It was the weekend again. It was early October and the temperatures were still mild, the leaves just beginning to turn. Dooku was planting shallots and peas in his garden, which would thrive in the cold weather and yield in the winter, as well as garlic, which had a long growing time and would survive the winter to be ready in early summer.
Seth's car had been parked outside Sören's house since Friday evening, suggesting that he was spending the weekend. Dooku didn't like that. He liked it even less when he saw Sören come out to the backyard with hamburgers and hot dogs, and set up the grill.
Here we go again, Dooku thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He glared as he saw Seth give Sören a little kiss. "Lemme know when it's done," Seth said. "I'm looking forward to it." A pause, and Seth sneered. "It's the only thing you know how to make decently."
Sören looked down, wincing as if in pain. How rude, Dooku thought to himself.
Seth went back inside, and Sören turned on his little stereo. He looked agitated as he assembled the hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, and his choice of music - more rap - reflected that.
Dooku was starting to put two and two together that the music seemed like the only outlet Sören had for his stress. And even so, it annoyed him. Moreso when he gave Sören a disapproving look over the small picket fence and Sören's response was to roll his eyes and turn it up.
That did it. Dooku got up, brushed himself off, and went inside. This time he didn't feel like going to the trouble of picking out a vinyl record to blast, he just put on the classic rock station. He figured that would be annoying enough to a millennial. "Kids these days don't know what real music is," Dooku muttered to himself as he hooked up his speakers to the extension cord in the kitchen and rolled them outside.
The classic rock station was having a two hour block of two songs per band; "Tom Sawyer" by Rush was just ending and now "YYZ" came on. Dooku went back to work in his garden, watching out of the corner of his eye. Sören seemed a little annoyed still, but then he surprised Dooku by turning his own music off and seeming to listen as the food cooked on the grill, tapping his foot and drumming with the tongs.
Then Pink Floyd came on - "The Dogs of War" first. Sören surprised Dooku even more by singing along, in a husky, bluesy tenor like that of a R&B singer.
Dogs of war and men of hate
With no cause, we don't discriminate
Discovery is to be disowned
Our currency is flesh and bone
Hell opened up and put on sale
Gather 'round and haggle
For hard cash, we will lie and deceive
Even our masters don't know
The webs we weave
One world, it's a battleground
One world, and we will smash it down
One world ... One world
"The Dogs of War" was followed by "Wish You Were Here". Sören sang along with that, too, and towards the end of the song his eyes met Dooku's as he sang:
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Dooku had chills. Sören had a good voice, and the pain of experience to back up those words. He once again felt for the young man, clearly in a toxic relationship.
After two from Pink Floyd, the classic rock station played Led Zeppelin, starting with "Stairway to Heaven". And as Sören took the now-done hamburgers and hot dogs off the grill, putting them on a plate, Dooku saw Sören's jaw quivering, looking as if he was trying to fight off tears, and at last failed, letting out a sob.
Dooku got up and came over to the picket fence. "Are you all right?"
Sören looked away.
"Why are you crying?"
"Piss off," Sören snapped, tears streaming down his face. He started to walk off, carrying the plate of hamburgers and hot dogs.
"Well, pardon me for caring," Dooku said.
Sören paused. "You don't care about me," he growled. "Nobody cares about me," Sören said under his breath, and resumed walking.
"I do care," Dooku said. "You're a fellow human being, in pain. You're -"
Sören laughed. It was a bitter, derisive laugh. "Don't. Do not even."
"Fine. I shan't." Dooku could feel himself glaring. "Excuse me for giving a damn. I'll save it for people who don't have such a chip on their shoulder."
Sören made a face like he was stung, and Dooku knew he'd hit a nerve. Sören whirled around one last time, gave Dooku a murderous look, and spat out, "Fuck you!" Their eyes met, and Sören turned a little pink and added, "And - and your eyebrows!"
And then Sören went inside, and Dooku just stood there, breathing hard, feeling annoyed with himself for letting this little brat get to him yet again. Then he heard Seth yelling from inside, "Jesus Fucking Christ, Sören, are you crying? You're such a fucking crybaby -"
"DON'T START WITH ME," Sören yelled back.
Dooku went inside. He splashed cold water on his face. His anger with Sören had now transferred to Seth. He had a feeling Sören's attitude problem was probably a direct result of being bullied constantly. It didn't make it right for Sören to take that out on him, but he at least understood why, now.
He sighed. What a fucking mess.