CHAPTER TWELVE: art's aim

Sleep itched at Dorian's eyes but he refused to succumb to it.

His phone screen continuously flashed with notifications, vibrating to alert him of a new message. But he ignored it, his nose buried in a book. He'd almost finished 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' and refused to even glance at his phone. His friends could wait, they could wonder a little longer. Let them ponder why he was absent for a second day in a row, he would message them later, letting them know he was okay.

"Sorry." A mumbled voice made him flinch, dragging him back to reality, out of the fictitious world Oscar Wilde had created. "You can have your bed back now."

Corey was stood in the doorway of the living room, rubbing his eyes and trying to suppress a yawn. He was drowsy and intoxicated with tiredness, barely able to keep his eyes open. "It's okay." Dorian quickly assured him, folding the corner of his page over and placing the book on the coffee table. He was sat on the sofa, a blanket draped over his lap and a coffee mug sitting expectantly on the table.

"What time is it?" Corey asked, plopping down onto the sofa beside Dorian, tugging the blanket over himself too.

"Almost two."

"Fuck, I slept all day." He murmured apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Dorian chuckled. "It gave me a chance to get to know my good friend Oscar."

"You finished it yet?"

"Almost. About a chapter left."

"Do you know what I mean now?"

"Art for art's sake." Dorian echoed Corey's words from one of their first conversations.

"It was an aesthetic movement from the nineteenth century. Oscar Wilde was pretty into it." Corey shrugged.

Dorian shifted on the sofa, turning to face Corey directly. "I don't get it. I don't see how you can completely detach yourself from your work like that. How is it possible to write something so meaningful and dismiss it as purely beauty? There's gotta be something of you in your poems."

"To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim." Corey quoted. He didn't even think, the words just appeared in his brain and fell past his lips.

"Yeah, it's art's aim but that doesn't mean you can do that every time. Haven't you ever written a poem and when you read it back you realise how much of yourself you've put into it?"

Smudged words scrawled across crumpled paper fabricated within his mind. The poem he'd written about the boy sat in front of his. His alluringly sinister eyes matched with his lopsided smile. His lips, his touch, his voice, his accent. Him. Everything about him had been twisted into letters on a page and smudged ink on his fingertips.

But that wasn't the only poem he'd written with feeling. His art didn't always exist within itself, detached from any deeper meaning or values. Sometimes it was raw and real and ripped out a little part of his soul.

But he tried to write from aestheticism alone. It was his style and it always would be. Any poem about anything beyond the simple virtues of beauty he merely threw away.

Except for the one about Dorian.

He'd kept that one. Fished it out of his bin and slipped it into his notebook.

"No." Corey lied. "I've never written one with even a hint of myself in it."

Dorian sighed in defeat. He'd failed to crack the hard exterior of Corey's personality once again. But he'd keep trying. He'd try again and again and again. He'd try until he saw that pretty smile resurface and he wouldn't stop trying until the same smile was a permanent feature on Corey's face.

"Are you hungry yet?"

Corey sunk further into the soft cushions of the sofa, pulling the blanket over his shoulders to retain heat. Their bodies were close together beneath the fluffy blanket, and Corey's head continuously lulled to the side with tiredness, threatening to fall onto Dorian's shoulder before he stopped himself moments before. "No, not really."

"You sure?" Dorian asked with concern. "You haven't eaten all day—"

"I said I was fine." Corey cut him off.

Dorian sighed and nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay. If you say so."

"You should get that." Corey's eyes were trained on Dorian's phone sitting patiently on the table, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

"It's only Ty." Dorian reasoned, noting the contact photo blowing up the screen. It was a picture of him and Ty at a Halloween party last year, their arms flung around each other's shoulders, beers clutched in their hands and drunken smiles planted lazily over their features.

"You should let him know why you're not at school. He's probably worried." Corey pointed out.

Dorian sighed in realisation that Corey was right. Corey was always right. He grabbed his buzzing phone and answered the call, holding it up to his ear, "Hey, mate. You alright?"

"Where the fuck are you, dude?" Ty's muffled voice replied. "I've been calling you all morning, I haven't seen you since Saturday!"

Corey watched curiously as Dorian talked to his friend, briefly explaining the situation. He told him about his Mum, about the hospital, about Corey. Of course he didn't mention what had happened with Corey's Father, but just told Ty that he was in a need of a day off. While he spoke, Corey sent Velvet a quick text to let her know that he was okay too. She replied instantly, asking if he needed her to come over.

"...No, it's okay, Ty." Dorian assured him. "I'm fine, I've got Corey here. You've already missed enough school with the amount of skiving you've done this year." He laughed lightly.

Once the pair finished talking to their worried friends, Dorian switched on the TV and asked Corey what he wanted to watch. It only took five minutes of scrolling through Netflix before they found a movie. It was a trashy American romcom but neither were bothered to change it; it was what they both needed, something light and easy.

But the film was interrupted by a knock at the door merely an hour in. The main character had just realised she'd been in love with her best friend the whole time, when Dorian pressed pause. "You expecting anyone?" Corey frowned.

"No." Dorian hesitated and peeled the blanket off of his body, hopping up from the sofa. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Dorian wasn't expecting the sight that awaited him; purple hair pulled into a ponytail and pale green eyes watching him expectantly. "Hi." She smiled softly.

"Leah?" He questioned. "What are you doing here?"

She was in her hockey uniform with her hair tied up like always. Dorian wasn't sure he'd ever seen her hair down and he was certain he'd only seen her out of that uniform at parties. "I heard what happened." She started apologetically. "Ty told me. I'm sorry."

"Shit, he shouldn't have done that."

"No, it was my fault." She argued. "I was worried about you; you never miss school, let alone two days in a row. You hadn't answered any of my messages so I pestered Ty until he told me." Her eyes were sympathetic and her words were guilty. It was clear that she felt bad about invading his privacy the way that she had.

"Oh." Was all Dorian could manage, leaning against the doorframe uncertainly. He mustered a weak, friendly smile but that was about all he could offer at the moment.

"Anyway, I'm really sorry about your Mum, I just wanted to check you were alright. I bought comfort food." She held up a plastic Sainsbury's bag hanging from her wrist.

"Leah, you're an angel." He smiled warmly. "But now's not really the best time."

She glanced over his shoulder curiously before fixing her gaze back on his face, "Have you got someone over?"

"Yeah, actually..."

Her eyebrows quirked up and a smirk made it's way onto her face, "A girl?"

"No." Dorian rolled his eyes. "You know I haven't dated anyone since...well—"

"Since me." She laughed at his embarrassment. "Well, who is it then?"

"Corey. Corey Winters."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "Oh, I didn't know you two were friends."

"Yeah, he's...uh, he's sweet." He shrugged.

"Yeah, and cute." She winked. "Do you like him?"

Dorian's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed red. He was thankful that Corey wasn't in earshot; the living room was right at the back of the house. "What? Why would you even suggest that?"

Leah shrugged, "I don't know. You never specifically said the words 'I am straight', how am I meant to know what you're into?" She scoffed. "Plus, didn't you give my brother a handjob at Sasha Wilson's party last—"

"How the fuck do you know that?" Dorian's eyes widened even further. He was mortified; he'd never told anyone about that before, not even his best friend. It had been a drunken mistake which he regretted immediately.

"My brother. Obviously." She rolled her eyes. "He was super into you back then."

"Leah—"

"Relax, he's got a boyfriend now, he's not still pining after you. And don't worry, I never told anyone, I'm not a total bitch."

Dorian sighed in relief though his nerves weren't completely soothed. "I was really drunk, okay? I didn't—"

"You don't need to justify yourself, Dory." She chuckled. "You think I haven't had my fair share of lesbian experiences? It doesn't mean shit unless you enjoy it."

"Yeah, I know. You're right." He murmured, though his mind was swimming. He'd buried that memory deep in the pits of his mind, locked it up and refused it to ever resurface. And now Leah was plucking the thought from his brain and forcing him to confront it.

"Hey, isn't it weird how both my brother and I have had your dick?" She giggled while Dorian stared at her blankly. "Anyway, can you bloody let me in already? I'm freezing my tits off out here."

Dorian heaved a sigh and nodded, "Yeah. Come on in."