I'm watching Cunk on Earth and the image I got in my brain was one of retired Dream, new and fragile and trying to get his bearings, and Hob tells him "Let's put on something funny? I've been meaning to watch this one." And he puts on Cunk on Earth, and Hob finds it hilarious (especially when she gets to the medieval bits), right up until Dream, who has been -- unbeknownst to Hob -- getting himself well and truly lathered over the past 40-60 minutes, bursts into tears.
"Fuck," Hob says, and scrambles to get into a better position, the awkwardness of sitting beside someone on a sofa not the ideal way to comfort someone who is, by all indications, in the process of having some sort of horrific existential crisis. "Oh, fuck, Dream, sorry, sorry, I don't even know what I'm sorry for, please stop crying, why are we crying?"
(Hob has tried to cultivate a sense of empathy since the 1700s, and sometimes, like now, he thinks he might have overdone it a bit.)
And Dream, sniffling, red-eyed and tear tracks down his cheeks and snot glistening around his nostrils in a way that wouldn't be charming on any other human except for him, says, "All of the things she is saying are wrong."















