Finding My Way to You

A Long Awaited Meeting

Against his better wishes, Hob was forced to face the light of day once more.

Sweat fell from each and every spot of his body, leaving him drenched, causing his clothes to stick to him like a second skin. He felt frozen in place, the covers making him feel as captured as he had felt in the sphere. All he wanted to do was break free.

His eyes shifted under his eyelids, fear maintaining them closed. It came to the point where he wasn't even sure if the wetness falling down his face came from sweat or tears, or perhaps a mix of both. Little by little, his body became his own, grounding itself as he whispered encouragingly that he was no longer stuck there.

With a shaky breath, he managed to put himself together. The first step to it being opening his eyes, which led to him seeing the familiar sight of his rooftop. No no no!

"Shit, fuck, no!" Hob proceeded to scream, most of the noise ending up stuck in his throat.

Pushing the covers aside, he sat up, rubbing harshly at his eyes.

This wasn't meant to happen just yet; he wasn't supposed to be here already. To hell with whatever being said his time was over, he had to go back right this instant. Ignoring his discomforting state, Hob threw himself back onto the mattress.

The time had no importance, whatever he had for today didn't matter either. Not even the light pouring from his windows affected him, it being easy to avoid when one had their face hidden on their pillow. Hob would force himself to sleep, for there was absolutely no way that he would leave his friend all alone after that exhausting ordeal.

His tears fell harder, soaking the fabric, making it hard for him to concentrate on sleeping. It was a lost case, he knew it to be as such, but he wasn't one to back down. Please please.

He wasn't able to, of fucking course.

No matter what position he took, no matter how hard he tried to empty his head, nothing. Similar to all of his previous attempts, there was just a blockage, his time had come to an end. That concept had never been on his side.

There was one other thing that fought against his goal, that being the haunting image of the reflection in the glass that he saw each time he closed his eyes. There were volumes said between him and the eyes of the other, holding more value than what words would have. In summary, the being had been hurt gravely.

Happiness hadn't even passed through his mind, at having finally gained a glimpse at his face. There was no way to feel it when it was so heavily tainted by the situation. He looked worn down, from the years spent there, the uselessness he felt belonging to himself.

How long? How long had he been down there? Deprived of everything in the cruelest of ways?

The answer was obvious, but even then, he didn't wish to accept it. Even a single year would have been too much, heck, a few hours. No living being should have gone through what he had.

Not even Hob could've gone back to working on creating dreams for mankind. With such treatment, the joy of them would feel flat. Humans weren't worthy of such forgiveness.

And worse of all? That hadn't been what stopped him from making dreams, no, that was due to not seeing a reason to. At no moment had Dream felt anyone miss him, they had moved on without him, creating new things without his influence, creating worse nightmares than what he could think of, having lived in one himself.

It was all wrong, he had it all wrong. Hob couldn't blame him though, no one would come out of something like that thinking well. Seeing the bigger image.

Hob wanted to sob, to contort himself into the embrace of the bed. He wanted to offer all his tears for his friend. To cry for him, to feel for him, take the pain into himself.