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Dream is always a delight to watch during sex. How his mouth gapes open and makes uh, uh, uh noises with every deep thrust, how his steel-blue eyes are alight with lust and utter pleasure, and how his head is thrown back in bliss— Hob loves watching it all.
As Dream rides his cock, Hob can only stay still and let him arch his glorious body and roll his hips at a pace that pushes them to the verge of coming.
Sweat glistens on Dream’s forehead as his fingers firmly grasp Hob’s shoulders. “Hah— feels— so good— Ah!”
Hands grip and slap Dream’s buttocks. As a response, he digs his nails into Hob’s sweat-slick skin.
“Shit, tha— oh —!” moans Dream shakily, his body tensing around Hob’s. His eyes roll back in his head. “Yes, there—! Fuck!”
Dream has been staying the night since the first time last month and frankly, all they’ve been doing is kissing and touching and fucking until early morning and Hob has no complaints.
Only Dream’s text messages can bring insurmountable excitement to Hob these days. He jolts in his seat whenever he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, often sneaking a glance when he’s in a meeting. I want you, Dream’s words often whirl in his head until he can be alone with him that evening.
This… situationship has revived a part of Hob that had withered long ago. A thrill runs to his core every time he thinks about having someone he can be intimate with, but not having to commit or feel jealousy and other ugly feelings that come with commitments.
He recalls his past relationships, particularly their slow and painful collapse. He’d been broken up with quite a few times because they had gotten to know his imperfections, had realised he was not who they had thought he was, and it had driven them away eventually. They had found out he was too much. Too adventurous and never content. Too intense. You love too deeply.
After his breakup with his last girlfriend, Eleanor, he’d decided that he owed it to himself not to let the same misfortunes happen again. And so, he started engaging with sex friends. They’re more convenient. With Dream, he can have all the intimacy that comes with romantic relationships without getting into one. He enjoys kissing, touching, and clinging to Dream’s body until he comes. Unlike all the others, Dream gives him the unbridled bliss he’s been looking for and more. Hob isn’t sure how long they’ll continue this situationship, but he will savour every second while it lasts.
Keeping his eyes on Dream, Hob takes note of how his messy hair is plastered against his forehead, how his pale skin gleams with sweat, and how his face scrunches up in agony and pleasure as he struggles for breath. His heart thunders inside his chest as he thinks about who’s responsible for Dream’s arousal.
He runs his hands along the back of Dream’s thighs as he thrusts deeper. Then, he reaches down and slides his closed hand up and down Dream’s leaking erection. This liberates satisfied sighs, leaving Dream moaning out his name.
Locking Dream in a tight embrace, Hob leaves fluttering kisses on his face.
They take turns pushing and pulling the weight of their joint bodies, moving as one. Becoming one. They fit into each other in every way, perfectly, like geometric figures in tessellation. Like two bodies with one soul.
Thick fingers slide into Dream’s mouth, becoming slick as he moans around them. And then his moans turn into loud cries of bliss as Hob thrusts his hips into him more intensely.
“Dream?” asks Hob as he removes his fingers from Dream’s mouth.
Eyes closed, Dream smiles, his lips glossy with spit. “Mm— yeah?”
“Thanks for the tip… About Mr. Corinthian.” Dream happens to know Mr. Corinthian, the potential new specialty liquor supplier for The New Inn, and advised Hob to take him to his favourite bar Soho to seal the deal. Hob doesn’t want to know how Dream and Mr. Corinthian know each other. It’s none of his business, it’s none of his business, it’s none of his business… “You’re my lucky charm.”
All at once, Dream stops moving. He casts Hob an unreadable glance. “I don’t bring good luck.”
“But you just did,” insists Hob. “And I want to thank you properly f—”
Dream smothers the words with a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. “Enough talking.”
Hob’s heart soars every time Dream demands more. He’s never fucked with anyone so frequently before and that’s why pleasuring Dream makes him stupidly happy. Dream is insatiable in bed, always wanting more, and Hob is always thrilled to explore him, to learn where to touch him best and how to make him moan and scream his name out of bliss.
The only catch is they can’t keep their hands off each other.
Dream hangs out in Hob’s flat even on his days off (he may as well move in, but Hob won’t ask him to lest he wants to drive Dream away). He often walks around the flat in nothing but Hob’s bathrobe and takes it off without regard for Hob’s online tasks and well-being. Of course, Hob is only human, so he’ll throw his work and self-restraint outside the window. They’ll fuck morning, noon, and night.
When Dream isn’t around, Hob recalls the different ways they fooled around previously. Laying Dream on the floor, Hob tying his wrists with a silk necktie. The floor hard beneath Hob’s knees, even more uncomfortable for Dream, but he insisted so they kept at it. He thinks about the time when they did it in the laundry room— he’d tied up Dream’s arms to the overhead beam and fucked him torturously slow until he was breathlessly begging for more. Hob, please… Hob…
Hob thinks about all the ways he can play with Dream’s body— licking and nipping and sticking his fingers deep into him until he writhes and cries. How he starts slow until he gets into the rhythm. A rush of excitement crashes over him as Dream moans in utter pleasure. More, more, more…
Hob is pulled back into the present as Dream wraps his long and elegant fingers around his throat. Be here with me now. As the fingers close firmly around his neck, Hob feels ready to burst from all the attention Dream is bestowing upon his body.
He rides Hob more intensely, pounding against him until his face scrunches. He howls like a wild animal.
It submerges Hob into a deep pool of thoughts: when they’re in bed, he is just as vulnerable as Dream. Dream can do whatever he wants with his body and he will willingly let him have it. He can embrace, caress, and worship him, or he can crush, defile, and make him scream in agony— and Hob can only open his legs and accept Dream.
Knowing Dream wants his body just as much as he wants him makes him go mad with desire.
“Hob?” Dream has stopped moving. He pushes Hob’s hair away from his forehead. “Hob, are you okay?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. Dream cradles his face gently, his eyes grave and filled with concern. “Hey, look at me. Are you hurt? Did I squeeze too hard?”
Hob groans and hides his face into the curve of Dream’s neck, his wet eyelashes fluttering against his love-bruised skin.
Dream is about to bomb him with another series of panicked questions when he starts sobbing—
—Or laughing?
“No, no…” Hob reveals a tear-streaked grin. “It felt so good, I think I died and went to heaven.”
A betrayed whimper rippled across the room. Dream loops his arms around Hob’s shoulders and buries his face in his rumpled hair. “Bastard! You scared me.”
Hob’s laughter echoes across the bedroom, the private little world that’s meant for the two of them alone.
Hob sucks and bites Dream’s bottom lip, letting arousal carry him away like ocean currents. Allowing his instincts to take over. A smile crosses Dream’s lips. He rolls his hips, moaning and mewling and crying out incoherent sounds as he gets lost in pleasure.
Hob listens to the erotic lullaby coming out of his pretty mouth until a loud yell breaks out of his own as he climaxes. He has to heave and blink a couple of times to stop the room from spinning.
Silence erupts. Spent, they gaze at each other, eyes interlocked as Dream sways above Hob, still recovering from the outpour of energy from his body. He releases Hob to lie beside him, tasting his smile with a soft and gentle kiss.
An ache settles in Hob’s heart when Dream collects him in his arms. He savours the feeling of Hob pressed against him, the ridges and the planes of his body, and his warmth that keeps Dream safe from the cold, wishing they can live between the sheets for however long they want.
“One more time?” asks Dream once he catches his breath. Under the shadows and the play of light from outside the window, his face glows as he gives Hob a ghost of a smile.
Hob chuckles with disbelief and says after a long pause, “Okay.”
He’s so drunk on Dream.
After finishing twice more, they drift at a slow and lazy pace. Hob spoons Dream, embracing him from behind. The bed rocks as he thrusts into Dream in an unhurried manner like they’re on a boat floating in the calm, summer sea, the gentle waves taking them to the isle of deep sleep.
Knee bent against his chest, Dream reaches back and leans his head on Hob’s chest, asking to be held tighter. Hob easily obliges. He moves inside him and holds him close. His breathing is strong and rapid on Dream’s neck. Smoothing the strands away from his nape, he takes in his strangely obsessive rain and floral fragrance.
He trails kisses on the crook of Dream’s neck and shoulders. Then, his lips wander to Dream’s mouth, and Dream turns his head to kiss him back with needy sighs, wanting to feel every inch of Hob until he falls asleep with Hob inside him. It’s a comfort he constantly craves and Hob ever so willingly provides.
Fastened together, they kiss and touch leisurely. Hob’s hands caress Dream’s hips, sliding up his chest, twisting his right nipple and then the other. Hob quickens his pace at Dream’s request, moving from slow, deep prodding to short thrusts. At some point, Dream tenses against him, his legs jolting with involuntary spasms while Hob kisses and nips his neck.
Dream cries out, his fingers binding Hob’s arm more firmly, nails digging against his skin. He shudders as he comes. Hob follows right away— hearing Dream’s ecstatic noises tipped him over the edge. He buries his face in Dream’s shoulder blade, heaving a lungful of air. They are limp and bursting with consuming pleasure.
As Hob pulls the covers up to their chests, Dream resists exhaustion for a minute, savouring the wonderful sight of Hob’s wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He captures it in his lips. Hob laughs into the tender kiss and envelops him in his arms once more, his heart thundering in his ribcage.
Another bout of silence falls upon them and for a moment, only the sound of their breathing can be heard. Their hands are intertwined over the wrinkled sheets.
“Hey…” Hob whispers as Dream presses his face against his broad and hairy chest. His voice is soft with sleepiness.
“Hmm?”
He gently runs his fingers along the notches of Dream’s protruding spine. “Are you excited for your first Monday Funday tomorrow?”
“What exactly is Monday Funday?”
“Monday Funday, better than the weekend. Can only do it one way AND THAT IS THE DRUNK WAYYYY!”
Dream sits wordlessly as Hob, Mervyn, and Matthew chant and tap the table together one more time. Meanwhile, Lucienne has her arms crossed, quietly waiting for the chant to die down. She looks like she secretly wants to sink in her seat or join other people’s tables who are having brunch at the garden restaurant on this beautiful July morning. But everyone else seems to be unbothered by the chanting, too preoccupied with their own brunch rituals to hear the noise the lads are making at their table.
Matthew— Dream’s fellow bartender and best mate at The New Inn, a dark-haired man in his early 30s with intricate tattoos, numerous piercings, and a raspy voice— says excitedly, “Welcome, Dream, to Monday Funday! A day when we, The New Inn staff and the boss, get to close the pub to squeeze every drop of life out of it before starting another work week of madness!”
“It’s basically Bottomless Brunch, but it lasts the entire day and we do a series of fun activities around London,” adds Hob with a wink.
Mervyn, the red-haired, cigar-smoking, chatty New Inn server (who may or may not be in a relationship with Lucienne), brandishes a folded piece of paper with handwritten notes. “It’s your lucky day because it’s my turn to choose the list of activities.”
“You take turns?”
“We take turns,” explains Lucienne. “It was my turn last time— that was before you joined us— and the boss organised the activities the time before that.”
“Get ready to have the coolest, most awesome Monday Funday ever!” Mervyn raises his mimosa glass. Everyone at their table cheers and shares a toast.
Once their food arrives, Matthew immediately demolishes his blueberry pancakes and bacon, shovelling food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in months. “Thishis sho delishoos!”
Mervyn dumps a massive slice of frittata onto Lucienne’s plate. “Here, Loosh, have some of mine.”
Hob mimics the gesture, putting a poached egg muffin, a sausage, and a waffle onto Dream’s plate. Ever since he noticed that Dream eats like a bird, he’s taken him upon himself to fatten him up a bit. Dream stealthily squeezes his thigh under the table and gives him the same devious smile he gave him earlier when he first saw Hob wearing his tight-fitted old rose shirt (he once mentioned it was his favourite shirt of Hob’s, but he prefered taking it off him).
Mervyn and Lucienne exchange a brief knowing look before getting distracted by another garbled remark from Matthew. Lucienne admonishes, “Matthew, for Christ’s sake, do not talk with your mouth full.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It’s just so good, I can eat it until I drop!” He takes another bite. “Hey, has any of you ever fallen asleep with food in your mouth?”
It’s hilarious how everyone reacts differently to the odd question. Lucienne rolls her eyes while Hob and Mervyn heaved a tired sigh. Dream chuckles in amusement. “No. Have you?”
Matthew nods and stuffs his face with more food, his cheeks ballooning like he’s a chipmunk. “I probably got tired of chewing and fell asleep.”
“Did you wake up hungry and realised you had food in your mouth and was like ‘awesome!’”
“I certainly did! Did you ever have food poisoning?”
Everyone interjects No! in indignant and astonished tones.
“Oh.”
Mervyn guffaws, a hand on his belly. “You really are something else, Mattie! You should replace your job title as the pub’s food taster!”
As the chorus of laughter swells and fades, something across the street catches Dream’s eye. A faint smile lights up his face. He excuses himself to meet the two ladies standing outside a French bakeshop.
The first one must be in her early 30s like Hob and Matthew. She has wild, cloud-like curls that frame her gorgeous chocolate-brown face. She wears a black, thin-strapped top, skinny jeans, and low-cut boots similar to Dream’s. An ankh hangs from the silver chain around her neck.
The other girl has choppy, rainbow-coloured hair, the right side of her head shaved. She’s as pale as Dream, petite, barely reaching her brother’s shoulders, and looking no older than 20. She wears a loose, white leather jacket and fishnet stockings under a sheer ruffled dress. She talks animatedly while showing Dream what’s inside her canvas shopping bag.
They’re Dream’s sisters. Dream often talks about Death and Delirium, his two siblings whom he shares a two-bedroom apartment with after moving to London a year ago. Hob has never met them even though he’d been driving Dream home almost every night since they started hooking up.
Hob remembers Dream vaguely talking about his older sister who works as a senior care worker and his younger sister who’s training to be a tattoo artist. Turns out Dream is the third child in a brood of seven, all with equally peculiar names. The rest of his siblings are scattered all over the UK, and one of them is backpacking somewhere in Morocco or Tibet (he’s not really sure because they hardly keep in touch anymore but Delirium misses him terribly).
Hob, Lucienne, Mervyn, and Matthew watch the siblings cross the street and approach their table.
“Everyone, these are my sisters, Death and Delirium,” Dream introduces them to Hob and his workmates. “Death and Delirium, these are my co-workers at the pub— Matthew, Mervyn, and Lucienne. And this is Hob, our boss.”
“Hello, everyone. Lovely to meet you.” Death waves at them, her voice soothing. Her bright grin makes a stranger feel like they’re dear old friends.
“Hey, everyone!” chirps Delirium. Her leather jacket hangs off one shoulder, revealing a cursive tattoo on her collarbone that says Tempus Frangit. Up close, her eyes are startlingly two different colours: one eye is as green as sea glass, spattered with silver flecks, and the other eye is cornflower blue.
They exchange pleasantries with Dream’s workmates— what are you up to today? We just dropped by our favourite bakeshop to grab some pastries, you should try them. We’d love to have a drink at the pub sometime.
After a while, Death says, “Right. We better get going, Del. Have fun, everyone!”
Everyone says goodbye to Death and Delirium. Death looks over her shoulder to give Hob a meaningful look before disappearing into the corner.
As the gang prepares for the string of surprise activities Merv had planned for them, Hob goes out for a smoke. But before he can fish a cigarette from his pocket, Dream’s older sister pulls him into the back alley.
“One of Dream’s ex-sex friends invited him to a music festival. They’re going to Ibiza next weekend.”
Hob frowns. “Ibiza?” Fancy.
Death nods.
“Next weekend?”
“Yes.” Delirium, who’s standing behind Death, chimes in, desperation in her eyes.
Thorny vines wrap around Hob’s heart, suffocating him. When he finds his voice, it comes out small and uncertain. “Well… That’s alright. We’re both free to do what we want.”
Death raises an eyebrow. “You’re really okay with another person flying Dream to a paradise island?”
Through the window, they both watch Dream pour cocktail after cocktail into empty water bottles. He meticulously measures the drinks like a research chemist.
“Look, he’s a fully-grown adult. He can make his own decisions,” insists Hob.
“No, he can’t!” protests Death. “His decisions are 99% bird poo. He has no impulse control. He hooks up with anyone who gives him even the tiniest crumbs of attention—”
Ouch?
“—He can live off microwave meals and leftovers for months! Has he ever told you how he got the scars on his back?” Both Death and Delirium flinch at the horrific memory.
“When this… person— Dream’s then-sex friend, the one he’s going on a holiday with— stopped seeing him and went abroad all of a sudden, he was devastated. One night he went drinking all by himself, joined a group of random strangers, fell through a glass table, and ended up in the A&E at 3 in the morning.”
“I don’t want him hurt… I want him to be okay…” murmurs Delirium in the background as if she’s reliving the moment.
Death grips Hob’s shoulders with urgency. “By some miracle, he’s finally found someone who makes him genuinely happy, but he doesn’t think he deserves you! ”
“I—”
“Please don’t let him ruin what you have right now.”
Hob takes a deep breath and debates with himself, and then he meets Delirium’s imploring, mismatched doe eyes.
“Think about it, Gadling.” Death pats his chest before walking away with Delirium.
A million thoughts run through Hob’s head. Why must he meddle with Dream’s affairs? They’re just friends who sleep together whenever they like. Besides, Dream hates being told what to do. Hob learned the hard way when he slipped and told Dream to go out and make more friends instead of just hanging out with the New Inn gang all the time. Dream didn’t talk to him for a week. Hob doesn’t want a replay of that, obviously.
Also, how did Dream’s sister know his surname? Does Dream talk about Hob when he’s with his siblings? How much has he told them?
His train of thought slows to a stop when Dream, Lucienne, Mervyn, and Matthew step out of the restaurant.
“There you are.” Dream hands Hob a cocktail in a water bottle and puts his sunglasses on. “Ready?”
Behind the front gate of an unsuspecting house on a quiet South London street is a treasure trove called the House of Dreams. Their first stop is a magical hideaway filled with carefully curated sculptures, mosaics, and found objects. The walls are covered with intensely personal handwritten notes, each telling a story that’s riveting, mind-blowing or both.
Mervyn and Matthew are in the garden, wondering how they can replicate the life-sized statue made of cemented bottle caps and false teeth. Lucienne is silently admiring the displays and the history of objects surrounding them, reading every note and examining every unique detail of this fantastical kitsch folly.
Hob studies the array of old photographs, vintage dolls, and other flea market gems. He’s in awe of this gallery of other people’s junk that has become a memorial to thousands of ordinary, and perhaps forgotten, lives. Who owned those records? Who dismembered that doll? What happened to the other pair of this shoe? He can’t help but think how in a hundred years, he’ll be gone and people will look at his possessions, wondering what kind of life he’d led and who he’d spent it with.
Behind him, Dream is on his phone again— he’s been busy texting someone since arriving at the museum. He puts his phone in his pocket when he catches Hob’s gaze.
“Hey, what do you think happened to the kids in this photo?” He shows Dream a black and white photo of three little boys laughing and sitting in a meadow.
Dream examines it for a moment, his face unreadable. “I’d rather not think about it. They look so happy already. I’ve read somewhere that a story only ends happily because the author knows when to stop. Otherwise, if you kept them going long enough, they’d end in death.”
“That makes absolute sense. I agree,” replies Hob, trying his best to sound casual despite the forming lump in his throat. “Which do you prefer: the city or the countryside?”
Dream simply shrugs, nonchalant. He doesn’t take his eyes off the fever dream-like mosaic opposite them. “I like both.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Surely, you like one more than the other,” insists Hob. “Think about it: the city… yes, it feels nice to have the entire world on your doorstep, but it’s busy, crowded, and at times suffocating. The countryside, on the other hand, has picture-perfect views, clean air, and the great outdoors.”
Dream raises an eyebrow. This is the exact same judging look his older sister gave Hob earlier and it almost makes him chuckle. “You’re a Londoner.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the point.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you cannot like two things which are diametrically opposed.”
“Hmm, and yet I do.” Dream walks into the orchestrated chaos in the garden.
The flea market in Hackney is full of life in the afternoon. Families and groups of friends are taking a stroll and enjoying the cloudless summer day.
Matthew drags Mervyn and Lucienne to the food stalls lining the street ahead of them. Matthew’s huge appetite never fails to surprise everyone. His face brightens upon seeing the great variety of street food: scotch eggs, Cornish pasties, steamed pork buns, falafel wraps, and many others.
“Hey, I want one of those!” Matthew points to a stall that sells kebabs.
Dream leads Hob through the flea market maze with the wide-eyed wonder of a child. Together, they disappear into the bustling crowd. Hob takes photos while following Dream, candid shots of him walking through the frenetic and vibrant paths, amongst the flocks of locals and tourists, and inside the colourful shops and the precious items they shelter. He wants to remember the smell of grilled meat and the soulful sound of lyre music while walking through the narrow pavement.
Perhaps he sneaks some shots of Dream caressing the faded gold lettering of leather-bound books to humour himself when he gets home. To think about how much he wants to reach for Dream’s hand and hold it while walking together. Or wrap his arm around his slim waist and pull him close so he won’t get lost in the crowd. But walking closely by Dream’s side is as good as it gets and—
“Bobbie?” Turning towards the voice, he sees a petite woman with bright green eyes and wavy auburn hair that falls just past her shoulders walking towards him.
“Eleanor! Hi!” Out of impulse, Hob gives her a big hug. Then, a little ball of energy attacks his legs. He lifts him up, making the five-year-old boy giggle. His brown hair is tousled, and his eyes are bright green like his mother’s. One of his front teeth is missing. “Hello, little monkey! Fancy seeing you two here.”
“Robyn wanted to go shopping after school. He likes the vintage toy shop over there.” Eleanor points to the shop next to the kebab stand where Matthew, Mervyn, and Lucienne went earlier.
Out of the corner of Hob’s eye, Dream disappears inside the furniture shop across the street. His heart plummets to his stomach.
Hob dated Eleanor in university. He was so young and passionate back then, feeling like he had the world in the palm of his hands. When they were 25, he was convinced they were ready to have kids and start their own family together. Why the hell not? They were so in love and Hob could see himself spending the rest of his life with his dear Eleanor.
Unfortunately, she didn’t feel the same. Hob’s proposal under the romantic glow of city lights in Primrose Hill was met with a resounding no. Eleanor wasn't ready to start a family and felt that she still had a lot of things she wanted to do before settling down. And this ended their seven-year relationship.
It took years to recover from the rejection, from the false hopes and dreams he built for himself. You love too deeply.
He threw himself into running the New Inn, which he inherited from his childless great-uncle, and explored the world. Took the roads less travelled, tasted all the good food he could find, met people from all walks of life, and slept with the best of them. It mostly happened out of caprice, but if he was going to be honest with himself, it was usually out of desperation. To forget. To create new memories. To let go.
Meanwhile, Eleanor went on to pursue her passion for photography and met her current partner, with whom she had a son named Robyn. Despite the breakup, Eleanor and Hob remained good friends over the years. He also takes great joy in being Robyn’s (a.k.a. the world’s cutest kid) coolest, most handsome godfather in the world.
When it’s time to go home, Hob lets go of Robyn and gives him a high five, promising to visit him soon. Dream has gotten out of the furniture shop and Eleanor gives him a wide grin as she and Robyn pass by him.
He taps on his phone screen with an expressionless face. Without looking up, he asks, “Was she your friend?”
“Er— yeah, sort of.”
Dream nods with a quiet understanding. His phone chimes again.
“Someone’s very popular today.” Hob chuckles.
“Sorry. Random people have magically remembered I exist.” Dream tucks his phone back into his pocket. “There, done.”
When they find Matthew, Mervyn, and Lucienne, Matthew is sputtering and spitting out his food on tissue paper.
“I’m— Abort— I don’t like this experience…” His face crumples with nausea and he hurries to wash down the horrid taste with his bottled cocktail.
Mervyn cackles. “Not a fan of jellied eels?”
“Oh god, they brought me somewhere— ugh…” Matthew grimaces and hides behind his hands. Mervyn laughs hysterically, tears at the corners of his eyes. “I’m being serious, I swear. It brought me back to— foster care.”
Hob’s mind, however, flutters somewhere far away: to the white-sand beaches of Ibiza. What if Dream goes there and realises he doesn’t want to be fuck buddies with Hob anymore? Does he intend to keep his holiday plans a secret? Does he think it unnecessary for Hob to know?
Hob recalls his conversation with Death this morning. Dream can do whatever he wants, see anyone he fancies, and visit anywhere he pleases. They aren’t a couple and they never established rules to follow. So, what right does Hob have to meddle with his plans?
But on the other hand… He likes Dream more than anyone he’s ever known. He also likes this strange, unlabelled thing they share and he doesn’t want it to end.
His worries will only stop once he gets some answers, but how can he make himself ask Dream the questions in his head?
He and Dream find a bench to sit on for a while. Out of the blue, he asks, “Books or movies?”
Dream responds without skipping a beat, “Both. One has what the other doesn’t, so they complement each other.”
“Birds or cats?”
“Which one's the city, and which one's the countryside?”
Hob’s mouth gapes. “Are you serious?”
Dream crosses his arms. “You know why I don't want to pick one? Because you’re just waiting to fit my choices into a box, and why would I want to put myself through that?”
“Because I'm asking you to.” Hob gives him a fleeting smile and heads back to the food stalls.
The Fridge is a small and hidden 24/7 Shoreditch bar where they can sing karaoke songs as loud and free as they want because the few people who know about the place hardly go there in broad daylight. It got its name from the tall, yellow fridge door that you have to enter like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland that leads to the thrilling world of strobe lights and mixed cocktails.
Upon entering their private karaoke room, Matthew immediately punches his signature karaoke song (aka Bohemian Rhapsody) into the machine, grabs the microphone, and sings to his heart’s content with backup vocals courtesy of Lucienne and Mervyn.
Dream and Hob go outside to buy cigarettes from the lobby, but before they reach the reception area, a motorcycle gang-looking crowd trickles through another private room door and heads towards the exit.
One of them— the tallest, who stands over six feet tall, wears a biker jacket, short skirt, and chunky leather boots in the middle of the summer as if the heat doesn’t faze them— smiles at Dream. Their features are soft and somewhere between feminine and masculine. The overhead lights cast a halo on their head full of whitish-blond curls, giving them an angelic and ethereal quality that makes it hard to tear one’s gaze from them.
“Hello, Dream,” they greet him in a melodic voice.
“Lu.” Despite Dream’s curt response, the undercurrent of affection is unmistakable.
“I was just about to phone you. We’re having drinks in the pub next door. Would you like to join us?” They ask Dream and look at Hob to extend the invitation.
A woman in her late 20s stops and waits for Lu. One side of her face is beautiful, copper-skinned and dark-eyed while the other side is terribly misshapen and scarred. She carries herself with confidence and exudes an aura of intimidation as if she’ll chuck you out of the window if you so much as breathe in her direction.
But Dream is looking at Lu with rapt attention, awe and reverence in his deep blue eyes. “I’m… with friends.”
“I see.” They turn their gaze to Hob, still smiling. Their kind face seems to have your best interests in mind, but their allure can easily become foreboding and it sends shivers down Hob’s spine. They wave their phone at Dream. “I’ll see you next weekend, then. Come on, Mazikeen.”
Dream and Hob buy their cigarettes and walk back to their room. In the hallway, they can hear Mervyn and Matthew belting out an Ariana Grande song. Hob’s mind is racing.
“So, Lu, was it?”
“Short for Lucifer.”
Hob gapes for a moment.
Lucifer. The Bearer of Light. Their parents knew how to name their child, that’s for sure. A surreal name for a person with otherworldly traits. Their face is so beautiful that even if they break your heart, you won’t mind the devastation.
Watching Dream interact with them makes Hob’s heart clench. He wants to scream. I’ll see you next weekend, then.
If they are who Hob thinks they are, they really shouldn’t be seeing Dream at all. He recalls the pained look on Dream’s face as he talked about the tattoo on his wrist that says you burn me.
Perhaps it is a reminder. To never make the same mistake again.
After everything Dream has been through, he still feels a strong affection for Lucifer.
Christ on a bike.
Who in their right mind will want to get back together with their toxic ex? Ex-sex friend. Whatever.
Hob now understands Death’s concerns. Dream has no idea of the damage he’s inflicting upon himself by crawling back to Lucifer!
By some miracle, he’s finally found someone who makes him genuinely happy, but he doesn’t think he deserves you!
Please don’t let him ruin what you have right now.
As his heart thumps loudly in his chest, he invites Dream to order some drinks at the bar. They sit at the counter and after the bartender serves their drink, Hob plucks up the courage to address his issue once and for all. “I heard you’re leaving next weekend.”
Dream freezes in his seat. His face blanches as realisation descends upon him. “Is that why you’ve been asking me weird questions all day? Did Death tell you about it?”
“What if one day, right—”
“—Hob—”
“—What if cats forced you to choose between themselves and birds, and you chose noisy, annoying birds, and you never cared about cats again, I'm just saying, cats— cats would be really sad.”
“Hob.” Dream pauses for a moment. There’s an intense but unreadable expression on his face. Then to Hob’s surprise, Dream puts his hand on top of his. It feels like a warm shelter in the middle of a blizzard. He gazes at Hob with his deep blue eyes and he instantly drowns in them. “...If you don’t want me to go on this trip, just say it.”
Hob presses his lips together. Hesitating, hesitating… “Don’t go.”
Dream is taken aback by his plea. He opens his mouth to reply but fails. He closes it. And tries again. “…Okay. I… won’t.”
They share a small smile.
“So, on one side, it’s cats— and let me guess: countryside, books, and you?” Dream searches Hob’s face. “And on the other side, it’s birds… city, movies, and Lucifer?”
Hob clutches his glass upon hearing that person’s name again. The way Dream says their name! He reminds himself that there’s no need to break the glass because Dream has finally made his choice, and it’s him.
It’s him.
Hob lets out a low, embarrassed laugh. “You know, I’ve not kept track so I’m not even sure anymore…”
The five of them part ways at The Fridge after Mervyn declares Monday Funday a success. Dream takes a cab with Hob back to his flat. They order pizza and play Tekken 7 on the sofa.
“How long have you known Lucifer?” asks Hob. Dream is reclined on the opposite side of the sofa, resting his skinny legs on Hob’s lap.
“A few years. We met at a rave in Bristol where I used to live with my siblings,” replies Dream. “Lu made me realise that I… er… rather like receiving. We met up a couple of times a week for a little strap-on play and occasional bondage.”
“Oh wow.” This effectively derails Hob’s focus from the game. He’s losing and no amount of combos can help his Hwoarang defeat Dream’s Kazuya.
“Our relationship was… complicated. It was obviously just sexual in nature, but I admit there was also a simmer of adoration on my part. I went to them when my mind was a mess. Whenever I was with them, they made everything go away. I was… dependent on them for quite some time and it broke me when they left… But I know how to cope better now.”
Hob’s brain shuts down. He needs a moment to process this influx of new information. “Why are you suddenly telling me all this?”
“I’m practising.”
“Practising what?”
“Being honest. You’re always so honest, I admire that. On the contrary, I tend to keep to myself. As you already know.”
“Er… Thanks for sharing, I guess.” He gives Dream’s leg a gentle squeeze.
Dream gets up to take another slice of pizza from the coffee table. “Hey, that woman with the kid at the food stalls earlier… is she really your friend?”
“Oh, er… She’s my ex.” Hob keeps his eyes on the screen as another game of Tekken 7 loads. “We dated in uni and I proposed to her a few years back without even bothering to know if she was ready to get married, you know, like a wanker. Surprise, surprise: I got rejected! We’re good friends though and we hang out sometimes. She made me the godfather of her son who’s the coolest and cutest kid on Earth.”
“Oh.” That one off-key sound has the weight of a meteorite falling to the earth.
Hearing it makes Hob curl the corners of his lips. “Are you mad?”
“No. Why will I be mad? We are just—” Dream presses the controller buttons with unnecessary force as if he wants to pulverise them along with Hob’s game character. “—two independently existing people who get together to have sex whenever we want. We probably do it more often than we care to admit, but that’s not the point. Whatever you do when we are not sleeping together is none of my business… Hanging out with your ex and her kid, for example.”
Hob’s swelling, euphoric moment pops like a bubble. His face feels hot. “Well, how do I determine what we are? At least I was planning to tell you about it. You were the one who was going on a holiday with an ex-sex friend. I bet you didn’t even plan to tell me so your sister did.”
Dream gives him an annoyed look. He removes his legs from Hob’s lap and sits up, turning to the TV screen. “It was only for a weekend, supposedly, and you’re making a big deal out of it.”
Hob mutters under his breath, “It’s with an ex-sex friend, though.”
“So you are jealous.” Dream holds his gaze for a second and continues playing. “Why don't you just admit you can't handle it when I hang out with people I used to sleep with?”
“Fine, if you admit that you can't handle it when I do.”
“Fine! Well then maybe we should be exclusive.” Dream says ‘exclusive’ in a sarcastic and dismissive tone he has so flawlessly mastered. “Is that what you want?”
Hob matches his tone by imitating Goofy’s voice. “Oh, that will be awesome. Let’s do that!”
“Yeah, great!”
“Great! Guess we’re exclusive, then.”
Silence crosses the room. All they can hear are the characters’ laboured grunting. Round three. Ready, fight!
Dream pauses to search Hob’s face. “Wait… Are we being sarcastic or are we exclusively dating for real?”
“I got a little bit lost in there somewhere…” Hob meets his gaze reluctantly. “But yeah. I guess we are… exclusive…”
Dream gives him a guarded look as if he’s waiting for Hob to take it back. When he doesn’t, a hint of a smile graces his lips. “Okay. Cool.”
“Cool.” Hob echoes and smiles back softly.
They keep playing. The thorny vines that have been squeezing Hob’s chest the entire day loosen their grip and dissolve into nothing. He can breathe fine again.