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The Fundamentals of Romancing One's Soulmate (String of Fate pt. 3)

Summary: Morpheus learns more about what a soulmate bond with a mortal entails, and finally gets to talk to you.

Word count: 7.2k

A note from the author: I fear I included too much in this chapter, but once I started writing I couldn't seem to stop. Thank you all so much for the love on the previous parts—I read all of the comments and tags over and over again, unable to believe how lucky I am that you all are reading and enjoying this. Like I said last time, I'd love to hear any romance tropes you'd like to see in this story! I've gotten a few really good suggestions that I'm excited to include as we get further into this ride.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading, and would greatly appreciate hearing from you about your thoughts on this!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

He does not mean to end up standing outside the doorway leading to your dream. Yet somehow, Morpheus has found himself here all the same, one hand hovering above the doorknob as he fights a war within himself as to whether he will make the situation better or worse for himself by giving in to what he wants.

In the hours after returning from Destiny’s realm, Morpheus was determined to work as he normally does—diligently and without any distractions. The Dreaming is nearly back to the grandeur and power that it was before his absence, but there was still room for plenty of improvements (improvements that were, unfortunately, put on hold when he became the owner of the key to Hell). Nothing has ever come between him and his responsibilities, his duties; he will not let that happen now.

He started at his personal desk, hoping to respond to petitions from various factions of the dreamfolk hoping for his aid—a group of nightmares requesting a hearing to address infighting that could not be peacefully resolved and a cadre of children’s dreams wanting to discuss a potential takeover of one of the old, abandoned skerries of the Dreaming, to name a few. While other rulers have often complained about having to hear the problems of the denizens they ruled over, it has always been one of the most cherished parts of Morpheus’s job. If he did not have a good relationship with his dreams and nightmares, then there would be nothing of substance for the dreamers to experience when they entered his realm.

No matter how big or small, major arcana or not, all of his dreams and nightmares were important to him, and all of their petitions deserve a well-thought-out response.

Well-thought-out responses he provided, until he reached a petition that involved a few dreams whose specialty is soulmates. This, naturally, caused him to start thinking about you, and suddenly he had lost an hour to thinking about your soft smile and the way that you had looked at him without an ounce of fear—so unlike every other mortal in the pub, who avoided even looking at him lest they flinch at the sight of somebody so obviously Other than they.

That he could be so easily thrown off the tasks he had been working on at the mere mention of something relating to you was mildly distressing, and he decided that putting space between himself and these thoughts was the best course of action. There were plenty of half-finished creations on the Shores for him to continue crafting, after all. With the return of his tools, of his power, of his realm, so too had his creativity returned. He seemed to find inspiration at every corner these days, taking to keeping a small notebook within his pockets to write down ideas as they came to him.

For a time, he was successful at working on his creations. The physical act of creation, of shaping and tweaking and crafting until it was to his liking, was a deterrent against any unwanted thoughts. As he sent one of the new dreams off to explore and learn, he looked through the portal and saw doors leading to other dreams.

It would be all too easy to find one door in particular, a part of his mind suggested. It is, after all, early in the morning in that part of the Waking. Most everybody is asleep, including…

He shook his head to clear the thoughts, but it was too late. He could already feel exactly where your sleeping mind was dreaming, though he knew not if the bond had enhanced his already-existing ability to find any dreamer at any time.

His mistake, he muses as he finally opens the door, was assuming that he could resume work normally. But nothing can be normal now, not when he’s discovered that he has a soulmate.

Morpheus finds himself in the back of a lecture hall, cloaked in shadows and invisible to all as he watches you attempt to teach a class. It’s quickly obvious to him that this particular dream is a result of stress—the walls quake ever so slightly with anxiety, threatening to gradually close in around you as you stumble through your words. Still, you persist with a nervous smile on your face, even as it becomes evident that this is a subject you are unfamiliar with.

Though there is a part of him that is tempted to change your dream to something kinder, he knows that to do so would be to go back on the promise he just made with himself. He could not let this bond, no matter how life-changing it may be, get in the way of performing his duties and responsibilities—chief among said duties and responsibilities, of course, is allowing dreamers to face whatever their minds are deeming important enough to dream about. To you, apparently, that is teaching even when you should be the one being taught.

Up front, your eyes cast over the assembled students, ostensibly to check for questions and engagement. It’s a well-practiced movement, and it should be a routine sweep, but something near Morpheus catches your attention. Your gaze freezes, and you tilt your head curiously.

“Hi,” you call out. “Are you lost?”

For a moment, Morpheus is unsure of who you are talking to. After all, it could not possibly be him—not when he knows that he’s still hidden. Yet, as he stares back at your intuitive eyes, which have once again captured him and made him your devoted acolyte with barely a glance, he knows that logic has no place in this new world he’s found himself in. Apparently, the powers that he has considered basic have no effect on you.

There is no time to ponder the soulmate bond and all that it may or may not affect, not when you tell the class that you will be right back and proceed to start moving to climb the steps towards him. Panic, novel sensation that it is, seizes him; he’s not ready to truly face you yet, to look at you and try to explain the gravity of the bond that has connected you when he does not fully understand such a bond either.

It’s both cowardly and shameful, but there is only one thing that he can think of doing to wrest some semblance of control over his life back from the Fates. Quickly, he raises a hand to end your dream, leaving him back on the Shores where he started.

He’s simultaneously exhilarated and terrified, the two creating a cocktail of compelling emotion that he could easily become addicted to. To be constantly reminded by forces more powerful than he that the soulmate bond is not a figment of his romance-starved imagination, yet faced with the potential implications of having a soulmate (a mortal soulmate, at that) when one is Endless, is perhaps more vexing than even the whole affair with the key to Hell. There is so much unknown about the situation, and he knows that he cannot yet act.

No, first, Morpheus needs to research.

•••

There is nowhere in all of the realms that Morpheus feels more comfortable than in his own. The Dreaming is his, after all; his very essence is the lifeblood that sustains the dreams and nightmares and everything they inhabit. It is the ground that they walk upon, and the very air that they breathe. He has taken great care to ensure that every part of his realm is perfect, to his specifications. It is his home.

At least, that is what he tells himself as he sneaks (him, sneaking!) through the Library, lest somebody discover him and ask questions that he does not yet have the answers to.

It is far too optimistic to believe that Lucienne will be tied up in other tasks—his librarian is, above all, dedicated to her craft. Instead, his plan is to find as many books relating to the topic of soulmates as he can in as short a time as possible, then escape once more to his study so that he can read in peace. By no means is this plan a perfect one, but it does seem like it will be the easiest. The Library may contain every story, both written and not, but it is still his. How difficult can it be to find books?

The answer, he learns defeatedly, is very difficult. He has been wandering the shelves for what is sure to be the mortal equivalent of hours now, with only one tome to show for it. Every time he thought he had finally worked out how the library was organized, he would round a corner only to find that the genres were entirely different from what he had just been perusing. Nonfiction relationships became astronomy just as quickly as science turned to classic Russian literature. It’s mind-boggling, and Morpheus is stuck between attempting to determine which way to turn next or just giving up and taking his meager findings back to his study.

Lucienne, naturally, picks this moment to find him.

“Lord Morpheus,” she says, surprised at finding him, rather than him finding her, which is the usual order of things. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

“No, I am simply…doing some research.” He attempts to sound nonchalant, but can tell by the way that Lucienne pinches the bridge of her nose as she adjusts her glasses that he does not succeed.

“And as your librarian, I can help you procure books that might assist you in your research.”

Morpheus realizes that the cover of the book he is holding is facing outwards just as Lucienne gets the idea to look at what book he’s already found in order to help hone her upcoming search, and he hurriedly tries to turn it in his grasp before she can read it.

“A Beginner’s Guide to Soulmate Bonds?” The amused smirk on Lucienne’s face falls as she reads the title aloud, and she turns her gaze back to Morpheus in confusion.

Coincidentally, Morpheus finds the ceiling of the library to be quite interesting.

The cavernous room goes silent, Lucienne attempting to make sense of the situation as Morpheus weighs the merits of disappearing in a puff of sand.

“Is this…personal…research?” she asks finally, knowing that she must tread delicately.

For a moment, Morpheus is tempted to lie. To do so would be beyond childish, however, and he knows that Lucienne would see right through him and thus think him especially so. Reluctantly, he looks at her once more. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Two days ago, when I was in the Waking,” he admits.

Lucienne hums, nodding. “That would explain the sudden change of weather, then.”

Despite the embarrassing situation he’s found himself in, Morpheus cannot help but smile ever so slightly as Lucienne demonstrates once again that she knows her lord better than almost anybody else. Of course, Lucienne would know that nothing so simple as a visit to an old friend could yield the picturesque climate that had replaced the torrential downpours and thunderstorms the Dreaming had briefly found itself engulfed in.

She glances down at a ledger in her hands that is quickly becoming covered in text. “I’ll admit that I’m not the most well-versed in soulmate bonds, but there are signs, yes? To confirm it as so?” Morpheus nods, and she continues. “You saw a sign?”

“A physical string of fate, connecting myself to my soulmate,” he confirms.

From within her coat, Lucienne produces a pen and makes a note on the ledger, muttering something unintelligible under her breath. “Well, if you’re looking for materials on soulmates, you’re in the completely wrong wing for it. Strings of Fate and Other Signs from the Universe, for instance, is near the entrance of the library.”

“Yes, it appears that I am not…as familiar with the shelving system as I thought.”

“Which brings us back to me asking if I might help you find a book,” she says patiently, humor glinting in her eyes. “Give me just a few minutes to pull some relevant texts.”

“I can help—” Morpheus begins, despite knowing that he would not be able to provide actual help.

Lucienne shakes her head. “That is not necessary.”

She’s already disappearing between the shelves when a thought has Morpheus calling out to her. “Lucienne?”

She pops out once more, waiting expectantly.

“Some books on recent courting rituals would likely help as well, I believe,” he requests sheepishly.

•••

As expected, Lucienne returns with a bevy of books—so many, in fact, that she has enlisted her new favorite helper, Nuala of Faerie, to help her carry them to the large table Morpheus has commandeered as his own.

“This stack—” Lucienne begins, punctuating it by setting down the books she’s been holding, “contains books that cover the basics of soulmates—the formation of a bond, theories on how they come to be, what to expect when a bond has formed, and so on.”

She looks to Nuala expectantly, the faerie setting her own books down far more gingerly than Lucienne, as though she believes that she will be scolded for not having the lightest of touches.

“And these cover courting and romance in the modern age.” Lucienne pulls out a chair and takes a seat opposite Morpheus, Nuala hesitantly sitting next to her. “Shall we begin?”

“What are you doing?” Morpheus asks as Lucienne pulls a book off the stacks.

“Helping you, of course.”

“I did not expect you to be so open to the idea of my having a soulmate, Lucienne,” he cannot help but tease, knowing she feels the exact opposite.

“Do not mistake my interest in a research topic to be an interest in your love life, my lord,” Lucienne retorts, though he can see the fondness in her eyes while she says it. “Are we looking for any particular topics or passages of information?”

It is obvious that she is not going to take no for an answer, and Morpheus decides that he might as well use the extra sets of hands. “A general overview of what a soulmate bond entails, as well as specifics as to how a bond affects each side. And…bonds forged between beings and mortals.”

Lucienne and Nuala look at each other in alarm, the latter asking a question before her fear can catch up to her. “Is—”

“My soulmate is a mortal,” Morpheus confirms.

Lucienne grimaces. “Oh dear.”

“Death and I visited Destiny, who told us that previous assumptions were incorrect. No cosmic harm will come to anybody by pursuing this bond.”

It is obvious that the sentence is unfinished. “But?”

“But mortals do not know about soulmates, which is why I am here.”

“My, we do have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

She flips the cover of her book open, Morpheus and Nuala each grabbing a book of their own and doing the same after a moment.

The pile of books diminishes far faster when there are three sets of eyes doing the reading. The library remains quiet, save for the flipping of pages and the infrequent interjections of the three patrons as each comes across a bit of information relevant to Morpheus’s situation in their journeys through pages.

Unfortunately, much of it is what he already knows: theoretical. Soulmates have existed for as long as there have been beings to seek companionship and love one another, which means that the phenomenon has been studied for just as long. Still, there is no one definitive answer as to how a bond forms, nor is there anything that could be seen as ‘standard.’ Every culture, every pantheon, every realm has its own mythos behind soulmates. Soulmate bonds are unique to every pair, and remain a mystery, even with modern science and its many wonders.

Morpheus is starting to resign himself to having to learn more about a soulmate bond by actually interacting with his soulmate, but Lucienne, still steadfast in the belief that there must be some sort of concrete answer hidden amongst the pages filling the library, has disappeared down the stacks once more in the hopes of finding a book relevant to them. In the meantime, Nuala continues to dutifully read through each book.

“‘Soulmate bonds can be physical just as much as they are emotional,’” Nuala reads from the aforementioned Strings of Fate, “‘with bonded pairs being known to exhibit symptoms such as longing, an increase of thoughts about the being on the other end of the bond, and a need for proximity that rises the longer a pair goes without seeing each other. In rare cases of a creature bonding with a mortal, such symptoms may be heightened.’”

These have been the rare glimmers of information that may actually be uniform, but they are still frustratingly vague.

“Yet another case of something that may or may not happen, I’m afraid,” Nuala says, looking at him apologetically as though it is her fault that there has been little progress.

Morpheus sighs. “I fear that lived experiences are all that lies in these books.”

“‘Tis frustrating to be getting nowhere,” she agrees.

“What does Faerie believe of soulmates, Lady Nuala?” Though she was no longer a member of the Court of Faerie, Morpheus still affords her the title that she deserves, had her queen not forced her into exile.

Nuala smiles. “It’s one of the most sacred bonds across all the realms, of course. Every pantheon and plane of existence recognizes and reveres the soulmate bond, every being hoping that one day they’ll find their own. Humans have made deals with a great many fae in the hopes that they’ll be granted their soulmate. That’s not in our power to do, of course; only fate decides how, when, and if a soulmate is found.

“We’re frequently characterized as tricksters—tales say that we purposely obfuscate our speech to capture humans, or that we lure them back to Faerie so that we can have our way with them for what seems like the blink of an eye, as hundreds of years pass in the Waking. For some, that’s true, but they are the minority. Fae revere the soulmate bond. We crave a love that can withstand all of the betrayal, gossip, and deceit of the Court. A love that cannot be ended on the whims of those more powerful than us, who seek only to have a drama or a tragedy play out in front of them for their merriment.”

“You speak as though from experience,” Morpheus notes.

She dips her head just slightly, the most that she’s willing to acknowledge the topic, whether on behalf of herself or somebody that she cares for. “I think it’s jealousy, if I may be frank. Not even Titania and Oberon have a soulmate bond, though you already knew this.”

“I did?” He did not realize that he did.

“For Fae, at least, a bond would make a party terribly ill if they tried to seek romantic affection from another party.” She trails off, cheeks turning pink as she hints at the…fling that Morpheus and Titania partook in centuries ago.

The brief affair was no secret—not even to Oberon, though he cared not what, or whom, his wife was doing when he had paramours of his own—but after an end so disastrous that Titania closed off Faerie’s border to the Dreaming for a time, nearly nobody was bold enough to actually speak of it.

Matthew lands on the table by Morpheus’s elbow, interrupting what was sure to turn into an awkward conversation.

“So! Soulmates are real, huh?” he says. When he meets Morpheus’s inquiring gaze, he hops backward just slightly. “Uh, Lucienne let it slip. Said you might need a human’s perspective. Well, former human, but still.”

Mere days ago, Morpheus would have shrugged off all of the help that he is currently receiving, but especially the suggestion of a human perspective on any issues in his life. Now? Morpheus will take all of the help that he can get on matters in which he finds himself hopelessly unversed.

“I have never made it a point to fraternize with mortals; indeed, if anything, I made it a point to distance myself from them. And now, I must attempt to…romance one,” he admits.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of Casanova?” Matthew asks. The apparent reference goes over Morpheus’s head, but Lucienne, who has returned with hands devoid of any new books, bites her lip to hold back a smirk. “I heard all of the, uh, talk from your many guests when they were supposed to be vying for the key to Hell.”

Naturally, the many pantheons and realms had taken the opportunity of being guests of the Dreaming to gossip about its Lord. “It has been some time since I partook in a…dalliance with another. Even longer since an actual relationship.”

“Well, what was it like the last time you courted somebody, then?” Lucienne prompts.

Morpheus thinks back to those halcyon days of his early relationship with Calliope, when, for the first time, somebody did not see him as Endless. No, back then, he was simply a man—or, as close as one of his kind could get to being a man—attempting to woo a woman.

“To court a goddess is no small feat,” he begins. “It is a carefully choreographed dance, a chess match between two grandmasters. You are…declaring yourself a worthy suitor, and showcasing your strengths as a partner. Gifts, elaborate declarations of love, heroic deeds in her name. All of these could be given, and still, it was up to the one being courted to decide if these were enough.”

Even now, so long after their marriage ended acrimoniously (though he was glad that their last meeting ended with the promise of finally talking things through), he still holds the glint in Calliope’s dark eyes and the quirk of her full lips as she finally deemed him a worthy future husband among his cherished memories. He earned the right to love her; with his wit, with his power, with his show of all that he could offer to her if only she were to take his hand in marriage. It was just as satisfying a win as when he battled the Old Gods out of his realm, crafting the skeleton of one into his helm.

He can only hope to one day see such a reaction from you.

“Oh, mortals don’t expect any of that!” Matthew remarks cheerfully. “This’ll be easy, then.”

“How would you suggest I approach first courting my soulmate?” Morpheus asks dubiously.

His three denizens ponder this.

“Flowers?” Nuala suggests first. “Humans like flowers, though not as much as Fae, of course. When we court, we usually present beautiful bouquets of flowers every day, each species of flower saying something that our words do not. Yarrow for everlasting love, red tulips for passion, yellow jasmine to speak of the receiver’s grace and elegance.”

Lucienne is next. “The old ways of courting are still seen as rather romantic and chivalrous—many contemporary novels set in a historical time period write about this favorably. Perhaps that would impress your soulmate?”

“Wait, wait, wait, let’s take a few steps back here before we jump straight into grandiose gestures,” Matthew says hurriedly. “Have you actually, oh, I don’t know…talked to each other?”

“We did not…have the opportunity,” Morpheus responds.

Matthew sighs heavily, his beak clacking in disappointment. “Well, I think you should start there. The other stuff—flowers and declarations of love—is going to be very freaky without it.”

Morpheus stares at his emissary blankly. “You believe that we should…talk.”

“Y’know. ‘Hi,’ ‘how’s it going,’ ‘my name is.’ The basics!”

“It is a good idea, Matthew, but it would involve Lord Morpheus somehow coming across his soulmate in the Waking and having to make it look natural,” Lucienne says, leaving off the part where Morpheus would assuredly fail at making anything ‘look natural.’

Matthew has an answer almost immediately. “It doesn’t have to be some big affair! It could be like a romcom, where you two just ‘happen’ to bump into each other! Not–not that I like them, of course. I’m just familiar with them.”

“A ‘romcom’?” Nuala asks.

Matthew looks aggrieved. “Romantic comedy. It’s a genre of books and movies that a lot of people like, but that’s not the point!” He turns his attention to Morpheus once more. “You don’t need to immediately go up to your soulmate and say, ‘hi, we’re meant to be together, please love me.’ Just talk. Get to know each other a bit. I obviously have no clue how it was in other times and realms, but on modern-day Earth, that’s how you establish a solid foundation to a relationship.”

The idea is not a bad one by any means; starting by simply getting to know one another sounds better to Morpheus, too, for whom soulmates and modern mortals are completely foreign. Still, he is not typically in the Waking, which means that he will now have to make up excuses to find himself there—the difficult part of all of this.

“The plan is acceptable,” Morpheus says, surprising both Matthew and Lucienne. “The next time that I find myself in the Waking, I shall make it a point to…say ‘hi’ to my soulmate.”

“Great!” Matthew cheers. “You’ve got this, boss. I have faith in you.”

•••

What Lord Morpheus does not know will not hurt him, Lucienne thinks to herself later as she, Matthew, and Nuala make bets on when the Dreamlord will finally give in and go to the Waking. Nuala, who knows the least about their Lord by virtue of her being new to his service, bets a month. Matthew believes that he shall make it six weeks before finally giving in. Lucienne, having been around for almost all of his doomed relationships, gives it two weeks.

•••

It is fifteen agonizing days before Morpheus can bear being separated from his soulmate no longer.

The books had warned of this, of course. That beings and creatures who bonded with a mortal often found themselves more affected by the physical symptoms of a soulmate bond than, say, a minor goddess who found her soulmate to be a nymph, or a god and a goddess from different pantheons. There was no concrete answer as to why, of course, but the running theory seemed to be that mortals did not have the heightened senses and general knowledge of a bond to be able to feel the effects of a bond and participate in the traditional bonding experience. Thus, the feelings of affection were reflected back onto the being.

Still, Morpheus had not expected to feel this way. He is Endless, after all—so much more than all other species.

But with every passing day, he can practically feel the bond continue to deepen and establish itself as something not to be ignored. It’s still just as frightening and exhilarating as when you saw him in your dream, the prospect of love outweighing the fears of rejection.

Morpheus descends the stairs to the entry hall of his castle, Lucienne trailing behind him as he dictates his plans to her.

“I will be in the Waking for a short time to leave a book with Hob Gadling,” he says, holding up said book. “In the meantime, I leave the realm in your capable hands.”

His immortal friend had long been on the hunt for one of the copies of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that he printed while apprenticing for William Caxton and his printing press in the hopes that he could show off a first edition to one of his classes (without making mention of whose hands actually crafted it), and mentioned to Morpheus that if he came across one, he would greatly appreciate it.

It was fairly easy to locate when one knew which avenues to take—the angel that owns A.Z. Fell and Co. has varied tastes and has been on Earth longer than almost any living being, giving him plenty of time to source books with all of the dedication and impeccable taste of a seasoned wine connoisseur. Matthew had visited him yesterday on the Dreamlord’s behalf, first to inquire if such a book was in Aziraphale’s possession, and to acquire it if so. The asking price was fair for such a piece (Morpheus’s offer of one of Christopher Marlowe’s later drafts of Tamburlaine, complete with the playwright’s notes still on the parchment, Matthew told him, was eagerly accepted), and the raven returned with the requested book in tow without issue.

Now, there was only one thing left to do.

“Is that the only reason?” Lucienne presses.

“Yes,” Morpheus replies a tad too hastily. “It will be a quick errand.”

If rolling her eyes were not improper, Morpheus has a hunch that Lucienne’s would have made a full rotation. “Mhm. And if you just happen to bump into a certain someone?”

“A coincidence,” he assures.

“Of course.” She tries to look unimpressed, but cannot help but smile. “Good luck with your errand, then.”

Morpheus nods and reaches into his robes to produce a small pouch, from which he produces a handful of translucent grains. With a flick of sand, he’s off to the Waking.

•••

If Morpheus were to be honest, he’s not sure that he wants to see you.

That’s technically a lie. He wants to see you, of course. But perhaps from a distance, where you do not know that he is near, rather than face-to-face. He has not yet figured out what to say—if he tells you the truth of who he is and what the universe has decided for both of you, or if he should choose to act as though he is not Endless, lying to you in the process. The fear of rejection also still lingers closely behind him like a specter. Mortals often find themselves immediately unnerved by his (and his siblings’) otherness, making it a point to interact as little as possible. What if that extends to you as well? You did not fear him when you were merely looking at him, but what if an actual conversation proves to be too much?

As he attempts to maneuver through the university’s campus, though, he is starting to believe that he may not see you at all. He intended to meet Hob at his office and leave the book there—Hob did, after all, say that he was welcome to ‘drop by’ at any time. But when he arrives near Hob’s location and finds himself standing in a hallway outside of a door, he takes a peek through the glass to see his friend standing at the front of a classroom and lecturing animatedly—decidedly not the time for an old friend to appear. He shall just have to find Hob’s office the mortal way, then.

As it turns out, this is easier said than done. The university’s campus is fairly large, and the stately buildings make no indication as to the rooms that lie inside. He finds a large map in the middle of an alcove, but it means nothing to him when he does not know which building Hob’s office is in. Still, he holds some hope that, by staring at it long enough, he might divine the answer. Anything rather than admitting to the reality, which is that he is hopelessly lost.

A figure approaches from his left, and he tries not to immediately resort to escaping back to the Dreaming at the prospect of interaction with a human. “Hi! You’re Rob’s friend, right?”

The voice is recognizable right away—how could he ever forget the sound? But when Morpheus turns his head to see you standing right next to him, after so long spent thinking about you and imagining how a potential interaction with you would go, he uncharacteristically forgets how to speak for a moment and can only nod in response.

Your friendly smile falters just slightly, and Morpheus realizes that his outward reaction was probably not an ideal first impression. “Are you…looking for him?”

“I am hoping to leave a book with him, but am unsure of his current whereabouts,” he says, finally managing to produce words.

You glance down at your watch. “Rob’s still teaching a class, but should be done in about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes is not that long—his sister was right when she said that the Endless have all the time in the world—but there is still the matter of locating Hob Gadling’s office, which he is no closer to finding than he was when he first stepped into the Waking.

“I’m actually on my way to his office to drop off a couple of things,” you say, seemingly sensing his helplessness. “I could take you there? If you don’t know the way?”

Opportunity has presented itself, and he would be a fool to turn it away. “That would be much appreciated.”

“Great! This way, then.” You turn back towards your original path, Morpheus falling in step beside you.

It is almost surreal to be so close to you after imagining and longing for such a situation for two weeks. The research he conducted did not lie about how blissful it would feel to simply bask in your presence, and he knows that he would happily follow you to the ends of the earth if only you allowed him to follow this close. When he gets greedy and tries to peek at you, he finds you looking right back at him.

You’re shy as you first introduce yourself, unsure of how to act around this stranger—though he knows that his general disposition is not doing him any favors in this matter. When he asks you a question about your studies, though, he can see that he has discovered one of the keys to your heart. You light up almost immediately, giving him a basic overview of your thesis before he asks yet another question, and you realize that he is truly interested in learning more about this.

He watches, enraptured, as you speak more confidently, hands gesticulating as you periodically glance at him with shining eyes to ensure that you are making sense, that his interest has not waned. How could it, though? He would listen to you talk about the most banal of subjects—the weather, perhaps, or human economics—simply so that he could hear your voice.

But no, he is fortunate enough to get to listen as you talk about something that you are deeply passionate about. To get a glimpse into how your brilliant mind works is a treat. To learn that stories held your interest, to the point that you had dedicated your studies to it? That was proof of divine intervention, proof that your impending romance was written in the stars.

When you realize that you have found yourself in front of Hob’s office, you cut yourself off from talking about your thesis.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” It is clear that you are embarrassed, focusing on finding a set of keys so that you can unlock the door in an attempt to rid yourself of the feeling. “I just get excited to talk about this subject.”

“You need not apologize.” Truly, he hopes that you never again feel embarrassed to talk about anything in his presence, especially something that you care about. “I asked you a question, and I was happy to learn from you. You are, after all, attempting to become an expert in this subject, correct?”

You let out a small, halfhearted laugh, obviously not believing him. “Yeah, I suppose.”

The door to the office is unlocked, and you make your way towards what is presumably Hob’s desk while Morpheus takes the opportunity to look around. Hob has opened his home to Morpheus a few times, and he is pleased to see that the immortal man’s office is decorated much the same; his personal collection, lovingly displayed for himself and others to admire. He smiles slightly at the daguerreotype on the wall, discerning eyes able to pick up his friend’s face amidst the other soldiers.

“Have you ever been in here before?” you ask.

Morpheus turns to look at you. “No. Robert was, perhaps, overconfident in my abilities to navigate the university to find his office when he told me I could simply leave the book here.”

A breath of laughter leaves you. “Glad I was around to rescue you, then, so you could explore a bit. I love his office, it’s like a museum.”

“His home is much the same; a testament to life, created by a man grateful for every minute of his own.”

You consider the statement, a smile forming as you do. “That’s such an accurate description of him.”

Something catches your attention, and you produce a cellular device from your pocket to look at its surface.

“I have to get going. My class is on the other side of campus, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late,” you explain.

Morpheus finds himself thrilled at the regret on your face, neither of you wanting this interaction to end.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of anybody’s pursuit of knowledge,” he says.

“Are you going to wait for Rob in here, or do you need me to walk you out?” you ask.

For a moment, he considers leaving with you, but he would like to see Hob’s face when he sees what Morpheus has brought him. “I shall wait.”

“Okay! I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You rock backwards on your heels, unsure of whether you should say something else before you leave, or if Morpheus is going to say anything in return. His lips cannot help but quirk up at the very human action, made all the more endearing by the fact that you are the human doing so, and your eyes widen in surprise at the sight.

“Bye,” you squeak, turning on your heel and quickly exiting the office. Morpheus can hear your shoes pounding against the floors as, it seems, you run out of the building.

He stares fondly at the space you just occupied before migrating to the window in the hopes that he might catch a glimpse of you. It is not a long wait, and when you do appear, you lean against the wall and bury your head in your hands.

Your abashment, it seems, has only increased, though he knows not why. How could you feel such a way after a conversation that has only served to make him more infatuated with you? He wishes that there had been more time for him to assure you that nothing you had said or done—indeed, nothing you could ever say or do—would lower your status in his eyes. Instead, he watches as a mortal woman appears and begins to comfort you.

Movement sounds from behind him, and Morpheus reluctantly draws his eyes away from you and to the sight of Hob Gadling smiling at him.

“My friend!” Hob greets warmly. “What a welcome surprise it is to see you! What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I found the book that you have been searching for,” Morpheus says, producing the copy of Canterbury Tales from his coat.

Hob’s face lights up as Morpheus holds out the tome, and he takes it gently in his own hands.

“Well, look at that!” He carefully flips the book open—although, thanks to good care and preservation by the previous owner, the book does not show nearly how old it is—and angles it so that Morpheus can see the small design near the bottom of the title page—a simple H and G, with a sword piercing through both letters. “My printer’s mark. I was so thrilled when Billy Caxton told me I got to make one of my very own. It was the first time in my life that I created something, after so long spent being a soldier and a mercenary.”

Hob is silent for a few moments, nostalgia washing over him as he thinks of a life long past. Morpheus tries his best to stay out of his friend’s fond daydreams, focusing instead on the papers you have left on the desk—a copy of an answer key for a test, and what looks to be your aforementioned thesis.

“Thank you for this,” Hob says finally, sincerely. “Truly. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of searching for this on my behalf.”

“It was not nearly the chore you are imagining it to be,” Morpheus assures.

“Still. I owe you one.”

Morpheus smirks. “I am not of the fair folk, Hob. I do not deal in debts.”

“Of course not, though I did once think you one.” This is not a surprise; Hob told him months ago of all the manners of creatures he believed his mysterious stranger to be at one point or another. Vampire, Fae, angel, demon, witch. None of which comes close to capturing all that Morpheus is. “You did me a huge favor, though, and as your friend, I would like to repay it at some point.”

Hob reverently traces his printer’s mark once more before closing the book to place it on his desk and looking at Morpheus once more.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you’re here, but how did you get in?” Hob asks. “I may be getting up there in years, but I know I didn’t leave my door unlocked.”

“Your graduate student granted me entrance,” Morpheus says truthfully.

“Ah, I should’ve known,” Hob responds, very familiar with your kind and helpful nature.

Much the same as you did minutes ago, Hob’s own cellular device buzzes in his hand, and he curses under his breath.

“I wish I could stay to chat, but I have another class. Can I walk you out?”

Morpheus nods his assent, following his friend out of the office and waiting for him to dutifully lock the door before the two traverse down the hallway and towards the exit of the building.

When they reach sunlight once more, Hob attempts again to repay the favor that Morpheus has done for him. “Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do for you in return?”

Morpheus is about to turn him down once more when he realizes that there is something that Hob could do for him, though guilt envelops him as the idea percolates in his head. He would not be using his friend if he were to ask for what he is thinking about. After all, he does enjoy seeing him more often than once a century. Still, it feels slightly…dishonest to lead Hob to believe that there is no ulterior motive to what he will ask.

“I would see you, if you are amenable. Thursday next, perhaps? At…our usual spot?” Morpheus proposes, attempting to sound casual and as though he does not remember that you and your fellow graduate students meet at the New Inn every Thursday.

Hob lights up. “I would most definitely be amenable. Thursday next, then! I look forward to it.”

“I do, as well. Farewell, Hob.”

“Bye, Morpheus.” Hob waves, then turns to head for a different building.

Morpheus turns as well, to find a quiet place where he can return to the Dreaming and count down the days until he can see you once more.

•••

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