CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: talk

When Dorian returned home from practice, he was caked in mud and his smooth skin glistened with sweat. His uniform was faded from years of use and his unkempt hair was even scruffier than usual. He entered the house to find Corey sat at the kitchen counter, hunched over his notebook, pen in hand.

Corey's hair was damp and he smelt vaguely of coconut and soap. He was already dressed in his pyjamas, a hot chocolate steaming beside him. Dorian watched him for a moment, wordlessly examining him. He looked...cute. His half-dried hair, fresh skin, slightly flushed face. There was an innocence about his appearance; something childlike in his clean fluffy jumper and the way he held his pen.

"Hey." Dorian greeted casually, dropping his kit bag to the floor, "How was the interview?"

Corey's eyes darted up from his half finished poem, meeting Dorian's rugged appearance. His lips parted but no words were summoned. He couldn't speak, he couldn't even muster one simple word. All he could do was drop his pen, leave his seat and march straight up to Dorian, cupping his cheeks in his gentle hands. Without a moment's hesitation, he leant up and connected their lips, pressing his body onto his. Dorian was frozen for a moment before he melted into Corey's soft kiss, moving his lips in sink and clutching onto the smaller boy's waist.

The second Dorian's hands caged him to the spot, Corey pulled back hastily, as if he'd burnt himself on Dorian's hot flesh. His clouded eyes cleared and he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, blinking up at the taller boy in mortification. "S-Sorry." He whispered, taking a step back and grazing his lower lip with his thumb, as if in shock at what he'd just done.

Dorian's brows furrowed, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Corey assured him quickly. "How was training?"

"It was good." Dorian replied hesitantly, trying to catch a glimpse of doubt in Corey's expression, "How was the interview?"

Corey lowered his eyes as colour rose in his cheeks. He leant back against the kitchen counter and nodded vaguely. "It was good. I got the job."

Dorian tried to ignore his peculiar reaction and smiled, "That's great, Corey, well done."

"Th-Thanks." He stammered. "So, what do you want for dinner? We can cook or just—"

"Corey, what's going on? Did something happen?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Corey—"

"I'm gonna cook." He announced, turning around to face the stove, grabbing a frying pan from the cupboard and placing it over the hob. "You should have a shower before dinner."

Dorian strode over to where Corey was standing, hovering behind him, his chest pressed flush against Corey's back. He leant over and grabbed the frying pan, putting it on the counter and turning the stove off. He then placed a hand on Corey's hip and forced him to spin around until they were face to face, their proximity causing goosebumps to rise on Corey's skin. "Can we talk?" Dorian asked gently.

Corey sighed reluctantly and nodded, "Okay."

"Do you wanna start or should I?"

Corey hopped back onto the barstool and took a sip of his hot chocolate, "I guess I will." He murmured as Dorian rested his elbows on the counter, his undivided attention focussed on Corey alone. They were so close, Dorian could concentrate on the little details in Corey's face; his freckles, his eyelashes, the curve of his jawline. The only thing separating them was the high table holding Corey's notebook, pen and unfinished hot chocolate. "What do you want to know?"

"The pills." Dorian breathed.

"They're antidepressants. I've been on them since I was fourteen." Corey answered quietly. "If I don't take them..."

Dorian leant over the table to grasp Corey's small hand in his. Calloused fingers against smooth ones. A rough touch mingled with a gentle one. Even their hands weren't compatible. "What happened outside your house." Dorian filled in for him. "That was because you weren't taking your meds?"

Corey nodded silently.

"And...and what you said...?"

"About the poem?" Corey sighed heavily. "I'm sorry — I submitted it for the competition; it's about you. I should have said something sooner."

Dorian only laughed, squeezing Corey's hand tighter, "Don't worry about it. It's an honour to have Corey Winters write a poem about me." He joked. "Can I at least read it now?"

Corey shook his head, "I don't have a copy of it."

"Right." Dorian's smile only grew. "Because you write everything by hand."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Corey was surprised to realise that a small smile was tugging at the corners of his lips, "Did you want to talk about anything else?"

eat

"No." Dorian lied. "I think that's everything."

Corey nodded and pulled his hand out of Dorian's hold, "You need a shower, I can smell you from here."

Dorian chuckled under is breath, "I'll go now." He complied but stopped himself just as he was ready to leave, "Corey?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to come to a party with me on Friday?"

Corey was taken aback by his request and sat there in silent puzzlement for a couple of moments. His mind begun to spin all over again; what did this mean? People would see them together, people would wonder why Dorian was spending time with him, they would think he was—

"Don't overthink it." Dorian ordered hastily. "Just say yes."

"Yes."

Dorian grinned and headed out the room once again, "And I haven't forgotten about that date." He called lazily over his shoulder.

A smile settled over Corey's lips and he didn't try and suppress it.

The scolding water stung Dorian's face, leaving a trail of hot droplets trickling down his back, steaming from the heat of the shower. His mind wandered as he massaged the frothy shampoo into his scalp. Corey had been completely honest with him, not holding a single thing back. He should have asked him about the notes; he wouldn't have lied. And now, it was just another secret he kept stored away, a secret that was bound to be exposed eventually. And when Corey found out that he's known the entire time, Dorian didn't know how he'd react.

He stepped out of the shower and was hit with a gush of cold air. He cursed under his breath and quickly wrapped a towel around his body, drying himself before pulling on some clothes. Trackies and a long sleeve top, tight enough to display the abs he'd worked so hard to build. When he returned downstairs, the smell of tomato sauce bubbling in a pan stirred his senses and he was suddenly aware of how starving he was.

He grinned when he saw Corey stirring the contents of the pan while the spaghetti boiled in another pot. Dorian glided over and wrapped his arms around Corey's waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Delicious." He commented, nuzzling into the crook of Corey's neck, pressing his lips against his soft, warm skin.

A jolt of tingles shot up Corey's spine and he stiffened, "D-Don't. I'm ticklish."

Dorian's smile twisted into a smirk, "Oh, is that so—?"

"Dorian, I have a pot of boiling water here, don't."

"Fine, I won't, I won't!" He pulled away from the heat that radiated off of Corey's body. "I'll save it for when there are no pots of boiling water in sight!" He promised teasingly. "Can I help with anything?"

"Can you grate some cheese?"

Dorian didn't even need to open the fridge to answer that question, "We don't have any cheese."

"Okay, just get some bowls out then."

"They're all dirty." He replied, his eyes drifting to the sink guiltily. It was piled high with dirty dishes and cutlery, the dishwasher in desperate need of emptying.

"Forks?"

"Nope." Dorian answered. "We might have some plastic ones from my thirteenth birthday party still laying around somewhere."

Corey sighed as he took the pasta off the hob and poured it into a colander over the sink, letting the water wash away. "Do you wanna go food shopping tomorrow?"

"I think we need to."

Corey nodded in agreement. "We can go after school."

"Fuck, I've got training again, remember?"

"I'll wait for you." Corey decided. "Then we can go to the Sainsbury's in town."

Dorian rose his brows, "You gonna watch me play?" He teased, observing Corey from the other side of the kitchen, rifling through the cutlery drawer in search of a fork, "Because if so, try not to get too horny."

Corey rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I think I'll manage."

They ended up eating dinner straight from the pan, using plastic spoons to scoop up the food, hunched over the kitchen counter. But there was something oddly exhilarating about it. Something sweet and soft and domesticated. Something romantic. Something neither boy could quite put their finger on. All they knew was that it was an amazing meal.