ART FOR ART'S SAKE [BxB]

• aestheticism •

CHAPTER THREE: aestheticism

Corey's hands were covered in ink, his black fountain pen scratching notes and reminders into his skin. He doodled drawings, draped around his fingers, circled around his wrists like bracelets.

eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat—

"Sorry I'm late, Miss." A soft Irish accent fabricated at the door and Dorian fumbled ungracefully into the classroom, falling into the seat beside Corey, "Hey." He greeted quietly.

Corey barely acknowledged him, only nodding slightly in recognition. His pen continued its assault on his hand, digging deeper and deeper into his skin. It burnt and stung, but he only carried on, writing lines of nonsense that meant nothing, sketches that resembled nothing.

"Where were you, Dorian?" Miss Safar asked, her arms crossed over her chest expectantly. "You're almost twenty minutes late."

"I'm sorry, I got caught up on the way to school." He apologised. "An old man had a fall and I waited with him until an ambulance arrived. It won't happen again, I promise."

Corey rolled his eyes and suppressed a scoff as the rest of the class cooed, their hearts melting at their beloved rugby player's actions. "Well...that was very nice of you." The English teacher concluded, swiftly moving on with her lesson. "Now, I want you guys to pick out all the key quotes for black imagery from Act two. Work with your partners, you have fifteen minutes."

"Don't do that." Dorian winced, watching Corey's sharp pen carve into his skin. "You're hurting yourself."

"I know." Corey replied softly. Part of him wanted to press harder, watch crimson droplets of blood surface on his snowy skin, fuse with the pen's ink and dribble onto the table. Black blood. So beautiful it would almost be indescribable.

Dorian reached forward and grabbed Corey's pen from him, forcing him to halt his actions.

"What are you doing?" Corey demanded, finally pulling his bright eyes up to meet Dorian's. It was the first time Dorian had properly seen the boy; really seen him.

The prominent freckles kissing his light skin, scattered over his nose. The shallow dimples indented in his cheeks, visible even without the presence of a smile. His jawline, sharp but soft and his defined cheekbones shaping the structure of his pretty face. He was feminine but boyish at the same time, and undoubtedly attractive.

Dorian immediately felt guilty; he didn't know the kid, what right did he have to snatch his pen away like that? "Sorry." He handed it back to Corey.

The boy accepted the pen and placed it back on the table, picking up his copy of the Shakespeare play they were studying and flicking to the second act. He skim read the dialogue, underlining any quotes related to black imagery. He was so fast, so efficient, so...smart. Dorian just watched him work in silence for a few moments before opening his own book.

"So, did you have a good weekend?" He tried to make small talk, tried to get Corey to say something, anything. Even just to hear the sound of his voice, the way he shaped his words and moved his lips. Dorian had always found that the best way to figure someone out was to observe the way they spoke. Confident, reserved, loud, quiet, if they used swear words, slang, abbreviations. Whatever it was, it summed them up. So much about someone could be deduced from the way they talked.

"It was okay." He replied simply, not looking up from his work.

"Did you do much?" Dorian pushed.

"Not really."

While Dorian was struggling to scratch the surface of Corey's complex personality, Corey already had him all figured out. Dorian wanted to be liked, to be loved. He wanted to know what everyone was thinking so he wasn't susceptible to being damaged in the future. He couldn't stand not knowing what was going on in someone else's head, but more importantly, he couldn't stand the idea that someone might not like him. "So, you write poetry, huh?"