"I never really fit in there. So it's not really home."
Home was the Temple, in the Underworld. Home was the cities that never slept. Home was New Orleans and London and New York. Home was where he could act like himself, more human than god, without any reprimand or familial disappointment. It was tiring being a fuck-up to everyone. It wasn't like everyone drew the Zeus card. Somebody had to be the bastard that knew what was going on inside your head, that was good at nothing but imagining.
"But you can't choose your family, right? That's what they say?"
Because there was no way in any universe he'd choose Phoebetor. Or a good ninety percent of his terrifying aunts, uncles and cousins. Moros especially. But Morpheus would feel a little more in his element if his grandfather were sitting in the room, or looming nearby. There was always a safety in that, in knowing that Erebos and Nyx were just around the corner, even if they were going to reign down some kind of disappointment in his predilection for mortal women or some other character flaw.
And without Nanshe here...
Morpheus sighed. "I'm, uhm, I'm having a bout of homesickness."