Chapter Text
It's early May, a beautifully warm spring day, not too hot, the glinting sun promising summer already, soon, soon. The city is alive with the enthusiasm of people properly woken from the slumber of winter, with kids, with birds, with flowering trees. These are the reasons Hob chose to walk home instead of taking the bus, even if it'll cost him three quarters on an hour. Everything is beautiful and alive, and he's walking in the middle of all of it, backpack not too heavy, slurping away at his raspberry ice-cream. The day decided to be a treat, so Hob decided to have another one.
Just now he's coming up to the church he drives by every day, but today it had been different, alive, like the rest of the world. He'd only caught a glimpse from the bus, but the windows and the arch of the door had been bursting with flowers, white and red, and the steps had been lined with red carpet. There had been a hint of gold on everything, the vases, the edge of the carpet, the windows. There had been honest to God (heh) banners, hanging down between the windows, flying from poles. The gold of spring sun on pure white and blood red. It had been a magnificent start into his day, lifting Hob's mood into the skies, and he wished the couple that was to be wed there happiness a hundred times as big as his own had been just seeing the place where they were to be wed.
Curious, Hob slows his steps. Maybe they're still there, maybe he can catch a glimpse of them coming out.
What he sees instead is a splotch of black on the red carpet, bowed down on the stairs, crushed under an invisible weight. The man on the steps looks too sad for his amazing tux, crisp and subtly patterned and no doubt tailored directly onto his skin, judging by the fit.
Hob hesitates. Should he? There's no one else around. Just the lonely figure on the red carpet, alone. Shouldn't he? He bounces on his feet exactly once, indecisive, when a soft, almost inaudible sniffle reaches his ears over the din of the cars, carried over by the pleasant spring breeze. Yeah, there's no way Hob is leaving him there like that.
The man doesn't look up as Hob plops down right next to him. His black hair is mussed, sticking out in all directions, no doubt brought into this state by the elegant long-fingered hands that are just now tugging through the silken strands again. From the side, Hob catches a tiny glimpse of the lining of his suit, deep blue and littered with stars.
He also catches a glimpse of the stranger's face, creased with desperation and sadness, streaked with tears. Christ, he's beautiful. The man still doesn't look up as Hob zips open his backpack, digging around until he finds his water bottle, offering it. Only then is he met with crystalline blue eyes.
"You okay?" Hob asks gently.
The stranger's thin, pink bottom lip starts to tremble, as does his chest as another sob wracks through it, and then Hob is almost bowled over as that beautiful, scrunched up face collides with his band-shirt clad chest.
"Shhh, shhhhh," Hob soothes, gathering the stranger into his arms properly. He's gonna be Hob's stranger now, he decides. Making such an ethereal creature weep should be a crime. "'S okay," he says, drawing circles on fine, expensive wool, petting feather-soft hair. "'S okay." There's no need for him to hear what happened. Hob can very well imagine it, some (ugly, repulsive, nasty) person standing next to the man currently sobbing in his arms, saying 'no' when it comes down to it, striding back down the aisle, leaving shattered dreams in their wake.
"You know how my last relationship ended?" There's no real answer, and Hob doesn't expect one. "It was our anniversary, six months no less, half a bloody year. You know what he did?"
The man gently disentangles himself from Hob's embrace and wipes at his eyes with the side of his sleeves. "No," he croaks.
Hob pulls a pack of tissues from his backpack and offers them, too. "I went all out, cooked a three-course dinner, candles, nice outing beforehand, the whole shebang. And right as I put dessert on the table, he tells me I'm too intense. Too much."
A very ignoble snort escapes the stranger, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a tad. Emboldened, Hob rambles on. "He also told me I wasn't even that good-looking, which, fair, but maybe pick your moment? Anyway, I threw him out. Wished he'd said it before dinner, so I could've eaten it all by myself."
"Good," the man rumbles, and maybe that's just what his voice sounds like. A shiver runs down Hob's spine. "And you are not. For the record. I find you to be very handsome, for what it is worth, and if he could not see it after six months, he was either stupid, or blind."
"Thanks," Hob beams. "I'm gonna go with stupid."
Now he laughs, and it's as deep and rumbly as his voice, and as atrocious as the little snort, and so endearing Hob has to brace himself so he doesn't fall in love with the guy on the day of his failed wedding. Well, if Hob guessed right, anyway.
"I was not aware that anything had been amiss," his stranger says, suddenly earnest. "Not in all of our three years of relationship. And just when the chaplain said to speak up or forever hold peace, Alex took out a list." He takes a deep, shivering breath, and chokes out a single laugh. "The first bullet point might have surprised you. It would have been familiar."
"You are kidding me," Hob says, disbelieving. "A list?"
"A list," he nods, and grabs the water bottle at last, taking a deep sip.
"Name's Hob, by the way," Hob tells him, because he just now remembers he hasn't introduced himself.
"Dream," his no-longer-stranger replies, drinking again.
Dream, Dream, Dream, it echoes through Hob's brain, and he's a little struck by the sight in front of him, Dream drinking from his stainless steel bottle, his suit just a tad rumpled, his hair more than, his face splotched and wet. Like an angel, fallen down on the stairs just moments ago. There's a flutter in Hob's chest that tells him to scoop Dream up and nurse his heart back to health. This Alex is a damn fool.
"So. You like excellent food?" Dream asks, wiping his mouth again on the sleeve of his suit. "Because I have a four-tier red velvet cake with white chocolate frosting at home, and no-one to eat it with. And I would rather not be alone right now."