It was Monday the eighth, and Sören and Mark were having another one of their nights off. Sören decided to spend his evening with his best friend, and Dooku was more than happy to have Sören over, making ciulama de pui with strawberry papanași for dessert. Sören insisted on doing dishes, and then when he was still in the kitchen he took the liberty of making hot chocolate for both of them without being asked, a gesture Dooku appreciated, smiling as Sören brought it out to him.
Dooku's elderly, arthritis-riddled cat Beowulf came out for pettings, and Dooku and Sören started a game of chess. Dooku almost always beat Sören but it was still a fun challenge to Sören to try to win against him, and once in a great while Sören did defeat him. Tonight was not one of those nights, but Sören held in for a decent length of time before things started looking grim.
Dooku brought out ice cream for Sören as a "consolation prize".
"You played well," Dooku told him as he sat.
"You played better," Sören said through a mouthful of ice cream. "You won." Sören sucked the spoon before getting another spoonful.
"You kept me on my toes. It was impressive. Moreso because of your age. I wonder sometimes if the youth these days even play chess anymore, or if it's all Pokemons or -"
"It's Pokemon, not Pokemons," Sören said.
Dooku glared and continued, "Pokemon and Grand Theft Autos -"
"Auto."
"Yes." Dooku's nostrils flared and he adjusted his position. "And various other games that have plural objects and have decided they needn't use plural nouns."
Sören almost spat his ice cream. "Don't ever change, Nico."
"So, yes." Dooku gave a small clear of his throat. "I enjoy having you as a chess partner."
Sören's face flushed, remembering his longing months ago that Dooku would take him as another kind of partner. "I like playing chest with you too. Er, chess. Chess." Sören's face got hotter, thinking about that silver pelt...
Dooku was going to bed early, which was just as well to Sören because he was feeling the itch to paint. Having a lot of good sex, such as he was doing as of late, made him feel more creative, and being in "the zone" creatively made him want to have sex. Sören set up his canvas and easel and paints in the living room as soon as he got home, put on music - not too loud because it was evening now - and he began the process of recreating his sketch of Karen in the seaside garden, with oils. He thought that maybe he might like to give her the painting for Christmas, even though Christmas was a ways off.
As with all of Sören's paintings, he could spend hours and even days with the amount of shading and detail that went into it. The hours wore on, it got later, and Sören was only a sliver into what he saw in his mind's eye. Karen was in a blue dress, wearing a crown of seashells, and her platinum blonde hair was much longer than it was in real life, falling to her waist, and Sören had started a cloak of feathers, being reminded of Freyja from Norse mythology who wore a cloak of falcon feathers to fly between the worlds, except Karen's cloak was of swan feathers. Still bare bones, not the detail it would take on as he worked more at it, and he hadn't even touched the background.
Sören could easily pull an all-nighter when he was in the zone like this, but it was approaching midnight and his night meds were making him sleepy. Still, he kept himself going, so he wouldn't lie awake with his brain keeping him up thinking of things to add here and there.
He did go down to his bedroom to change into pajamas, and to splash cold water on his face to make himself stay up just a little longer, do just a little more before calling it a night. Just as he was about to leave his bedroom to head back to the living room, he heard a wordless shout from Dooku's bedroom, and then Dooku called out, "Sören! Sören!"
Oh shit, he needs help. Without thinking about it all of Sören's instincts from med school came roaring back, with Sören grabbing his cell phone in case he needed to call 911, bolting out of his house across the lawn to Dooku's, in his pajamas and bare feet. He started pounding on Dooku's front door, heart racing, breath in a gulp. "Oh god, Nico, please be OK," Sören whispered.
Sören remembered that Dooku had a spare key hidden in the wreath on his door in case of emergencies. Sören began the search for this now, knowing it was on one of the fake birds on the wreath - a dove and two baby birds - but in his panic Sören forgot exactly which one. He got lucky right away, though, pulling the key off the olive branch in the mouth of the dove. Just before he could stick it in the lock, Sören's cell phone went off.
I know when that hotline bling
That can only mean one thing
I know when that hotline bling
That can only mean one thing
That was, of course, Sören's ringtone for Dooku and only Dooku. "Nico?" Sören croaked.
"Sören." Dooku sounded a little breathless. "I'm... I'm fine, Sören."
"Oh. OK." Sören breathed a sigh of relief. "I was about to come in -"
"Oh, no, that's... not necessary." Dooku gave a nervous laugh. "It was... just a dream, that's all."
"Oh. OK, well if you're all right -"
"Yes. Truly. Thank you for your concern." Another nervous laugh. "Good night, Sören." And then Dooku hung up.
Well, thank god for that. Sören put the key back in the dove's mouth and headed back to his house.
As Sören got back in, he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. He'd been on the verge of tears - the thought of anything happening to Dooku filled him with hysteria. As much as he'd lose his mind if Mark left, Sören had a feeling he'd be just as distraught if Dooku died. And that was a fear he could never quite shake, having lost his mother so young... then his sister, in his twenties...
God, get it together. Sören took more deep, slow breaths. But he couldn't stop shaking until he got under his covers and swaddled himself in blankets like he was a human burrito, the desire to do more art gone for the night. He thought of Mark, thought of their passion. Thought of how fully alive he felt, in Mark's arms. It was life he held onto now, gently guiding him into sleep.
_
Dooku seemed weirdly avoidant of Sören the next few days - apart from driving him to and from class, when he was otherwise at least giving the appearance of his usual self, Dooku wasn't offering to have Sören come over, or them getting coffee or something else before Sören's dates with Mark. At first Sören chalked it up to the fact that Dooku did in fact have other things to do, like the gym, Krav Maga, fencing... but even with that in place each week, it still felt like an unusual distance, one that made Sören uncomfortable.
On Friday afternoon on the way back from school, Sören finally asked Dooku, "You OK, Nico?"
"I'm fine." Dooku's brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Well. You know. Since I checked on you Monday night you've just been... kind of weird." And then Sören's heart started racing, remembering the way Dooku cried out, and the panic Sören had felt rushing over there, the worst-case scenarios running through his mind. "Oh god. Nico. Nico. You're not sick, are you?" Sören's mouth made a little "o". "Oh god. Have you been avoiding me because you've got some bad news from the doctor -"
"Oh goodness, Sören, no." Dooku closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "No." He glanced over at Sören with a cryptic look on his face, his eyes a little too bright. "No. As far as I know, my health is fine."
"Nico, you promise me that if that changes, don't do the 'man up' shit and not tell me. I want to know. I want to be there for you -"
"Sören, I'm fine." Dooku gave a nervous chuckle and patted him. Then he gave Sören a pointed look. "I've been... busy. Is all."
You better not be dating anyone. And then Sören felt irrationally angry with himself, considering he and Dooku weren't dating and Sören himself was polyamorous and wouldn't insist on monogamy from partners, only honesty. "Busy how?"
Dooku's chuckle turned into a laugh. "My, aren't we full of questions."
Sören began shaking him. "Nico, you've been avoiding me all week, tell me -"
"As you know, Sören, we're college professors, and have quite a lot to do, or at least I do. And sometimes I take my work home with me." Dooku gently pushed Sören back, since he was still driving. Dooku took a deep breath then and said, "But I should make time for you, my friend."
Sören nodded vehemently. "I've missed you."
"All right. You see Mark this evening, I assume?"
"Yes."
"Are you spending the entire weekend with him? Can you get away for a bit tomorrow afternoon?"
"Jæja, Mark can go do something for a few hours and come back on Saturday evening. Unless you want to hang out with me and him both...?" And then Sören realized he should clear that with Mark first, who was still hemming and hawing about it.
"I'd rather spend time with just you tomorrow, if that's all right? After all, as you know, we haven't seen much of each other this week..."
"OK! Let's get coffee, and... stuff. We'll think of something to do." Already, Sören felt a lot better.
_
And so it was that on Saturday the fourteenth, Sören and Dooku went to Starbucks in the afternoon. Dooku hated Starbucks coffee, saying it tasted burnt, but it was pumpkin spice latte season and Sören liked those very much, and Dooku had a hot chocolate.
"I can't believe it's almost two weeks to Halloween," Sören said.
"I would have forgotten if you hadn't told me."
"You realize that I've been here four years and I still haven't done a proper Halloween? I was still letting the dust settle in 2014, and then 2015 and 2016 there was, ah. Seth." Sören cringed, not wanting to sour the cheerful vibe of the afternoon by thinking about his abusive ex. "I really ought to get on the ball."
"The ball of what?"
"Dressing up!" Sören sipped his pumpkin spice latte. "Some of the teachers and students wear costumes on campus... it'd be fun."
Dooku sniffed.
Sören reached out and slapped Dooku's arm. "You should dress up for Halloween!"
"I... I don't. I've been here since the 1970s and I don't..."
"Oh my god, Nico, come on, try it this once..." Sören started poking him. "I don't want to do my first Halloween all by myself. We can, like... lose our Halloween cherry together."
Dooku almost spat his hot chocolate, turning beetroot.
"Losing our Halloween cherry together, like... Halloween bros. Come on, Nico..."
"Sören... you are how old?"
"Nobody's too old for Halloween! Nobody's too old for fun." Sören frowned. "Part of being an adult is being able to say 'fuck you, I can be silly if I damn well please.' And I do please. This year has been about doing nice stuff for myself, finally. It's just... more fun to have someone to do it with." Mind, gutter. Sören slurped his latte, face on fire. "Come on, Nico, do it with me..." Great. That sounds...
Dooku was still beetroot, looking down. "Er."
"Come on, Nico. Do Halloween with me."
"Sören, please."
"You have to!"
"I shan't."
Sören pouted and gave him the sad puppydog eyes.
A half-hour later they were at a party supply store that had a selection of Halloween costumes. Sören was looking around, feeling mostly uninspired and unimpressed by their selection, and a little grossed out at how sexist and outright racist some of the costumes were.
"This is why I don't do Halloween," Dooku said.
"No, you don't do Halloween because you're an old... stick in the mud." Sören pulled out his phone and did a little research on the Internet, and he and Dooku left the party supply store and went out of town to an actual costume boutique. This one had a much better selection, with far fewer appropriative and objectifying costumes, a lot more variety, and better quality in designs and materials. The prices were upmarket to reflect that these were handmade.
Sören was struck by a Dracula costume, and he looked at Dooku and wheezed. "Oh my god, Nico, you should be Dracula."
"What."
"Oh my god. Please." Sören hung the cape up to Dooku, seeing it was broad enough for his shoulders. "You'd look fabulous." And hot as fuck.
"Shan't."
"Shall."
"Shan't."
"Shall, shall, shallshallshallshallshallshall -"
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose and made a noise. He gave Sören a murderous glare, snatched the cape as fiercely as Beyoncé would snatch a weave, and said, "Very well - one condition. I get to pick out your costume."
Sören folded his arms, waiting for it.
"You are going to be Jon Snow," Dooku said, his eyes narrowed.
"Oh Jesus Christ, like I need to give people even more of a field day with 'HEY IT'S THAT GUY!' 'KING IN THE NORTH!'" Sören narrowed his eyes back at Dooku.
"Do it," Dooku said, "or I shan't be Dracula." He gestured to leather armor with a wolf breastplate and a black-faux-fur-pelted cape. "See, there's even a costume here."
"That cape's all wrong," Sören said. "I'll do it, but... I'm making some alterations to the cape."
That was how Sören and Dooku found themselves at IKEA a second time, Sören buying a black rug. Back at Sören's house, Sören and Dooku trimmed the carpet - Sören made jokes about them "cutting a rug" as music played, making Dooku waltz with him for a moment before getting back to work. Sören stapled the rugs onto the top of the cape once they were cut.
"Satisfied now?" Sören asked.
"Not really, but at least I shan't be ridiculous alone."
Sören gave him a playful swat.