Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The pile of marking left to be done on Hob’s kitchen table had yet to grow any smaller, it was some sort of eldritch abomination of non-Euclidean geometry that meant when he removed something from the stack, the stack did not change. There were approximately sixteen hours before he absolutely, positively, had to finally have every last grade input into the web portal or he risked… a stern talking to, really, at best. His department head would understand if anyone ever brought it up, but he refused to be the problem child.

His rising stress on the matter was markedly influenced by his fiance who would stop whatever he was doing every half an hour or so to log into the student side of the web portal, only to sigh dramatically when there were still no final grades posted before finally pacing about the flat in a huff. It was incredibly distracting, really. One of the side benefits to living above a pub was that it saved on the heating bill and Morpheus had found he rather liked spending time at Hob’s flat for the cosiness of the thing compared to his open, but permanently draughty, floor plan at home. Hob found he enjoyed it because Morpheus’s rather lax attitude toward what constituted normal loungewear was increased exponentially by warmth.

Currently he was in his pacing about and straightening knick knacks that didn’t need to be straightened phase of trying to will his final grades into existence, but now shirtless and wearing only a pair of old jeans that had once been black but had seen better days - worn so soft and ragged as to be basically pyjamas. Until rather recently, they had barely clung to his bony hips, threatening to fall off, which could be fun in its own right, but with Hob and Lucienne’s rather insistent monitoring; Morpheus was very nearly what you could call healthy these days. Lean enough he would be in a bit of trouble if he got the flu, but the sharp angles of him had smoothed out into more rounded planes of muscle and Hob found himself staring blankly at the man’s arms at inopportune moments. Like now, as he was reaching up to straighten a framed painting on the wall that had actually been slightly crooked.

Still, it was a bit of a delight to see him be stressed in a normal way, for once, about normal things that were worries to everyone; instead of some life altering legal drama or past trauma rearing its ugly head. He was healthier in body and mind, although just as he still could see the outline of Morpheus’s ribs when he stretched too sharply, the hard edges of his traumas and anxieties were still there, beneath the surface. They would both take the little victories, however.

“No amount of frantic pacing is going to make them upload any faster,” Hob said, catching Morpheus on his way by with an arm around his waist.

He hauled him into a rather awkward hug; Morpheus standing and Hob still seated so that his cheek was pressed against his fiance’s stomach, the muscles twitching at being tickled by Hob’s beard.

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” Morpheus said apologetically, running his fingers through Hob’s hair.

“You absolutely did,” Hob replied, enjoying his little respite from marking too much to let the man go yet, “Were you like this the first time you were in school?”

“Oh yes, I was top of my class. Despite spending most of my time at sex clubs, I had high marks in everything,” he said with a chuckle that Hob could feel rumbling in him more than hear, “I think I’m also the first person to be awarded their degree posthumously and return for round two.”

“I’m reasonably certain those were both brand new sentences,” Hob said, craning his head back to look up at Morpheus’s cheeky grin without letting him go.

“Yes, I do that quite a lot really, author and all.”

“You’re a menace,” Hob lovingly replied, then heaved a sigh before letting him go.

Morpheus remained close, resting a hand on Hob’s shoulder. “You should take a break.”

“There’s not time! I did this to myself, and now I need to reap what I’ve sown,” Hob said, running his hands through his hair as if that would help his focus more than it had the past dozen times he tried it.

“No, I did this to you,” Morpheus replied in a pointed tone, “If I hadn’t needed your support, you’d have been at your current point days ago; let me help.”

“No, you’re a bloody student.”

“Not yours, unless you want to play pretend,” Morpheus said, pulling one of the unused chairs out with his foot and rather unceremoniously plopping into it, “Which you are rather a bore about, frankly. You finish the essays, give me the exams and key.”

He made an imperious gesture and Hob, exhausted, only hesitated a moment before handing him his test key and a stack of papers. Morpheus sat with one leg folded under him and the other foot somehow on the table in what could not possibly have been a comfortable position, and they worked in companionable silence until Hob’s phone rang. Morpheus pulled a face.

“Why do you allow that thing to make noise in my presence?”

“Some of us actually want to hear from people, love,” Hob replied, but he silenced it without answering, “I recognise the number.”

“Oh?”

“It’s that reporter from the Guardian,” Hob said, shrugging, “Wants my statement on your legal shite.”

“A charming technical term,” Morpheus muttered absentmindedly, attention still focused on the essays.

It was a delight to have his help and the sort of deliciously domestic moment that Hob had become more and more accustomed to of late. In the two months since their engagement, Morpheus had been putting a significant amount of effort into finding what he said was a feeling of equality in their relationship - which mostly meant pushing through his initial urge to be a fainting victorian maiden in Hob’s presence and instead pull his weight, on occasion, after realising he could very much have all the love and comfort he wanted without needing it. Whatever emotional high they were still riding since the premier had done them both good, but now with the end of term at hand they would have to start doing all manner of things they had been studiously putting off - like interviews, wedding planning, and a slew of pending appointments for Morpheus’s next book’s promotion as well as his legal matters.

They had mutually agreed, without really saying anything, to not ruin their good days with the bad things to come and left the Alex Burgess affair unmentioned and Morpheus’s father’s increasingly incensed attempts at getting more than polite replies about their family investments.

Between the two of them, they managed to finish the piles of marking before midnight - but only just. In the end, Hob had Morpheus inputting all the requisite scores into the computer while he annotated the remainder of the essay exams. Just under the wire, as it were. Morpheus clicked the laptop shut and grinned at him from across the table.

“Now I do mean to distract you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and giving Hob a slow once-over, to which Hob just sighed exhaustedly.

Morpheus snickered. “Oh ye of little faith. I was thinking of a hot shower and a good night’s sleep; I can wait until morning to be rewarded for my assistance.”

“Can you?” Hob asked rhetorically, “Your grades should be up too, love. Unless your lecturers are worse than me.”

“They have no excuse as I doubt they lost three days of their marking period to their partner’s mental health,” he replied snidely, but he did get up slowly like it was an abject chore to return to the sofa and open his computer again.

“I did no such thing,” Hob said reassuringly, “I work well while doing double duty as a pillow.”

He considered the papers and stapled-together essays that covered the table for a moment before quickly deciding they were tomorrow-Hob’s problem. For now he would be better served by putting the whole eventful term behind him and enjoying some much-needed rest before the ill-placed academic conference taking place the following weekend.

Morpheus managed somehow to take up the vast majority of the sofa with his sprawl, leaving Hob little choice but to physically move him, take his seat, and then be immediately subjected to said sprawl overtaking him again. He was aggressively refreshing the student portal, laptop tilted up with one hand as he wasn’t sitting up enough to see it otherwise. Eventually he made a soft noise of surprise, shut the computer, and blindly reached for the coffee table. Hob took it from him and put it down safely.

“That’s it, after all that drama, all I get is a ‘hmmm’?” Hob asked incredulously.

Morpheus shrugged and rolled over on his side, scooting a bit closer so he could wrap his arms around Hob’s waist and press his face into his side.

“Top marks, there is little to say for it,” he murmured in reply, “I only took three classes, if my performance was less than that it would have been cause for concern.”

“Morpheus,” Hob said, sternly enough for the other man to look up at him, “You started the term late, after a stressful time, had your setback with arbitration, were attending that outpatient thing every morning, the premier… Not to mention you’re working on your next book. That you managed to do it at all, much less well, would be impressive for anyone.”

Morpheus made a derisive noise at that. “You also endured all those things, new book included, and taught twice as many classes as I attended,” he replied, “So forgive me if I remain unimpressed with myself. I did what I set out to do, next term I will do more, and better.”

“Fine,” Hob said, deciding to let the matter drop for now; he was exhausted and had read so many essays in the last twenty-four hours that his eyes ached. “About that hot shower and bed?”

Morpheus was more than happy to oblige him; happily entwining Hob in his arms under the hot water and rubbing his back with gentle hands until some of the tension began to drain out of him. They curled up in bed just about the time the pub below was closing for the night, the faint music ended and distant voices silenced, which would ensure Morpheus slept well. They had found, in the last couple of months, that if they were staying at Hob’s flat it was best to stay up until close so the noise from below didn’t filter in and haunt his lover’s dreams.

The next week they would spend at Morpheus’s home, however; since Hob had no need to be near the university on a daily basis - what department meetings and staff training that trailed after the semester were at least mostly scheduled for the afternoon. It was as if they knew precisely how exhausted everyone was.

Hob awoke to find Morpheus already awake, propped up on one elbow beside him where he had clearly just been lounging and watching Hob sleep. Upon seeing his eyes open, he immediately leaned over and kissed him slowly and sweetly.

“You certainly needed your rest.”

Hob groaned and closed his eyes again. “No shit. What time is it?”

“Nearly noon,” Morpheus replied, lying back down half atop him now that such an action wouldn’t wake him, “Not to worry, our reservation is not until six.”

Hob had completely forgotten about their dinner plans because it was Morpheus who had made them, for once. Not as if they had any sort of regularity to their plans; outside of mandatory events for Morpheus’s press tour, Hob could count on one hand the amount of times they’d gone out anywhere other than the New Inn, and have fingers left over. After news of their engagement hit the media, a matter which still made Hob cringe a little, they had both been inundated by requests for a statement, and myriad offers which Hob found baffling and Morpheus sifted through with a posh detachment as if it were expected and yet somehow still not good enough for him.

A lot of them were about wedding resources; venues, caterers, obscure yet beautiful tourist destinations offering them a free honeymoon for publicity. Some were more to Morpheus’s tastes; clothing brands and designers offering him garments to wear and be seen, which he often gladly took, and sometimes even did his due diligence of wearing them to a book signing or even a walk in the park just to say that he had. The amount of restaurants so high-end that Hob had never even heard of them that offered comped meals in exchange for their very presence was baffling. Most of those were refused, as the combination of eating and the public were not two of Morpheus’s favourite things, but he had accepted one that had made it very clear that they were willing to accommodate any request - they likely meant dietary, as it had somehow made its way to the internet that he was vegan, which Hob assumed had something to do with the celebrity-watchers who now lurked all too often at the New Inn - but as it turned out they also were willing to accept Jessamy.

Morpheus had accepted the offer for the weekend after marking period was over as a celebration both of them having mutually survived the term, but also for their engagement which Morpheus seemed to have a smidge of regret about not announcing properly. Not regret for the photo, his reaction to that coming up in conversation was a mix between blushing and juvenile snickering, but for not making a grander show of things. His initial insistence that everything could be small and private and that he didn’t have enough friends for a big wedding had quickly diverged into considering a literal fairytale wedding in his home country over the summer - including not only a castle venue but also a private plane to ferry all their friends from England in for a weekend.

Hob had taken to just nodding his agreement, assumed Morpheus would tell him when they were leaving, what day had been chosen, and anything else he needed to know. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, far from it, but a day after discussing how the summer gardens of his family’s castle would be just perfect, Morpheus would have flipped back to having it done legally here in London and never stepping foot in his ancestral home again. Hob had a feeling it had something to do with long talks, in German, with Lucienne where he heard the word ‘father’ come up all too often.

In any case, Hob was not about to say no to a fancy evening out with his fiance - even if googling the restaurant made him flinch, again, at the fact that their only real dates so far that were only dates and not embroiled in anything else were a relatively low-end restaurant of his choosing, and the campus coffee shop followed by walks in the park. Morpheus said he didn’t mind any time Hob broached the subject and Hob truly did believe him, but there was an nagging, insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him it wasn’t good enough. Not that he wasn’t good enough, per se, but that what he had to offer wasn’t. The logical side of him said that was preposterous; Morpheus had more than enough of his own money and if he wanted to go somewhere fancy, they would.

“Plenty of time for a nap then,” Hob said, not at all ready to move yet.

Morpheus laughed softly and tilted his head up to look at him. “For you, perhaps. I will go home, I think,” he replied, “My outfit for tonight was delivered, Dee has it, and I haven’t seen her in over a week.”

“Tell her I said hi,” Hob murmured, “I’ll be over by four.”

“You best be; I need to make you pretty too,” Morpheus said, then leaned down to kiss him again softly before he climbed out of bed to dress and leave.

Hob was swift to fall back to sleep in absence, but by half three he was already letting himself in to the home he shared with Morpheus now more often than not - to be greeted immediately by Jessamy’s happy squawking of the call she’d assigned him months ago. She hopped along the back of the sofa to come as close to the entryway as possible without having to hop down and walk or try to bridge the distance on the wing. Morpheus ensured she flew daily, whether gliding down from the loft or being tossed in the air for a little aid in lift-off to fetch treats in high places, but despite his best efforts she would forever struggle with gaining altitude by herself. Hob approached her and crouched down so she could hop onto his shoulder.

Her noise had alerted Morpheus who learned over the loft bannister, smiling down at him. “She hasn’t said anything all afternoon,” he said as he trotted down the stairs to greet Hob with enthusiasm that belied the fact it had been only a few hours since they’d parted ways.

“You seem in good spirits,” Hob chuckled after Morpheus let him go, “Good news?”

Morpheus shrugged. “I suppose. I was discussing wedding matters with Dee, she and mum are close…. Closer than I am, at least, so she’s working on some arrangements for me,” he said, reluctantly releasing Hob and going to flop on the sofa instead, “How do you feel about the second-to-last Saturday in August?”

“I feel like that’s too soon to book everything; wedding stuff is usually a year or two out,” Hob replied, following him, then upon being glared at added, “You know I’d marry you anytime, anywhere, so if you can make it happen; make it happen. Just confirm that date so I can tell people.”

“You’re correct; but we have both the venue and the food on site and we have truly endless amounts of companies clamouring to provide everything else,” Morpheus said, “We would go ahead as soon as you’re finished with your work responsibilities and do most of the planning from there, so… a couple weeks?”

It was a question that wasn’t really a question; his fiancé would not be travelling alone especially into the lion’s den that was his family home. Hob rolled his eyes but any exasperation was good-natured. His summer plans involved working on his book which he could do from anywhere that had both wifi and electricity.

“Yeah, sure. I just… your father is still fucking threatening you, why do you want to put yourself through this?” Hob asked softly, “You don’t have to hold to any tradition if you don’t want to.”

“That’s just the thing,” Morpheus said, raising his head slightly to meet Hob’s eyes, “I do want to, sort of, I… I dreamed of getting married, as a child, and I suppose the fact that there was only ever a wedding and never a bride in these imaginings should have been a bit of a clue, but I was an idiot, so it wasn’t.”

“Not an idiot, comp-het will get you like that,” Hob said, “I assume daddy dearest didn’t instil in you any other possibilities.”

“No, no he did not,” Morpheus said with a wry smile, “And that’s half the point, really. I am, I think, the first person of my status and peerage to openly flaunt my sexuality, much less marry accordingly. It’s about making a point, I guess. Not merely to my family but other people like me who grew up without knowing it was possible, and to myself, after a fashion. If we marry privately there will always be a spectre over us questioning why; was it to accommodate my issues, or bowing to class expectations? I would not have that. You also deserve more than that.”

“You know I’m happy with whatever you choose,” Hob began, “But I would like to celebrate properly, especially if it makes you happy. I did the small sneaky wedding once and it’ll always be meaningful to me, but El and I didn’t really have anyone to share our happiness with, just us against the world. I have friends now, friends I consider like family who already consider you family whether you realise it or not; I’d have them celebrate with us.”
“August nineteenth, then,” Morpheus replied, and he was smiling even though he was no longer looking at Hob and had gone back to his rather boneless posture, looking up at the skylights. “My father will simply have to deal with a gay wedding happening in his backyard. With the amount of high profile guests who will need to be invited, he’ll have a hard time acting on his opinions.”

“I’m not above tripping an old man down the stairs,” Hob said simply, “If he deserves it.”

Morpheus snickered. “He’ll behave well enough when we’re there, hopefully. I think he’s hard pressed to decide whether he dislikes your working class background or your gender more,” he replied as he fished his phone out of his pocket and held it above his face.

“Telling him the good news?”

“God no, letting Dee know the date is good so she can sort the invitations. It’s a bit soon, but the posh guests will cancel any plans for the event of the season,” Morpheus murmured absentmindedly, most of his attention taken by his conversation with Dee.

“You make it sound like bloody Bridgerton,” Hob groused, but even as he said it he had the somewhat uncomfortable realisation that he was hardly off the mark with that comparison - class politics and court intrigue included.

They discussed a bit more wedding minutiae, and Hob made a group chat with his friends to give them something of a heads up on the matter. The chosen date was cutting it rather close to the start of term for those who were also academics, but at least some of that was mitigated by the offer of a private flight to ferry them back and forth as needed.

Something about Morpheus seemed lighter now, as if stating even a little regarding his complex feelings about his home and family, as they pertained to the wedding, was a weight off his mind. Hob couldn’t relate; his family had always been small and accepting enough and they expected very little of him besides being gainfully employed and not getting in trouble with the law. The strange push and pull of love and hate with people who had clearly hurt him, even if they hadn’t meant to, was something he understood only from media and a few self-help books he’d turned to back in the day. A part of Morpheus still clearly wanted their approval even if his logical side knew he was increasingly unlikely to receive it - the wedding was equal parts bowing to tradition and a middle finger to the whole lot of them. Which, he had to admit, was decently on brand.

As usual when they went out somewhere posh, Morpheus had picked an outfit for him. This time just a slim-cut charcoal grey suit with a burgundy shirt that had the sort of low stand collar that made it somewhat more casual and meant to be worn without a tie. He was learning things, slowly and, while he was entirely certain he could dress himself to his fiancé’s standards, it seemed to make Morpheus happy to dress Hob up - and show him off, but that was his words on the matter.

Morpheus emerged from the bathroom a while later having combed his hair for once and there was something sleek and sharp about him when he did so, accented well by a hint of dark eye makeup. He wore a long wrapped coat over slim grey trousers and slightly heeled boots, the coat cinched tightly at the waist and parted over the sternum in a way that made Hob reasonably certain it was meant to be a dress rather than outerwear.

“Very princess Kate having a goth phase,” he said teasingly, to which Morpheus gave a derisive snort in response.

“Please, don’t insult me; I find that comparison to be cruel and unusual punishment,” he retorted, “Besides, it shows off my necklace and that was most of the point.”

His ruby necklace was the only spot of colour on a triangle of pale skin framed neatly by the lapels of the coat, and was a fair enough match for Hob’s shirt. He was reasonably certain that Morpheus hadn’t actually taken the necklace off since Christmas morning whether it went with his outfit or not, and now he was intentionally choosing them to suit.

“You know you can wear other jewellery, I won’t be offended,” Hob said, settling his hands on his fiancé’s waist before leaning in to kiss him. Morpheus was always beautiful, but there was something especially so about this cold, sleek, public persona that never ceased to do it for him. Maybe it was just the dichotomy between regal fashionista and the man who had bought black throw blankets purely to not be forced into colour when he wore them about the chilly house like a cape.

“This may shock you, but I don’t have any,” Morpheus replied with a laugh, “Nor do I want any, unless something else catches your eye for me. I rarely even wear earrings because Jessamy can’t help herself.”

“Oh yes, our chaperone. I gave her supper,” Hob commented, “I’m sure she’ll think it’s all about her.”

“It is,” Morpheus said as he slipped out of Hob’s grasp to go fetch her, “Did you really think I was showing you off to London’s posh wankers?”

Hob rolled his eyes even though Morpheus certainly wouldn’t see him as he was too busy cooing over Jessamy.

The restaurant felt painfully expensive and Hob had the distinct feeling that if he touched anything it would break and he’d suddenly be on the hook for an astronomical bill greater than his yearly salary. They garnered no shortage of looks as they were led through the restaurant on what he surmised was a rather circuitous route; after all, what was the point of snagging the most exclusive of reclusive patrons if you didn’t get your money’s worth trotting them around?

They were given a table on the second floor, which was something of a balcony that wrapped around the open room below and looked down onto patrons and the dining room’s centrepiece; a sort of modern glass sculpture that glittered even in the dim lighting. The result was that they were both on display to anyone who deigned to look up, but no one was seated within earshot so long as they kept their voices low. Jessamy was wearing her harness and lead but hopped happily to the edge of the short glass balustrade, and Hob wondered if she’d try to glide down like she did from the loft at home. She wouldn’t get far of course, about a metre before bouncing back, but it would probably be hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” Morpheus asked, and Hob had to explain the very Looney Tunes-esque mental image he’d had of the raven taking a swan dive cut short. Thankfully he laughed instead of taking offence on Jessamy’s behalf - he was in a genial mood with the end of term and a month of free time between them and having to leave for Lichtenstein, but that alone didn’t quite explain it.

Morpheus chose a bottle of champagne for them and once they had been served, Hob raised his glass and asked; “What exactly are we celebrating?”

“End of term, my continued survival,” Morpheus replied, holding up his flute of champagne, then pointedly added, “Our engagement.”

“Yes, well, I think those go without saying,” Hob said with a grin, “I celebrate my beautiful fiancé on a daily basis.”

“Flattery.”

“It gets me everywhere.”

That won him an amused huff and Morpheus reached across the table to clink their glasses together. After sipping in companionable silence for a bit, Morpheus reached over to pet Jessamy’s head, scratching gently at her white ruff until she croaked joyfully. He was soothing himself, for… something.

“I did not tell you what had me out of sorts during marking period,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower despite the privacy of their location, “I had a meeting with my family’s legal team, about the hearing. It was a lot to bear and I… it need not be repeated. Despite my worry on the matter, it is good news, after a fashion. His hearing has been delayed for a further six months.”

Whenever possible he avoided uttering the name Burgess or even Alex out loud, which was understandable from Hob’s point of view, if not perhaps entirely healthy. There were a lot of people named Alex out there and he was bound to run into a few eventually. The delay came as a relief though; he couldn’t imagine having to deal with this accelerated wedding planning, Morpheus’s family, his own research project, and the stress and fallout of that. A stay of execution as it were, though sadly not Alex’s. Really it was only kicking the problem down the road but it was something; every additional day, week, or month that Morpheus had with his increased support system meant it would be less traumatic.

All things considered; he had taken the arbitration meeting immensely well - even if Morpheus hadn’t thought so. Unfortunately, the changed date meant it would hit again in the middle of a term when they would now both be entrenched in classes, albeit in different ways. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Their waiter approached for their orders, so Hob held his response until the man walked away again.

“Still a bit of a sword of Damocles there, but it’s good. We don’t need that along with the wedding,” he said, sounding as relieved as he felt, despite his worries for the future, “Any word on whether you’ll have to actually attend?”

Morpheus just shrugged, then sipped at his champagne again before replying. “I don’t know, maybe. One positive is that we will be married by then and I will be able to bring you with for support, presuming you’re willing.”

Hob levelled him with an incredulous stare. “If I’m willing. No, I’m going to throw you to the wolves on your lonesome,” he dryly replied, “Of course I’ll be there, anywhere you need me.”

“Hmm, yes, I assumed so but perhaps I like to hear you say it,” Morpheus murmured, “My knight in shining armour.”

“Oh, does your title retain the ability to actually knight people?”

Morpheus grinned against the rim of his glass, still reluctant to show his mirth in public. “My father can, I think, but respective to our lands and rights, not titled to the country as a whole - you need the ruling family for that,” he explained after a moment’s thought, “I don’t believe it’s ever come up.”

“Well, that’s not happening; he hates my guts,” Hob replied, “But I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

“When time finally puts him in the ground?”

“...Jesus, I wasn’t going to say it like that,” Hob said with a chuckle, “But sure, yes.”

“Pour me another, will you please?” Morpheus asked, pushing his champagne flute toward Hob and the chilled bottle that remained between them on the side of the table. Then he added, “I don’t doubt we can speed up the process depending upon how explicitly we kiss at the altar.”

Hob definitely went a little red at that, he could feel it, and he’d only had half a flute of champagne so he couldn’t even blame the warmth of alcohol. Mostly it brought to mind their rather unfortunate, if still hilarious, engagement announcement. If Morpheus and Dee were to be believed, that had nearly been enough to do the old man in.

Supper was an absolute delight. Morpheus ordered a second bottle of wine, a deep earthy red to compliment their meal, and they stayed slowly sipping it and picking at sumptuous desserts for hours. If the restaurant had wanted exposure, they were certainly getting their money’s worth. Perhaps they would come back here, if they could be guaranteed this sort of private table where they were far enough from others for Morpheus to feel alright being himself. It felt good, strangely normal outside of it being possibly the poshest place Hob had ever been, and he certainly could get used to this.

Their first date out had been similar and it was even more evident now how much the man longed to go out and do things that no one else would deem special, or difficult, but presented a struggle for him. The next day would no doubt be filled with silence and an unwillingness to leave the house, but it was worth it - he’d be fine again by the time Hob left for his conference the next weekend.

Morpheus was more than a little drunk, having had the lion’s share of the wine, and was smiling slightly at Hob with his chin rested on one hand, avidly listening. He was very good at leading questions and Hob had long since shed any concerns about boring him with his research; if he did, his love would say so, but he only cut in to ask a clarifying question before returning to nodding slightly. Whether he retained the information was anyone’s guess, but Hob was more than happy for the willing audience.

They left near to close, and if Morpheus leaned a bit more heavily on Hob’s arm than was strictly necessary, well - he was certainly not one to complain.