[Morpheus could feel Hob's gaze upon him. Not in a cruel, dissecting way like Burgess. No, this was a softer inquisition, and Morpheus found that while it felt more intimate, he didn't mind it. That was a surprising revelation indeed, as such focus on him when he did not command it often made him feel uncomfortable. It was in fact too easy to feel comfortable in Hob's presence. Even after so long apart and a nasty fight, Hob's forgiveness had helped them slip back into one another's presence with ease.
Though things weren't exactly the same, were they? He wasn't the same. Perhaps Hob wasn't entirely, either. Maybe both their alterations had left room for them to find even more common ground.

He was pausing a bit too long, too lost in his own musings. Musings about the man in question himself, who had asked another and Morpheus realized he'd taken a hair too long in answering.]

The dreams created are for the pleasure of the dreamers. [There is of course the follow up question of 'Why can't they be both?' that Morpheus honestly does not have an answer to offer. It is simply not how he is used to operating.] I suppose finding pleasure for its own sake, outside of fulfilling my purpose, to be... complicated. Is it not for you?

[He took another bite of the toast. Bread, eggs, sausage. Even the beans. Food that had been around for so many centuries now. Cooked differently but not fundamentally changed. A few crumbs fell onto his shirt, standing out against the black, and he brushed them aside.] A walk it is. I am behind on what music is played these days.