CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: the pretense of pretending

Dorian ignored Ty's ecstatic grin as he approached their usual lunch table, plopping himself between Leah and a girl from the netball team who used to date Beau Sullivan. The canteen was as loud and bustling as ever, and their table was no exception.

"Good weekend?" Ty rose his brows suggestively.

Dorian kicked him from under the table, "Shut up."

"Something you're not telling us, Dory?" Leah giggled, rearranging her hair by tightening her ponytail.

"No." He rolled his eyes.

"You coming to my party on Friday, Dorian?" The girl sat on his other side piped up. The last time he went to one of Sasha Wilson's party, he ended up getting a little too intimate with a boy.

"Yeah, sure." He smiled. Friday was the day of the next rugby match but Dorian was silently dreading it. He was too mentally exhausted and physically drained to subject himself to so much exercise. But he tried not to complain too much — whenever there was a match, a party followed, and he hadn't gotten drunk in far too long. "Can I bring someone?"

"Sure thing, love." Sasha agreed without hesitation.

"I'm guessing that someone is Corey?" Ty smirked from across the table.

"Yeah, why?" He replied defensively.

Ty rose his hands in mock surrender, "No reason."

Him and Corey had yet to speak about what happened on Saturday. He knew it was a conversation they needed to have, but just not yet. They'd spent Sunday lounging around on the sofa and ordering food they couldn't finish, pretending everything was okay. Things were definitely looking brighter, considering their kiss and their discussion about wanting to be together. It already felt like they'd become closer, but there were still things out in the open, just sitting there and waiting to be confronted.

They needed to talk about Corey's Dad. About Corey's breakdown outside his house. They needed to talk about what Corey had said about his poem being about Dorian, and most importantly, they needed to talk about Corey's meds. And obviously, the notes.

eat

But that could all wait. Corey was back to taking his pills and he already appeared more focused. His Dad was far away, Corey had been reunited with his poems and both boys felt genuinely happy. They could leave all the miserable depressing topics off the table, at least for a little while.

When he entered his English classroom, Corey was already waiting for him, his notebook open as he jotted things down absentmindedly. "Heya." Dorian sunk into the seat beside him, making Corey jump in surprise.

"Shit. Don't do that." He clutched his chest in fright.

"I just sat down." Dorian laughed.

"Well, next time, don't."

"Oh, yeah, good shout; I'll just stand for the duration of the lesson — hover in the corner like a fucking weirdo."

Corey hid his grin and shut his notebook. The rest of the class were still filing in lazily, the teacher's desk empty and waiting. They hadn't done anything since their first kiss — minus the quick peck Corey had given Dorian to shut him up. They carried on as normal, ignoring the undercurrent of romantic and sexual tension lurking beneath their relationship and interactions. Corey wanted to kiss Dorian again, and Dorian wanted to kiss Corey again, but neither felt as though they had the right. Maybe after they'd been on a real date, things would speed up a little, their relationship gaining momentum.

"I've got training after school every day this week." Dorian moaned. It's something they always did before a big game; intense practice. "Are you okay to get home tonight? Or do you wanna wait for me?"

"It's okay. I have a job interview."

Dorian's brows shot up in surprise, "You have a what?"

"An interview. It's at that cafe in town — 'Talia's Tearoom'. I'll meet you back at the house later."

"I didn't know you were job hunting." Dorian commented.

Corey shrugged, acting nonchalant. "I just dropped my CV off at a few places, I didn't expect them to even contact me." Of course, it wasn't as simple as that. He'd given it a lot of thought and decided that he needed some extra cash. Now that he wasn't living with his Dad, he needed to start depending on himself and himself alone. Of course, Dorian had given him too much to ever be able to repay, but he wanted to start chipping in for food and bills, at least. Plus, if something happened and he was forced to leave Dorian's, he needed to know that he had enough money to keep him afloat for a few days until he could figure something out.

"Well, good luck. I'm sure you'll get it."

"Thanks, Dorian."

The lesson didn't allow for them to chat any longer. Miss Safar sprung a timed essay on them and the hour went by in silence and stress, the only sound being emitted from the clock and the scribble of pens on paper. When the bell alerted them of the end of the lesson, everyone sighed in relief, wrote their names on their essays and handed them to the teacher.

"Corey, can I speak to you for a moment?" Miss Safar requested just as he was about to leave.

"Good luck." Dorian grinned teasingly. "See you later." He left with the rest of the pupils until Corey was left alone with his English teacher.

"I read the poem you submitted for the competition." She began.

"Okay." He replied, expectantly waiting for her to reach her point.

"It's very...different to what I'm used to seeing from you. Why the change in style?"

"It's not the style that's different, it's the topic." He shrugged. "Do you not like it?"

She sighed and leant against the nearest desk, "Why not use one of your older poems?"

"Is there something wrong with the one I've chosen?" He repeated his question, adjusting the wording.

"Nothing wrong per say, it's just...it's not..."

"Beautiful?" Corey supplied. "No, I must admit I did stray from the fundamental aesthetic nature from which I tend to write normally. This one digs a little deeper, which I know is something I have been opposed to in the past, but...I suppose I changed."

"It's very personal, Corey." She said. "Are you sure it's the one you wish to submit?"

"Of course." He replied. "You never see the ugly side of infatuation. I think the judges will enjoy the perspective I've taken."

"And the boy this is about..." She hinted at.

"I never used his name."

"You do realise that if your poem wins, it will be read out during assembly?"

"He knows who he is." He assured her. "And the rest of the school...well, we're hardly studying at Oxford, are we, Miss? I'd be surprised if anyone actually works it out."

She let out a deep breath and offered him a weary smile, "As you wish, Corey. I'll send it through this afternoon."

He left the classroom with the pretence of confidence. Though in reality, her worries had soaked through to him. What if she was right? What if the poem was too personal, too close to his heart? What if Dorian got angry when he read it?

He pushed it all aside and tried to focus on getting through the rest of the day. When he began making his way into town after school, his nerves only intensified. He really wanted this job, he really needed this job.

The cafe looked the same as it did the last time he was there, slipping his resume over the counter and asking them to get back to him. It looked like it could have been open fifty years ago and no one would have said a thing. The tables were clothed in frilly pink polka dot patterns and the wallpaper was a cream colour, dozens of pictures hanging proudly on the walls. The framed photos were of pots of tea and mugs of coffee, fluffy animals and children smiling. It was as if the decorator had just typed 'hot drinks' and 'cute pictures' into google and printed the first stock photos they saw, presenting them proudly in frames.

Freshly baked cakes lined the counter on wooden boards and the smell of coffee beans hung thick in the air. The cafe was empty, save a man stood behind the counter, watching Corey with curiosity. He looked to be in his twenties, though his face appeared far older. His stubble was rough and unshaven, tinted silver along with a few strands of his shaggy hair. His eyes were so heavily lidded, it was difficult to even make out the colour. He put on a forced smile and greeted Corey, "Hi! Welcome to Talia's Teashop, what can I get you?"

"Hi, I'm Corey Winters." He introduced himself. "I'm here for an interview."

"Oh, right." His smile faded slightly, but it was still present. "Take a seat, Corey. I'm Arthur. Talia is my Mother, she's been running this place since the nineties." He explained briefly. Corey couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something unnerved him about the man, making him recoil in his seat and wish that he wasn't alone with him. Arthur reached behind the counter and grabbed Corey's CV before taking a seat beside him — way too close. "Quite impressive. A great set of GCSE results and a lot of work experience." He noted. "You're currently studying for your A levels?"

"Yes." Corey replied simply, hesitant about giving too much away. He knew it was a job interview and keeping things to himself defeated the whole purpose of it, but something about Arthur made him reluctant to share.

Arthur chuckled lightly and scooted closer, his leg brushing against Corey's, their elbows touching, "Don't be scared. You're doing great."

"I've barely said anything." He shot back dryly.

"Oh, but your body has." His hand fell lightly onto Corey's knee and slowly started creeping up his leg. Corey stiffened, too scared to move, too confused to know what to do. "Relax, you're doing really well."

Corey gulped as he felt the older man squeeze his thigh as his other hand brushed his frizzy blond locks out of his face. "What are you doing?" He asked thickly.

"What's the matter? You don't want the job anymore?"

"I have a boyfriend." He lied. Of course, it wasn't true, not even close. But he had to do something — anything — to get the man off. Sure, he could just run, but he still wanted the job. He needed money. He needed to help Dorian in any way he could.

"No, you don't." Arthur whispered in his ear and Corey squeezed his eyes shut in disgust. "Don't deny it, sweetheart. You're enjoying this. Easiest interview you've ever been to, right?"

This was the first interview he'd ever been to, but if they were all like this, he'd rather be homeless for the rest of his life.

"Please, I don't—"

"Oh, but you do." Arthur drawled, making the hairs on Corey's back stand on end. His hand shifted until his fingers caressed the inside of Corey's thigh, and he moved his chair impossibly closer, "You start next Saturday." He breathed seductively.

"W-What?"

Arthur pulled away and stood up with a kind smile. "Be here at nine, I'll show you the ropes and we'll get you all set up on the payroll."

Corey's throat was dry and his palms were sweating and he fumbled to stand up, "Th-Thanks."

Arthur extended his hand and with heavy reluctance, Corey shook it, trying not to throw up or have a panic attack before he'd even left the shop.

He swallowed his pride, his dignity, his self respect. All for a job.