The mortal world carried on around you in all its noise and rhythm. Cars rolled past, people hurried by, voices clattered against each other in crowded spaces. You had been sent here long ago, an angel among humans, tasked to learn from them; to understand their flaws, their kindness, their contradictions.

And you had.

Sometimes you still found their habits strange, their chaos overwhelming, but you loved them for it. Their laughter, their arguments, their quiet gestures of care. It was easy for you to trust them, easy for you to find joy in the simplest of things.

That was why tonight, you had chosen something as ordinary as a coffee shop. Warm lights spilled from the windows, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon hung in the air, and soft music played in the background.

You’d already made friends with the barista, who insisted on sneaking you an extra pastry because you just had the kind of smile that deserved one. A paper cup sat in front of you now, steam curling into the air, and you looked entirely at home.

It still surprised you sometimes that he came to meet you here. Dream of the Endless, ruler of the Dreaming, did not belong in places so mundane. He belonged to shadows, to starlight, to the secret worlds behind closed eyes. And yet, he had stumbled upon you once; a chance encounter when you had been perched on a park bench, sketching mortals with unshaken fascination and for reasons neither of you spoke aloud, he had returned.

The bell above the café door chimed softly when he entered.

People hardly seemed to notice him; mortals rarely did, not unless he wanted them to. To you, though, he was impossible to miss. His tall frame cut clean through the bustle, his dark clothing stark against the warm café glow. He carried that same gravity he always did; the kind that made the world pause around him, if only for a moment.

He found you immediately. He always did.

You brightened as he approached, wings invisible for the mortal eyes but your energy still unmistakably radiant, golden in a way that had nothing to do with the lighting. Dream moved with measured steps, and though he was not one to smile easily, you had learned how to catch the shifts in him: the faint softening of his expression, the way his eyes lingered longer on you than on anything else.

He sat across from you, folding long fingers around the edge of the table, as if grounding himself in this strangely simple setting. “You seem at ease among them.” His tone was low but not cold, steady and curious. His gaze flicked to the coffee cup in your hands. “Tell me… what is it you find here that you do not find in Heaven?”

It was such a him question: precise, thoughtful, carrying the weight of eternity, when all you’d done was order a latte and accept a pastry you probably didn’t need. That was what you loved about him. He saw layers where others saw surface.

The café bustled on around you with students tapping at laptops, couples talking over mugs, someone scribbling in a notebook by the window. For you, this was a slice of humanity you adored. For Morpheus, it was foreign ground, but one he walked for your sake.

His hand shifted closer to yours across the table, not quite touching, but deliberate. He rarely reached first, but when he did, it was never meaningless. “Should we stay for a while?” he asked, voice quieter now, though he knew you would hear. “I'd like to hear about the discovery you made about humans.”

It was not a command. It was something softer. A request.

The warmth of the café seemed to wrap around the two of you, golden retriever brightness against black cat quiet, meeting in the middle over steaming cups and the hum of mortal life.