Hello! I want to apologise for my hiatus, but I've been out writing a book with a co-author, and I had to prioritise it. Hopefully, I will be back into publishing more fanfictions now. J 3

Ps: Something I noticed, with many other Dorian Gray ffs I've read so far, is that they base his looks on the movies (it's also a thing that gets me, because he looks nothing like what he's supposed to look like in most of them). So just for clarification, here is what Oscar Wilde described him as, and what he looks like in my story:

"Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely-curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair."

The warm morning light flowed like liquid gold through the light curtains in front of semi-opened windows and a light breeze stirred the air, chasing away the scent of musk and eau de toilette. A pleasant silence lay over the room. It was only broken by the birds chirping in the garden and some traffic in the distance. Minutes passed, but neither of the two men occupying the room, stirred. It wasn't until much later that Basil Hallward's eyes fluttered open and met curious blue ones. They looked much more excited than usually. A beautiful spark that carried all the wonders and beauty of human nature, could be found in those sapphire circles.
"Good morning, Dorian." He muttered sleepily.
"Good morning, Basil!" the boy chimed. "I am very glad you are awake, so we may start on our journey!"
As he emerged from the land of dreams, the artist remembered he had promised him a day by the sea, where the sand was white and soft, and people were few.
"Indeed, my dear boy. We shall leave immediately after breakfast." Slender fingers played with youthful, golden hair. "Did you sleep well?" asked Basil, knowing his lover often struggled to fall asleep in the heat of London's summers.
"Somewhat, but I believe it was excitement that kept me awake last night."
A gentle laugh escaped the older man's throat. "Surely you have been by the sea before, Dorian."
"Never, Basil! My parents never took me there when I was little, at least I have no recollection of it, and my uncle never took me anywhere, that hateful man!" the boy frowned.
"Well, I shall be taking you there today, and we will not leave until Monday, if you so wish."
Gray's eyes glistened with the excitement of the prospect. Somehow, this innocent glance, ended in a game of kissing, by which Dorian was attempting to get his lover out of bed and back into his own bedroom- not the guest room.

An hour and a half later, the couple arrived at Victoria Station with their valets and their luggage, and immediately headed for the train to Bournemouth. Once the train rolled out of the station and they were alone in their compartment, Dorian rested his head upon Basil's shoulder and entwined his fingers with his. "I hope there is a piano at the hotel. I would very much like to play tonight…perhaps after dinner."
"I would be surprised if there was none." The artist replied. "Surely, something can be arranged."
"And if I play, it will be only for you, my dear Basil."
For a moment, he found himself deprived of words. Dorian wasn't usually so romantic- he was had an excellent sense of humour and could be very kind if he chose to be so, but romance did not count among one of his strengths. In fact, even though they were lovers, Basil felt, at times, that Dorian was oblivious to his romantic advances and affections. Then there were moments like these that reminded him of how lucky he was to call Dorian his. Even after a year, he was so enchanted, so fascinated by the man! His beauty was not the only aspect of the boy, Basil enjoyed so much. It was his character. It was his innocence that contradicted so strongly with how aware he was in matters of physical love. How tender and child-like he could be, and yet how cruelly he enjoyed causing pain at times. He could be so terribly unromantic one day, and plan a picnic in the countryside the next. Perhaps it was this curious duality he had about him that made him so wonderful a companion.
"I am honoured, Dorian." He said eventually, unaware of the deep shade of crimson his cheeks had adopted. Even though the boy made no reply, Basil could see, he was smiling happily. It was enough for him to be satisfied. It wasn't long until he felt the weight of a head resting against his shoulder once again. It was different this time. It felt heavier. The artist dared not turn his head, but Dorian's shallow breath told him, his lover was fast asleep.