, which he appreciates. As much as Hob enjoys his bitter drinks and throat-burning whiskeys or other liquors, Morpheus has never developed a taste for them. But this? This is good.

“I thought you disliked glitter,” Morpheus muses, staring up at Hob from the edge of his glass. Hob just laughs and shakes his head as he prepares another drink for a customer. They had gotten very busy, very quickly, and the staff got overwhelmed, so Hob being Hob jumped behind the counter (after ensuring Morpheus was fine with it, of course). He had no complaints. It gave him a reason to enjoy the sight of his lover in his element as well as watch the careful flex of his forearms and biceps as he prepared each drink.

“Well, I made an exception for you, didn’t I?” Hob retorts, smiling as he sugars the rim of a few more glasses. Eric, another bartender Morpheus has grown to know well over his few months of humanity, busies himself behind Hob with prepping another selection of fruity cocktails.

“That you did.” After the peppermint bath bombs were all used up (Morpheus had very much enjoyed the added experience of scent and glitter that they provided), Hob had indulged him by taking him to a local store that sold a variety of bath bombs and other creations. Morpheus had taken his time choosing a selection. They didn’t last long. Almost every bath he had taken since involved the use of a new bath bomb. Hob joked that their tub would become permanently glittery. Morpheus had fretted over it at first, worried Hob would grow angry at him for it, but Hob had soothed away his fears. Now, they have a dedicated basket by the edge of the tub to contain the newest selections for Morpheus’s use.

“Well? How do you like the taste of ‘Immortality’?” Hob jokes, pouring the last batch of drinks out. He hands the glasses to the group of university students with a smile. One pipes out a “Thanks Professor!” as the group merges back into the ever growing crowd.

The party was gaining in intensity as the alcohol flowed. People were dancing on the makeshift dance floor beside the karaoke machine, which has also started to see use. A thought runs through Morpheus’s mind as he looks over his shoulder at the young couple standing atop the small stage who are singing their hearts out to some pop song. They are not excellent singers, but they are far from the worst so far tonight. Perhaps he’ll coax Hob up onto the stage so that he might hear his lover’s voice in song.

“It is more pleasant that I had expected,” Morpheus says, twirling the golden liquid in the glass. “I thought that, perhaps, immortality would grow stale and tiring after a time. But I should have known that when blessed with your guiding hands, it would be a gift rather than a curse.”

He is not talking of the drink. Not completely. When the choice was presented to him in the soft sands of the in-between by his sister, he was uncertain. Death, a rest from all that he has ever been and will ever be, called to him stronger than any desire has before. So long had Morpheus wished to be other than what he was, to be able to hand over the mantle of Dream to another so than he might finally have peace. Then, when his brother arrived, telling him there was yet another option, he… well. He was still unsure.

To end one life and start anew? To become less than what he was and suffer through the ordeals of humanity sounded far closer to a punishment than a gift. But Hob had pleaded with him to take the chance. It became clear to Morpheus that first week that Hob recalled none of what happened in the shifting sands of the soft places. To him, it was still nothing but a dream, perhaps a nightmare. And while the words he spoke were true and from his heart, he did not recall ever speaking them to Morpheus.

Hob had pleaded with him, standing between Destruction and Death themselves, hands outstretched to the former Dream Lord. A mortal, with more stubbornness and determination in his heart than any human had a right to. He asked him to stay, to join him if Morpheus wished, but to choose to live. To choose each day to continue on, even if it would be such a different life, a different experience. To Hob, the choice was obvious. He was a man who forsook Death. To Hob, choosing to live was the easiest choice anyone could make.

To Morpheus, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Hob was staring at him when Morpheus lifted his gaze, a soft and sad smile on his face. He wipes his hands off on the towel across his shoulder and sets it on the counter. Morpheus watches him make his way around the bar and leans back into his sturdy chest as Hob wraps his arms around his middle. Hob rests his chin on the top of Morpheus head.

“You know, keep this up and you’re gonna end up making me cry this whole night, love.” Morpheus places his arm atop Hob’s own, fingers grazing against the warm skin. The thick hair that covers him shifts under his touch in a familiar fashion. He trails his hands over his forearm until he climbs up to intertwine their fingers, giving his lover’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“So long as they are happy ones.”

Hob chuckles as he presses his nose into Morpheus’s hair. “You’re a menace, you know that? Just you wait until my heartfelt speech. Then you’ll be the one crying happy tears.”

“Oh?” Morpheus says. “Do you have such a speech planned?”

“Not yet, but we’ve still a few hours to go. I’ll make it a good one.” Hob replies, taking a deep breath in as he presses Morpheus’s body close to his.

The door chimes and is somehow louder than it has been in all of Morpheus’s time here. He turns, instinctively, and his eyes widen as he takes in the sight.

There are six Endless standing in the entrance of the New Inn.

Desire stands at the front, dresses in the most eye-catching sequin dress Morpheus has ever seen. They are covered in glitter and gems as they tilt their head back and sigh. Their arms are outstretched as they speak.

“Oh, this place is positively rolling with desire,” they purr, turning their head to their other siblings. “Don’t you agree?” Despair nods, her eyes wandering across the crowd. She is dressed as she often has been in this century: plain grey lounge wear with holes scattered around. One of her rats sits atop her shoulder as she caresses the jagged edge of her hook.

“And still teeming with regrets and sadness, my twin. This was a good choice, indeed.”

“Oh you two, I told you you’d have fun.” Death says, standing forward and finding Morpheus’s gaze in the crowd. “Hello little brother.”

Hob’s head lifts from Morpheus’s own and gasps. His arms fall from Morpheus’s body, finding a home on his own hips instead. “Did you know your family was coming?” Hob whispers as the group of Endless make their way toward the pair.

Morpheus shakes his head. “I was not aware, no.”

Death takes the lead, Desire and Despair trailing further behind, talking amongst themselves. Dream is there as well, standing beside their sister with a soft smile upon his lips. Morpheus’s heart lurches. This is the first time he has spoken with his former self in the Waking. He is… he does not know. He supposes he is, as Hob would say, a clusterfuck of emotions.

Delirium skips along side, her outfit as bright and colorful as herself. There are small mirror panels plastered across the arms of her jean jacket that reflect the light in a dizzying manner and her hair all but floats as she moves. “Murphy!” she calls, racing forward and lunging herself into his lap. Hob leans his arm on the bar behind Morpheus, helping steady him with the strength of his forearm against his back.

She curls up, not unlike a cat, over his legs, looking up at him with those bright heterochromatic eyes. He smiles, looking down at his youngest sister.

“Hello, Delirium. Happy New Year.”

Dream and Death join at their side. Death wraps her arm around Hob’s shoulder, leaning her head against his. Dream simply stands to her right, gazing down at Morpheus and Delirium. Desire and Despair stand a step or two away, Desire leaning dramatically against the bar as Despair climbs into one of the open bar stools. Most surprisingly of all, perhaps, is Destiny, who walks towards them with the confidence he always carries, his book tucked under his arm.

“Are you going to set off the pretty lights here as well? There’s always so many pretty lights on this night. And good visions. And happiness. And fun colors.” She says, her skin changing and glowing with each sentence. Hob chuckles.

“No, no fireworks here. But, if you go outside and look across the park, you can probably see them at a distance.” Delirium’s eyes quite literally light up as Hob speaks. Suddenly, she leaps off of Morpheus’s lap, briefly turning into a firework, before gluing herself back into a human shape.

“Fireworks!!!” She cries, spinning in a circle.

“But we still have to wait,” Death says. “It’s not firework time just yet.”

Delirium huffs, her cheeks growing as wide as a puffer-fish. “I know! I can wait. I know how to wait!”

Morpheus smiles. Desire rolls their eyes, but gazes fondly at their younger sister’s antics. Despair has taken to looking across the New Inn’s crowd. She doesn’t smile, but her face is content. Destruction is not present, but Morpheus is not surprised by this. He would not have expected him to come. In fact, Morpheus had not expected any of them to come. And as pleased as he is, and surprisingly happy to see them all here, he grows nervous.

“Is something the matter?” Morpheus asks, his eyes turning to each of his siblings.

It’s Desire that speaks first.

“Can we all not simply enjoy a night among the humans without some world-ending issue at hand?” They say, reaching for a drink that had not been on the bar just moments ago. They take a sip from the swirly, colorful straw, arching a brow as they stare Morpheus down.

“We’re here because we want to be,” Death says, releasing Hob and tilting her head to the side to better see him. Morpheus turns his gaze to her, brows pulled together.

“But. I-” He sighs, folding his hands on his lap. “I do not understand.”

Dream takes a step forward, hands folded behind his back. “We wished to spend this night with you. And among humanity.” Morpheus looks up into the starry night eyes he once wore. The soft white curls hang around Dream’s face.

“Plus,” Desire pipes up again. “As I said when we got here, lots and lots of desires around here. Good for the soul.”

“And much despair.”

“And colors and confusion and funny thoughts and sights!” Delirium adds.

“And many dreams.”

“Not much death, hopefully,” Death adds, elbowing his shoulder lightly. “But with fireworks, you never know! I’ve a feeling I’ll be popping out for work here and there throughout the night.”

“So,” Desire says, lifting themselves onto the edge of the bar. They swing their feet out in front of them. “Not just for you. But you know, you’re here as well, so might as well say hi.”

Morpheus laughs. It is still an ugly, braying thing, but Hob has claimed to love it regardless. Dream laughs as well and Morpheus only laughs harder at how similar it is to his own. Death joins in, her snorting chuckle adding to the terrible laughing choir they are building as each of his siblings begins to laugh as well. Delirum’s laugh chimes like bells then birds then the quaking of the Earth. Despair’s is a low hum and Desire’s is the light fluttering of wings or a flame. Destiny’s is the hard toll of a bell, of finality, but he laughs nonetheless.

Hob’s voice comes in last, the loud, joyful thing that it is, harmonizes with the mess that is the group of Endless laughing the night away. Then, a booming hardy chuckle joins in. They all turn to the looming figure in the doorway, his ginger hair pulled up in a bun as their brother smiles at them.

“Heard there was a party going on,” Destruction says, gliding over to their little group. “Couldn’t miss that, could I?”

“Brother,” Morpheus whispers as he walks to the front, standing in front of the stool he sits upon. He has not seen him since... well. Since he died, he supposes.

Destruction plops his large hand on Morpheus’s shoulder. It is ridiculous just how large his hand looks on his own relatively narrow frame. Even after he has since bulked up some with Hob’s cooking and care. It’s only now, as a human, that he realizes just how large and daunting his younger brother is.

“How you doing, Morpheus?” Destruction asks, smiling down at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Humanity looks good on you, you know.”

There are tears in his eyes. He does not quite know why he is crying, but he is. And then another laugh bursts through, between the sobs that make their way forward. Suddenly, he is wrapped up in much too large arms and pulled off of his seat. His feet dangle off the floor as he’s pressed tight against his brother’s chest.

Morpheus supposes, as the tears and the laughter do not stop, that he hadn’t truly ever… thought much of his death. Of what took place after the Kindly Ones ravaged the Dreaming and demanded his demise. There had been much to do after becoming human and the short time he had in-between was taken up primarily by the debate of how his afterlife would unfold.

He should have expected this, in hind sight. He can no longer tuck his emotions away, through dreams or ignorance. His paltry human mind would no longer allow him. They bubbled up to the surface quicker than he has learned to tamp them down. Hob’s encouragement to feel his emotions and work through them has done nothing to help his ability as restraining them, either. The mixed bag of feelings arises from deep within him as he is surrounded by his family, who, despite Desire’s claim, have all come to visit with him for a night of human celebrations, is unleashed and Morpheus is powerless to stop it. And with Destruction’s arrival and the sight of him unlatches the final box he had stuffed all the thoughts and feelings of his transition into, he cries. And laughs. And feels as his arms begin to go numb with how tightly his brother’s squeeze is on his body and so he laughs again.

Hob’s hands are on his face, rubbing away the trail of tears on his face as Destruction sets him back on his feet. Death steadies him, a hand on his shoulder. And as he clears his eyes and looks upon the faces of his siblings, of his family, his heart aches with the realization that, despite everything, they care. They love him. It is an overwhelming sensation.

“I… I apologize,” he says, voice rough, as he takes the offers handkerchief from Dream. The fabric twinkles and shifts like galaxies and it brings a smile to his face. “Humanity has made me more temperamental.”

“Oh, more temperamental?” Desire says, sliding their way closer so their foot can gently poke his arm. They look down at him from their perch with a smirk on their lips. “You were already a big ball of emotions, you just refused to ever feel them before.” They look up at Dream who is staring at them with an unimpressed face. “You’ve gotten a bit better. Still temperamental, though.”

Death chuckles, bumping her shoulder into Dream’s. “I have to agree with Destruction though,” she says, turning back to Morpheus. “Humanity does look good on you.” Her eyes flit up to Hob who has taken his position guarding Morpheus’s side, one hand wound around to rest on his lower back and gives him a smile.

“You haven’t come and stopped by my realm since!” Delirium says, pounding her foot on the ground. “You should come visit! I want to give you the fun nice visions I’ve made! I have some birdies I made for you, but you haven’t come by yet!”

Morpheus chuckles and leans in closer to Delirium. “I shall endeavor to come visit you soon.”

“You know,” Hob says and Morpheus can just hear the smirk in his voice. “I can easily get you into her realm with enough drinks.”

He turns before he rolls his eyes so Hob would see, which earns him a chuckle. “Perhaps another time. I think I would prefer to remember this evening.” He turns back to Delirium. “If Dream would allow, perhaps you could send me your birds this evening while I sleep?”

Delirium’s eyes light up and she spins on her feet to face Dream. His face mirror’s Morpheus’s own as they both look down at her with a soft fondness reserved solely for their youngest sibling. “Can I? Can we send him my birdies?” She pleads, tugging on the long white robes that Dream wears. He rests a hand upon her head and nods.

“Since Morpheus has agreed, then you may. But only once he is safely within the Dreaming this evening. So you will have longer to wait.”

She nods, her head bouncing like a bobble head. “I know how to wait! I can wait for the colorful lights and I can wait until he’s in your realm!”

The night progresses. Desire takes to the dance floor at one point, their glittering gown entrancing the looks of many. Even as a mortal, Morpheus knows that they are enjoying and luxuriating in the desires they are swirling in the hearts of those who look upon them.

Despair has found a secluded corner, the one that Morpheus himself often sits, and has been relaxing in the soft high-backed hair as she watch the crowds in silence. She has turned her gaze to a man who sits at the far edge of the bar, his head in one hand, a drink in the other.

Dream, Death, Hob, and himself have found a seat at one of the tables near the window. Destruction pulled up a chair from another table and has sat with them. Delirium does not sit, but rather floats above them. Eyes flow off of her like water, thankfully. The few that do not are too far gone into their drinks that they do not think much of the sight. Destiny stands, leaning against the window, silent, but present.

There is laughter and tales swapped between their little group. Hob spins tales of their time together, of his students and his coworkers. He tells stories of the little things, embarrassing moments that draw forth laughter and the touching moments that bring with them soft smiles. Morpheus finds himself in a familiar position, his head propped up by his hand, arm resting on the table as he gazes at his lover. His eyes trail across his face, watching the light in Hob’s eyes glow and glint in the soft lighting. He watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles through his words and the animated gestures of his hands because the man does not know how to talk without using them. He watches the movement of his brows and the scrunch of his nose. He watches the shake of his chest as he laughs and the flick of his tongue as he wets his lips.

It’s only when the flash of a camera goes off that Morpheus blinks back into the conversation. Death smiles as she pulls the Polaroid from the camera and sets it face down on the table. Both Hob and Morpheus turn to her with varying levels of confusion.

“When did you get a camera?” Hob asks, bewildered.

“Oh, you know,” Death says, setting the familiar camera on the table. “Popped out for a quick second for work and thought I’d nab this from your flat on the way back.”

Hob blinks. “Wait… when did you leave?”

Death just winks. Morpheus chuckles. He reaches forward, turning the camera in his hands. There is a small groove on the base and a few spots of white paint on the black plastic that mark it as Hob’s. He smiles as he lifts the camera up to his eye.

Death smiles and leans closer to Dream. Destruction stands, moving so he’s in-between the two. Delirium’s head appear at the top of the frame and Destiny is visible on the edge. “Smile,” Morpheus says, clicking the shutter as his family all grins. Even Dream smiles, as soft as it is.

There’s a flash and the camera churns out the thick glossy plastic from within. He grabs it and sets it face down beside Death’s own before handing it back over to her.

“Well, we’ll have to get an actual group photo before the night is over,” Destruction says, moving back to his own seat. “It’s not often we have everyone here, after all.”

Hob hums in agreement as he lifts his drink to his lips. “That’d be nice. I’ve a copier for those, so we can get more made if you’d all like one.”

“I want the pretty picture!!” Delirium says, floating down so her back now rests on the window. “I’ll put it in the gallery cause that’s where pictures you like are supposed to go.”

Morpheus smiles as the conversations drifts back into tales and stories of the past. Death talks of some of the sights she’s seen over the year, of the people she’s met and of her day as a mortal. Destruction talks to his art and his travels. He and Hob commiserate over the various locations they’ve visited over the years and the unique struggles lives like theirs bring. Dream, even, talks of the Dreaming and of the citizens there. He talks of Lucienne and Matthew and Mervyn and it brings with it an ache in Morpheus’s chest but he urges Dream to continue. And so he does.

Matthew, apparently, wishes to tell Morpheus “Happy New Year” and to “get trashed” for him since he can no longer get drunk as a Raven. Lucienne also sends her regards and a tear falls down his cheek as he realizes that even those he left behind in the Dreaming care for him still, despite not being their Lord anymore.

“You know,” Hob says, smiling over at Dream. It is a startling vision, he realizes. Hob sits across from Dream as they had for centuries. He wonders, briefly, if Dream plans to continue their agreement to meet each hundred years. “I don’t know how the whole Dreaming to Waking traveling thing goes, but they’re always more than welcome to stop by. I’m sure Morpheus would love to see them again.” He turns, glancing as Morpheus with a question to his gaze.

He nods, looking back to his old self. “Should you, of course, allow it. I… I have missed them.”

“As they have missed you,” Dream says. He realizes, as the night sky gaze falls over him, just how intense it is to be under it. He is surprised Hob had managed to ever speak clearly during their meetings. “Perhaps, if you would wish, you may walk the Dreaming with clarity as you once had. I would not take you from your normal dreams and nightmares, but would grant you such on the nights you wished. Then you could visit the denizens of the Dreaming at your leisure.”

Morpheus smiles. “I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you, Dream Lord.” Dream huffs.

“You needn’t be so formal. Not to me. Not as you are.”

“Very well, then,” Morpheus says, bowing his head in agreement. “Dream.”

It’s nearly midnight when Hob extends his hand out to Morpheus, a sly smile on his face. “May I have this dance?” He asks. The music, he realizes belatedly, has changed. No longer is it the pop music that had been filtering through the inn prior, but has since slowed.

Ah.

It’s Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade, specifically. It is the first song they had listened to once Morpheus was able to withstand the noise. It was a gentle tune. Melodic in it’s rhythm and hardly appropriate for a New Year’s Eve celebration, but that has not deterred the drunken patrons in the center of the dance floor. They have turned from the rocking and jolted dancing to a smoother, softer flow. Many have paired up together, arms wrapped around necks and waists. And it’s as he looks back up at Hob does he realizes that this song was not chosen at random.

Hob had planned it. And wished to dance with Morpheus.

In another life, he would have turned him down. That other life, however, was sitting across the table from him with a knowing glint in his eye. This is a new life. And so he takes Hob’s hand and lets his lover guide him to the dance floor and wraps his arms around Morpheus’s waist and Morpheus wraps his arms around Hob’s neck. And they sway. They sway gently to the tune, not caring for form or function. They sway and enjoy the flow and the music and the lights. And when Hob gently guides Morpheus into a small spin under his arm, he laughs softly, a smile upon his lips.

He understands, in that moment, why people dance. Especially with one they care for. As he stares up into Hob’s kind eyes, the ones he has had the fortune of waking up to each morning for most of his newly human life, all others fade away. It is just him and Hob here in this moment. They float across their small section of the floor. And perhaps it is the alcohol of Hob’s dangerously addictive “immortality” drinks or maybe it is the high of having so many that he loves and cares for near, but Morpheus is certain this is the happiest he has ever been.

He cries, a single tear, for the him that would have said no to Hob Gadling’s pleas. He cries for the him that would never have known such bliss. He cries, briefly, for Dream, for Daniel, who now bears his old burdens and hopes that somewhere in Destiny’s book, he can one day find his own bliss like Morpheus has finally found his.

Hob kisses the tear away and whispers against his skin. “I really didn’t plan on having today be such a cry fest, I swear.” His breath and his lips tickle the soft skin of his cheek. Morpheus chuckles.

“Perhaps New Years can be the exception, then. So long as we do not make a habit of so many tears.” Hob laughs and the sound does not fail to send Morpheus’s heart aflutter.

“Sounds like a good plan. No more tears allowed tomorrow. So no watching Up.”

Morpheus snorts. It is undignified and Hob loves him more for it. He has said so in the past. “No. No Up, indeed. You would end up using the last dredges of hydration on your tears if we did.”

“Oh if I did, is that is? Tell me, who was the one that went through a whole box of tissues at the first half of the film?” Morpheus turns his head, his temple resting upon Hob’s chin.

“It does not count as such when the box was nearly empty to begin with.” Hob laughs. Morpheus smiles.

They stay there, eyes closed as they enjoy one another’s warmth and company as the music plays. Then, as the song fades to a close and the mood shifts once again to the hyperactive pulse of some song Morpheus does not know the name of, they slow to a stop.

“I love you, you know.” Hob says, not moving from their spot on the floor just yet. He still has a hand on Morpheus’s waist.

“I know,” he says, trailing his hands down his biceps and resting at his forearms. “I love you as well. With all of my heart and all that I am.”

“The balls about to drop, everyone!” A voice calls loudly from the bar. Eric flips the television over to the news channel where a live stream of the New Year’s ball is shown. A cheer echoes through the Inn as everyone turns to face the sight.

“10!”

Hob nuzzles his head against Morpheus’s.

“9!”

Morpheus turns, their noses grazing.

“8!”

Hob’s eyes meet his, the earthen brown golden in the light of the Inn.

“7!”

He has never looked more wonderful.

“6!”

Hob’s calloused hand raises up, cupping Morpheus’s cheek.

“5!”

Morpheus lifts his hand and rests it just above Hob’s heart.