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Hob gasped some desperate breaths between the cool water hitting his face, which was burning hot from the past forty-five minutes he had spent on the pitch. The board showed a draw, one to one, and the game was not going quite as they had hoped for. Fawney’s defense was supposed to crumble a lot quicker under their relentless attacks, but so far their defenders were doing a fantastic job of forcing Dream and him out of position, making it almost impossible to get a good flank towards Dream or vice versa. None of their direct attacks had worked so far, and no free-kick had found its way into Fawney’s goal.What they really needed right now was a corner. Hob was well known for his headers, his jumping height rivaled by few others in the world, while no one else knew how to prepare a shot for him quite like Dream did. When Hob managed to blink through the water in his eyes, he saw Dream staring at him from halfway across the field. Their eyes found each other easily, as they always did during a game. There was something about Dream that made Hob aware of his presence, his piercing blue eyes on him. (That something might just be the crush he had developed for his teammate and best friend of two years, but Hob was nothing if not a master of ignorance. They were friends, and only that, at least as long as Dream didn’t say otherwise. If that ever changed, well. Hob would gladly give his friend whatever he asked for.) Once their gazes locked, both of them knew what their next attack would be after the break. Force a corner, abuse Hob’s superior jump-height and finally get that lead against the Riggers. Dream nodded, once, and let his head fall slightly to the right. Right side corner. With a last gulp of water, Hob made his way back to his position on the field, waiting for the ref to announce the start of the second half. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, louder than the fans cheering them on from the sidelines, but not louder than the sound of the whistle cutting through the air.They didn’t immediately get their chance. The Riggers were attacking with renewed energy, a fresh player in their offense wearing down Ken and Cori by the minute. But then, in the fifty-first minute, Matthew managed to get the ball from one of the mid-fielder’s, quickly passing it to John, while Dream and Hob were making a run for the penalty area. A glance back showed that the ball was already being passed to them, a high shot from just behind the halfway line. Hob accepted it with his chest, then swiftly turned to dribble it towards the goal. One of their defenders tried to block him, but Hob, instead of trying to get past him and towards the goal, simply shot the ball against his shin and thereby got a right corner for the Fiddlers. Part one of the plan was successful.Hob threw a grin and a wink into the direction of the defender, Alex Burgess, who only stared back at him with a frown. There was no time to analyse that look any further though, as Dream was already jogging towards the corner point and preparing his shot. His friend’s eyes were on the goal, not on any of the players, but Hob knew all too well where Dream would be shooting. They had done this a thousand times in training, knew each other’s passes better than anyone else's. When the whistle once again cut through the air, Hob ran from his spot behind Burgess, thereby successfully freeing himself for a header. He jumped, just as the ball came in from above, and with a final push the ball soared for the goal, the angle impossible to stop for the goalkeeper. But just as his feet were about to touch back on the ground pain shot through his head from the right side, the surprise making him miss his landing and hit the ground with a pained groan. His vision was turning and twisting worryingly as he tried to blink through the black coming in from all sides. Fans and players alike were shouting around him, most of them in ecstasy, some in anger. Hob was not entirely sure where the shouts were coming from; from above, beneath or before him, but they were so loud. Sure as hell wasn’t a good sign, especially not with the nausea now overtaking his senses. He pressed his teeth together against the feeling and tried blinking some more to stop the world from spinning before his eyes, just to see blue eyes staring down at him with obvious worry once he finally managed. The lighthearted grin he wanted to throw at his friend quickly turned into a grimace as his head began to pound at even the slightest of movements. “Hob,” He heard Dream’s low voice over the ever-present chorus of cheering fans, and it felt like a warm balm soothing his aching mind. “Hob, can you hear me?”“Yeah,” His voice was little more than a groan, but Dream probably still understood him. Gods above, but his friend really was beautiful from this angle. All untameable black hair and marble skin and eyes like the endless skies above. Perhaps his best friend was not really a person at all, but rather a painting or statue, come to life. He was Greek after all, so maybe he had just escaped one of their museums one night and now they were missing their prettiest marble statue. He was named after a God, so perhaps it was one of the Sleep God’s depictions that he sprang from. “Do you know that you look like a Greek God?”Well, fuck him, that was certainly one thing to say to your best friend. Thankfully, Dream merely raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk stretching over his lips. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if it's probably the concussion talking.”It most certainly was not, but Dream didn’t have to know that. Probably better that way, Hob had different problems right then. “I think I might throw up.” That was apparently enough to force Dream into action, as he quickly raised a hand to call the medical team onto the field. The worry was back on his face, something that will never fail to make Hob’s heart ache. He remembered all too well, when Dream had still played for the Riggers, the looks of arrogance and indifference he had always faced Hob with on the field, the smug satisfaction when Hob had been fouled by one of their awful defenders. On more than one occasion Hob had had to leave the pitch, with injuries much worse than a simple concussion, and all Dream had done was smirk and feign disinterest. To now be granted his care and affection was more than Hob had ever imagined. The Dream he knew now was just so sweet. Hob would have never believed that beneath that exterior of arrogance and smugness Dream could be such a loveable and caring human being, and yet here he was, lying beneath his watchful gaze and knowing that his old rival would fight anyone who came too close to him. He felt safe when Dream was there, even if the man’s fists had once given him a black eye. Funny, how time could change people. “Don’t pass out on me, Robert.” Hob heard Dream’s voice above him, and he had to blink his eyes open again to look at his friend. He hadn’t even noticed that he had closed them. Or that the nausea was slowly settling back into something more bearable.“I would never, dove.” he answered, but he could feel his words slur together and his eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. Blasted concussions.“I will kill Alex the next chance I get.” A tired laugh escaped Hob at the murmured statement from his friend and he blindly reached to his side to pat Dream’s knee. He missed and ended up hitting his shin, but it’s the thought that counts, right?“No murder on the pitch, love, we’ve talked about this.” There was no answer to that, but Hob could make out a scoff on Dream’s face which made him snort softly. “How about you win us this game and bring me some Gyros on your way back instead?” “You’re terrible, Kollitós.” His friend whispered, fondness clear in his voice.They ignored the approaching medical team for a moment longer, sharing a long look before Hob would have to be carried off the field. There was fear in Dream’s eyes, almost invisible beneath his carefully crafted mask of indifference. Fear for Hob’s health, for one, but Hob knew that was not the full extent of it. Playing against his old club alone, facing his old teammates on his own, without Hob by his side. The possibility of failure, of losing this match which was so important to him, to disappoint their mates and their fans. Dream was always bloody terrified to disappoint. But Hob knew he would not. Didn’t even know if he could. Dream always delivered when it came down to it, his crippling anxiety spurring him on and on, way past any healthy limits. Sometimes Hob wondered what would happen the day Dream failed for once; if it might break the one thing his friend still had left for himself. If it came to that, Hob would be there to build him back up. To remind him that failure was not the end, and that it would never ruin Hob’s trust in him. Which in turn reminded Hob that he could place some well-earned trust in Dream’s hands right then and there. Dream’s eyes widened comically as Hob took off his own captain’s armband and wrapped it around his arm, patting it in a friendly manner. “Hob-”“Shhh, love, trust me. This is your game.”Dream looked about two seconds away from crying, his lower lashes shining ever so slightly in the afternoon sun. They weren’t sad tears, just emotional ones. Both of them were well aware of the message this was sending, allowing Dream to be the team’s captain for the first time in a match against his old club. A Fuck You, as clear as these assholes deserved. And Hob trusted him to show them up, to send them back home in pieces.If anyone could do it, it was Dream.Hob gave his arm a last squeeze as the medical team started blocking his view on his friend, preparing to move him onto a stretcher. It was the last Hob saw of Dream before he was carried off the pitch. But that was alright, because they would see each other again at the hospital, right after Dream kicked the Riggers’ asses. -There was a knock on the door of Hob’s hospital room an astounding twenty minutes after the game had been supposed to end. Astounding, because the stadium was about twenty minutes away from the hospital. So either Dream had learned how to teleport, or he had skipped the dressing room completely in order to see him. Hob decided it would probably be best not to think too hard on that second option, lest his heart might actually skip out of his chest.Instead, he called out for Dream to come in. And come in he did, sweaty and out of breath and shaking, excess adrenaline still pumping through his system. He was still dressed in his jersey, shorts and even football boots, confirming that he had indeed run from the pitch directly to the hospital, after playing a full ninety minute match… Gods above, but Hob really adored this man. In the blink of an eye Dream rushed across the room and threw himself into Hob’s arms, breathing hectic breaths into his neck and grasping the hospital gown between them like a lifeline. Hob was helpless to do anything but wrap this ridiculous man into the tightest hug he could possibly manage. Eventually, Dream’s heavy breaths turned into sobs and then into tiny sniffles, tears flowing freely in the safety of their embrace. Hob was so proud of his friend for allowing this, for trusting him enough to hold him in these moments when everything came crashing down. It had taken them a while to get to this point, for Dream to understand that his emotions were not a weakness, but an inherent part of him which could make him even stronger. He wasn’t the man he was despite of them, but because of them. Old Burgess had done a great job of convincing him of the opposite, and sometimes Hob wished he could still strangle the fucker for what he had put Dream through. Not that it mattered much, the man was already six feet under, exactly where he belonged. Still, it might bring Hob a small measure of comfort to kick the dead man’s body.“You are thinking.” His friend murmured into his neck, voice hoarse from crying, successfully distracting Hob from his violent daydream. “What are you thinking about?”“Disturbing the peace of the dead.” he murmured, simply, before placing a kiss into Dream’s sweaty hair. “Might even be worth the criminal charges.”A pinch to his side had Hob yelping and Dream laughing into his neck, the awful grating sound of his best friend’s giggles filling Hob’s chest with indescribable warmth. There was nothing quite like hearing Dream laugh, really laugh, without fearing judgment. Just the thought that such a wonderful human being had been shamed for experiencing and expressing joy in his own unique way never failed to break Hob’s heart a little bit every time. How could anyone hate this laugh, when it was so precious, so sweet and innocent? Hob didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand the so-called fans the Riggers had, nor did he understand that bastard Roderick Burgess. And even if these people were in the past (or in Hell), Hob couldn’t help the anger he still felt on behalf of his best friend every time he remembered the way Dream had forced down his laugh, had apologised for delighting in a situation. Never again. Hob squeezed his friend tightly against his chest, closed his eyes to soak up the joy and warmth radiating off of him with appropriate greediness. Appropriate, because he didn’t just kiss this infuriatingly adorable man stupid, even if he really really wanted to. So actually, he was holding himself back here. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself.A knock sounded from the door, which had Dream’s head shooting upwards in interest. Still, he didn’t move from where he was draped over Hob, much to the other man’s delight. Thank God he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor, else it might have made all his holding back utterly useless with how his heart was racing over this simple display of trust. Dream knew he was welcome, that his affection was welcome, even in the face of strangers. He knew Hob would protect him, and would stand by his side. Always. “Come in!” Hob called, voice breaking ever so slightly. If Dream noticed, he didn’t comment. The door opened, and in came, well, everyone. The entire team, lead on by Cori and John, filtered into the tiny hospital room, arms overflowing with take-away boxes that smelled of garlic, thyme and oregano and all the other spices Hob had come to associate with Greek cuisine, his favourite ever since Dream had stepped foot into his life. He let out a groan as the smell hit his nose, his stomach rumbling in interest. “I fucking love you guys, did I ever mention?”“Once or twice,” John smirked, patting Hob’s shoulder where it poked out from beneath Dream. “You scared the shit out of us with your little stunt, Hobert.” Merv remarked from where he had already monopolised the single chair stood to the far side of the room. His tone was rough and grim as ever, but an edge of concern was lodged somewhere near his constant frown. Hob felt oddly touched. “Don’t you worry about me, old man, it needs way more than a little concussion to knock me out. After all, you would all terribly miss my voice if I stopped talking for a whole five minutes.”Cori chuckled by Hob’s other side, sitting cross-legged on the floor and unpacking their food. “I’d be worried if anything ever managed to shut you up for more than a second, Robbie. I have a feeling not even knocking you out would be enough. Though who knows, perhaps it’s worth some consideration if we might have silence during training for once.”Hob simply grinned at Cori, knowing full well that his mate loved to hear him talk the most out of all these people. On more than one occasion he had called Hob in the middle of the night to talk to him for some hours, saying it helped him with falling asleep after a hard day. Every jab was in good humour, and Hob delighted in Cori’s pout when he stretched a bit in order to ruffle his hair. From Hob’s other side, a comforting hand on his shoulder, Gilbert, their trainer, cleared his throat, catching their attention.“Robert, in all seriousness, I request that you take at least two weeks off for your recovery. I do not wish to see you anywhere near our training facilities until then. A head injury is nothing to be trifled with, and I will not allow you to endanger your health any further on my watch. Once the doctors have given their okay after that we will see to get you back on the field.” Gilbert’s eyes were warm and caring, filled to the brim with the same softness he always held for this team and its players. They were his wards, and he the father figure a lot of them had been lacking before they came to Fiddler’s Green. He cared for them, in a position where not many other people would, and had thereby gained their respect, trust and loyalty. It was with that feeling in mind that Hob nodded, obediently, knowing Gilbert wanted the best for him. For all of them. “I was due a vacation anyways,” he quipped, which had the other men chuckling to themselves. They all bloody hated vacations, sitting still for days on end. But he would not be contrary to Gilbert. Instead he squeezed Dream once more, his weight on top of him calming in its consistency, and pressed a kiss into his hair, simply because he could. And, well, perhaps also because it made Dream nuzzle closer to him. This was where they belonged. He grabbed one of the boxes Cori had unpacked and smiled at his teammates. “Now, tell me how the rest of that game went guys, you know I hate being left in the dark.”And if the rest of the day went down in cuddles, laughter and tales of dramatic plays then, well. Hob felt right at home.