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cuubism · 2 years

Text

Derivation

followup to Complex Mathematics

----

“Dream,” calls Death, coming through the front door of their flat, “it’s two in the afternoon, if you’re still asleep I swear to God—”

She skids to a stop in the kitchen, grocery bags swinging in her hands.

“Oh, hey Death,” greets Hob, casually, from where he’s standing at the stove… cooking? He’s barefoot, hair unkempt, t-shirt and jeans loose and rumpled.

“Uh,” says Death, then collects herself enough to keep walking, depositing her groceries on the counter. “Hi, Hob?”

Death doesn’t really invite people over to their flat. Dream doesn’t like it and she does try to respect at least some of his wishes. It’s because of her he doesn’t live alone in the first place, so it’s the least she can do.

(Although if he could get it together enough to manage even a semblance of a functional human life without continual supervision, neither of them would have this problem in the first place.)

So someone being here is… unexpected, to say the least.

Hob looks up at her with a smile, but there’s some tightness to it, as if he’s not sure if she’ll be upset with him being here. She isn’t, of course. It’s not like Hob is some stranger.

She is confused, though.

“Need any… help there?” she asks, sitting at the kitchen table. What is he cooking, anyway? It looks like… crepes?

He chuckles, shoulders relaxing. “Nah, almost finished. You want some coffee? Tea?”

Still feeling knocked askew, Death says, “Sure. Coffee’s great.”

Hob hands her a mug, black, because of course he knows how she takes it. He’s just… like that. How someone like that actually managed to squirm under her brother’s defenses is still a mystery, but Death is glad of it.

She’d had the fleeting thought, the first time Hob had mentioned running into Dream, before he’d even known he was Death’s brother – “met the weirdest bloke the other day, why is it always the weird ones that are the most compelling?” – that there might be… something. That his sheer determination to be fascinated with Dream, despite Dream’s continued efforts to make sure no one got close enough to become fascinated, might at least get her brother to socialize and get out of the house.

Hob and Dream were complete opposites, of course. Hob’s interests were varied and diverse – he and Death had met by bonding over obscure historical trivia that no one else knew nor cared about, after all – while Dream was myopic to the point of fault; Hob got out and socialized and engaged in activities while Dream kept to himself unless he was forced to be somewhere; Hob was cheerful and engaging and Dream was… well… Dream.

And yet.

“Sorry for just… being in your flat,” Hob says with a tiny laugh.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Death says sagely, and Hob flashes her a caught-out sort of look, but not without amusement in it.

Death isn’t blind. She’d sussed out Hob’s developing feelings for her brother pretty quick. He was quite possibly the only man insane enough to have feelings that got stronger over time, instead of fracturing the first time Dream sent a withering glare his way. Whether Dream would ever get with the program had been the real question.

She hadn’t thought in a million years that Hob would get him on the same page this fast. Clearly, he has Dream-whispering powers she hadn’t thought possible.

Except.

“Wait, is he—”

“He’s fine,” Hob says quickly, and Death lets out a relieved breath. It’s the only other reason Hob might be randomly in her flat in the close-to-morning hours. If something had happened. “Still sleeping, though. Creature of the night and all.”

Death laughs. “He’s not a vampire.”

“No?” Hob says with a grin. “I’ve never been totally sure.”

The door to Dream’s bedroom creaks open. Oh, Death thinks, sipping her coffee. This will be interesting.

“Hob,” Dream groans, voice still rough with sleep. Death hears him coming irritatedly down the hall before she sees him. “It is early and you are being loud.”

“It’s two p.m.,” says Death, just as he reaches the kitchen, a horrible, gleeful grin on her face.

Dream stops just at the threshold of the kitchen doorway, swaying forward with the force of it. He stares at her, and Death sees the minute thought of fuck flash behind his eyes.

It only makes her laugh. “Come on. I’m only going to make fun of you a little. What are big sisters for, if not that?”

“For leaving me alone,” Dream grumbles. Hob steps over and presses a cup of coffee into his numb hands, then wraps his arms around him, swaying him a little with it, kissing his cheek. Death thinks she hears him murmur good morning into his skin. He gets a tiny smile out of Dream for his efforts.

Death watches with wide eyes. Is this… her brother… allowing a hug without being bribed into it?

Oh, oh, this is excellent, this is delightful.

He crumples into a seat beside Death at the table as Hob returns to the stove, plating his crepes, or whatever they are. Dream’s hair is flattened on one side by his pillow, and a complete mess elsewhere. He’s wearing a sweater that definitely does not belong to him.

It’s the best thing that Death has seen in her entire life. She’s going to buy Hob dinner for weeks.

“So,” she says, with barely restrained glee, leaning on the table and propping her head in her hands. “This is a development.”

Hob shoots her a smile. Dream shoots her a murderous glare.

Hob sits down at the table, passing them both plates of crepes. Death digs into hers. They’re delicious, layered and full of strawberries and cream. Dream, meanwhile, stares at his plate like the concept of food personally offends him.

Hob pokes his arm.

Dream picks up his fork.

Death grins around her next bite of crepes.

“So…” she starts again. “Seems like you two had an interesting day yesterday.”

“Yeah, Dream solved an iconic maths problem,” Hob says, sidestepping her real query with a shit-eating grin. “How many years did that go unsolved, Dream?”

“Eighty-five,” Dream grumbles around a mouthful of crepes. He slants a look at Death. “Please, do not ask.”

A startled laugh jumps up the back of Death’s throat. “Did I just hear a please come out of your mouth? Have I stepped into an alternate universe?”

Dream just keeps staring at her, gaze hard, but with a pinch of anxiety at the corners of his eyes. Wow, this really matters to him, enough that he wants to protect it from even Death’s good-natured probing.

This thing with him and Hob, whatever it is, is new and fragile, at least in Dream’s eyes. And Death knows well the way emotions challenge and weigh on her brother.

She relents, laying her hand on Dream’s upper arm and meeting his eyes in reassurance. Come now, you know I’d never truly try to upset you. “Talk to me sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, relaxing, and turns back to his crepes.

Hob watches them, bemused but fond, not questioning them. But he takes Dream’s hand on the tabletop, running his thumb back and forth over his knuckles.

Death takes a sip of her coffee and smiles into the mug.

------

She corners Hob in the hallway as she’s on her way back out to work. He leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, casual and easy.

“Is this where I get a shovel talk?” he asks.

Death scoffs. “If anyone needs that, it’s Dream.”

Hob laughs, sharp and surprised. “Well. I guess I’ll count myself lucky. I can imagine your kind of shovel talk, and it’s terrifying.”

It’s sort of gratifying to know she can be intimidating when needed. “In that case, we definitely don’t need to have that discussion. I’ll let the imagined me do the talking. But in all seriousness, Hob, it’s not needed. I know you.”

Hob tugs at his ear, fidgeting under the compliment. His gaze drifts automatically back towards the kitchen, where Dream is still sitting, out of earshot. Then he flashes Death a guilty little grin and whispers conspiratorially, “I’m kind of obsessed with him, you know.”

Death smiles. “I’m aware.”

Dream is categorically obsessed with him as well, Death has heard about it at length – but she’ll let him admit that to Hob himself.

------

When Hob returns to the kitchen, Dream is still sitting at the kitchen table, deliberating whether he should eat the rest of the crepes. On the one hand, Dream is not generally in the habit of eating regularly. On the other hand, it would certainly make Hob happy if he did so.

This, his feelings for Hob, this… relationship, such that it is – it is a far more complicated problem than any mathematical proof.

Dream is not… good at relationships. But it’s already becoming far too tempting to let himself pretend this one won’t end in fire like the others.

Hob wraps his arms around Dream’s shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of Dream’s neck. He’s very physically affectionate now that he feels he’s allowed to be so. Dream can’t help but soak it in like he’s been out in the cold and Hob is long sought-after warmth. He tips his head into Hob’s temple.

“Is it really so horrible for your sister to know about us?” Hob murmurs against his skin, stubble scratching Dream’s jaw.

“No,” says Dream. Death cares, he knows, and he trusts her – a rare thing. It’s just— “I merely want to… think about it. For myself, first.”

Hob is… Dream had meant it when he’d said Hob was stymying. He is hard for Dream to wrap his mind around, and his own feelings for him even more so. He’s not like Dream’s previous romantic entanglements. He makes Dream feel… settled.

“Ah, keep it in its little bubble, I see,” Hob says, and Dream nods. More teasing now, Hob adds, “Keep the problem in your head until you can solve it.”

Unlike so many others, Hob understands. But not because he feels the same. It's because he listens, and believes what Dream says about his own feelings, whether they make outward sense or not.

“Yes,” says Dream. “You know I do not care to work aloud.”

Hob steps around the chair so he’s facing him, and holds Dream’s face between his hands. He looks softer and more rumpled than Dream is used to seeing him, and an echo of the heat of Hob’s bare skin as he held Dream through the night flashes through him. Dream tips his face up to meet his gaze.

“This matters a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Hob says, thumbs stroking back and forth over his cheeks.

Dream hesitates, then nods. The admission is worth it for the way a brilliant smile spreads across Hob’s face. He has a mesmerizing smile; his eyes literally sparkle. It’s completely unreasonable.

Hob kisses him, still smiling. Dream doesn’t know how to reciprocate that kind of outward expression of feeling, so he doesn’t try. He just kisses Hob back.

“God, you’re so pretty,” Hob says, when they’ve separated. He runs a hand through Dream’s hair and it flies up in all directions.

“Am I?”

“Mmhmm. Your eyeliner’s all smudgy right now, though.”

Dream pouts, and Hob laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s cute.”

Dream studies him. The scattered swoop of his hair, still disheveled from sleep, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his broad shoulders, the grounding warmth of his hands where they still hold Dream’s face.

“Pretty is not the right word for you,” he decides.

Hob laughs so loudly, just pure shock and glee, and— ah. This is another one of those instances when Dream has said something unintentionally insulting. Hob never seems to take true offense to it, though.

“What is the right word, then?” he asks, when he’s calmed down.

“Vital,” Dream tells him. “It has two meanings, as you know. Full of life. And—”

“Important,” Hob says, smile softening.

“Necessary,” Dream corrects. “To me,” he adds, in case that clarification is needed.

Hob keeps smiling at him like that, and Dream ducks his head. Hob kisses his cheek. “You’re just a sap deep down, aren’t you?”

“I resent that,” Dream says, but doesn’t move him away.

“You resent everything,” Hob replies. “Kiss me.”

Dream lets Hob drag him to his feet and into another kiss. Hob holds him in his arms, swaying him back and forth. Which one of them is the sap, exactly?

He lets Hob do it, though. Pulling away from Hob’s touch is an effort Dream’s not capable of at the moment.

“I think we should keep working on this problem,” Hob says. “Give you some more time to figure it out.”

“Oh?”

Hob tugs him backwards, grinning. “Didn’t make enough progress last night, I don’t think.”

Dream follows him with slow steps, raising an eyebrow. “You are very mathematically inclined at the moment, Hob.”

“Oh, love, you have no idea.” Hob smiles at him, warm and teasing, eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s far more effective at getting Dream's heartbeat to tick up than any attempt at seduction would be. “You have no idea just how mathematically inclined I am right now.”

“Perhaps not,” Dream admits, voice low. He squeezes Hob’s hands. “But I would like to find out.”

#this is like. unnacceptably sappy. it's too much #physically hurt myself with how enamored dream is with hob in this #ack #dream when hob smiles at him: i'm gonna die help #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #death's name is still death bc honestly who cares i dont #maybe it's a nickname or like her gamer handle or something who knows XD #my writing #complex mathematics

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