The weekend passed and Dooku took Sören grocery shopping on Saturday; Sören came over to do laundry again on Sunday.
As Sören had a load in the washer and in the dryer, he and Dooku played chess - a game that Dooku was surprised Sören knew how to play, and enjoyed, but Sören explained, "It's a big deal in Iceland. There's not a whole lot to do on those long winter nights except play games. Read." He gave a small, mischievous smile. "Drink and fuck."
Dooku's face burned - he'd attempted to keep his libido at bay the last couple of days but there it was again, thinking of what it would be like to spend the night making hot, passionate love with Sören. Dooku scowled intently at the chessboard.
"Thank you, again, for letting me do laundry at your place," Sören said, taking a sip of hot chocolate.
"You're welcome. Has your landlord given you an estimate of when the washer will be fixed?"
Sören shrugged. "Who knows." Sören looked down and rubbed his nose.
Dooku got the distinct impression then that Sören's washing machine wasn't broken at all. From what he knew about the way Sören's house was set up, his washer and dryer were in the basement, whereas his own were in the pantry. Dooku wondered if Sören was trying to avoid going in the basement, and if it had something to do with Seth. He decided that since Sören wasn't normally in the habit of lying - quite the opposite, Sören was blunt to a fault - and it seemed that he was uncharacteristically making up a story over this, he was doing so out of pride, and it would be a blow to what was left of Sören's damn pride to call him on it. He would let Sören keep pretending, if that was what Sören needed to do to preserve his dignity, or what he thought was preserving his dignity, anyway.
"So, ah, Nico." Sören met his eyes then. "I have something to ask you."
Dooku perked up. He didn't dare hope that his feelings were returned, that maybe Sören would be the one to ask him on a date, sometime, but anytime that Sören said he had something to ask, now, he still did a little dance internally. And he hated that he was doing that even now, feeling pathetic, like a lovesick teenager.
"Tomorrow's Martin Luther King Day," Sören said, "and campus will be closed."
"Yes." Dooku nodded, and took one of Sören's pawns. "Do you have plans?"
"Possibly?" Sören cocked his head to one side. "Back when we were first getting to be friends, before shit hit the fan... you invited me to go to Cannon Beach with you, grab a bite to eat at Tillamook." Sören bit his lower lip. "You think we could do that?"
"We could. As you know, it's winter now, and winter is coming even stronger later this week -"
"I know nothing about winter, Nico. No, I didn't spend the first twenty-two years of my life in the northern part of a country named after ice or anything. Nope, not me."
Dooku glared. Sören stuck his tongue out. That made Dooku's mind go places about what, exactly, Sören could do with that tongue.
"Anyway, it won't snow on Monday, if the weather forecast is true," Sören said. "But if you don't want to go -"
"Oh no, I think it would be nice. The beach shouldn't be crowded on a winter day - I'd be surprised if anyone was there besides us. I think the beach is lovely anytime of year, I've been many times during the colder months." In his mind's eye Dooku saw Cannon Beach - a big part of why he stayed in Oregon. The Oregon coast spoke to his soul. "I'm just surprised to find a kindred spirit in that regard. But maybe I shouldn't be."
"No, maybe you shouldn't." Their eyes met. "I think we're kindred spirits in more than we realize." Sören looked down at the chessboard, and now he took one of Dooku's pawns. "Like... what's that saying, how does it go? 'Like brothers from another mother.'" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
"We are brothers in heart," Dooku said. But if that was the case, his feelings for Sören were sin. A shiver went down his spine.
_
The drive to Cannon Beach was close to three hours one way, but worth it for the scenic view on the way there. They listened to classic rock and sometimes Sören sang along, sometimes he just zoned out, watching the snowy winter forest out the window.
Just the trip there was relaxing and just what they needed. They were both hungry as they got closer, and Dooku took the exit to bring them into Tillamook to the famed Tillamook Creamery. He was intending just to go to the restaurant, but Sören wanted to take the tour of the cheese factory itself, which was open to the public.
"I've been wanting to do this for awhile now, but, like, Seth never wanted to. He thought it was lame," Sören said. "'That's a stupid idea for a date'," Sören said in an imitation of Seth's voice.
Dooku's heart skipped a beat, but of course Sören couldn't be insinuating they were on a date, not even when Sören took his arm. Dooku wouldn't have gone on the tour to watch the cheese being made of his own volition, but here was Sören dragging him along, and unlike Seth, he wasn't annoyed - amused, rather.
"You lead, and I will follow," Dooku chuckled as Sören pulled him.
And as someone who had a lifelong love of learning, Dooku did find it somewhat interesting. As a lover of history, Dooku thought of the way food was made over the ages. The way cheese would have been made in simpler times, without the technology and equipment there was now. He liked artisans who kept the older ways alive, continuing to craft things by hand. And though Tillamook was wholly modern, there was still a feeling of hominess to it as the company prided itself on being Oregonian, a product of Oregon farm country.
Sören had grilled cheese and tomato soup at the restaurant, which seemed rather simple, but Sören explained grilled cheese was his favorite food. Dooku put that information on file mentally, as he had the Tillamook Madame sandwich.
Dooku was correct in his assumption that the beach would be deserted on a day like this; it was just he and Sören on the beach this afternoon. The sky was a steel blue and the shore was a mix of snow and sand; Haystack Rock was capped with frost, and blocks of ice floated in the choppy sea.
Sören and Dooku walked along the shore at low tide, taking in the serenity of the landscape, the ice-kissed salt of the sea breeze. After the way last week had been, this was exactly what both of them needed.
Sören picked up a pebble and flung it into the ocean, watching it skip and ripple before it sank. "I've always loved coming to the sea," Sören said softly. "When I watch the waves I'm reminded that no matter what, life goes on."
As much as touching Sören was torture now, as he pined away, Dooku couldn't help but put a hand on Sören's arm. "Yes."
"I fucking hate platitudes," Sören said, looking out to sea. "One of the reasons why I hate going on Facebook, even though my family's on there so I'm obligated, is because people always spam with those fucking 'motivational' pictures." His fingers made air quotes. "You know the ones, like You have to look through the rain to see the rainbow. Or my faaaaavorite," Sören made a face. "Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody is watching."
Dooku also made a face, and a noise, and Sören chuckled.
"Everything happens for a reason is one I've always despised, myself," Dooku said.
"Jæja, fuck all that shit," Sören said. "Fuck all that positive thinking... if I could just smile my way out of trauma and pain, I would. But nonetheless... the sea has always been a healing place, for me. I burn, Nico. There's a reason why a lot of creative type people - artists, musicians, writers - with bipolar disorder compare it to fire. And there's a reason why I have that water bird, too. The sea cools that fire, when I want to self-destruct." Sören closed his eyes. "You kept me from self-destructing, after the accident. After the rape. I would have said fuck it, given up once and for all..."
Once again, Dooku wanted to take Sören into his arms. Kiss him. God, how he loved his beautiful, tragic rose.
"You helped keep me going. And I'm going to keep on, as best as I can. I'm not going to let that bastard win," Sören said through grit teeth. "Not him, not my uncle, not anyone. The best 'fuck you' I can give them is to survive, somehow. But it's hard, some days. It is so, so, so fucking hard."
Dooku could hear the weariness in Sören's voice. And it seemed, for a moment, like Sören was old. Ancient, even, older than he was. A grief from before Sören was even born, the existential crisis of man, the fire of the spirit always threatening to be quenched.
But here he was. "I know you feel at your most vulnerable, as of late," Dooku said, and Sören nodded. "But you are far, far stronger than you know. And you don't have to fight on alone. I am here for you. You have my friendship." You have my love.
"Brothers in arms," Sören said.
Dooku found himself getting on his knees - the twinge of arthritis in the cold be damned - and he took Sören's hands in his, though even that small touch was too much, desperately longing to pull Sören down into the sand and kiss him until kissing was all that existed.
"Whenever you need me," Dooku said, looking into his eyes, "as much as you need me. I am here for you." He echoed the words he spoke in Tillamook, this time less flippantly. "You lead, I will follow. Even unto darkness, I am in your service."
Sören hugged him, and Dooku was glad he was on his knees, as his body tingled and his cock stirred. Sören rubbed Dooku's beard affectionately and his touch was like fire. When Dooku rose to his feet he took a few deep breaths, and was grateful as the high tide started to come rushing in, making them quickly move back out of the way lest their boots get a washing. The distraction made his body calm down, and he focused again on the sea as they resumed walking, the beginnings of sunset cutting gold into silver.
"That's beautiful," Sören husked, watching the sky and the sea. "Holy fucking hell, I want to paint that." He took out his cell phone camera and took pictures.
"Good. You should paint again."
Sören laughed softly. "Wow. That's the first time I've said anything like that in... months."
"That's a good sign, I think."
"His hold is loosening over me just the tiniest bit, then. He fades... as the day fades." And then Sören recited the Robert Frost poem from memory, which was even more beautiful in his smoky, lilting Icelandic accent.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Dooku swallowed hard. You are gold, my love. Overcome by emotion and needing to not break down and cry, Dooku couldn't resist making the obvious quip, since the Outsiders movie had come out when he was in his thirties. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."
Sören threw back his head and laughed. It was so very good to hear him laugh, where his laughter itself seemed to cleave the sky with gold.