My Dear School Senior - 3. Chapter 3 The most familiar stranger

The hug did not last long.

Richard let go and straightened his clothes, looking a little self-conscious.

It was only then that Tate had a chance to take a closer look at Richard.

The Richard he remembered had always held his head high, his shoulders straight, meeting people's eyes without hesitation whenever he spoke.

Back then, there had been an almost stubborn pride about him.

But the man standing before him now was slightly hunched.

His shoulders curved forward, and his hands kept drifting to the front of his shirt, smoothing fabric that was already perfectly flat.

Before speaking, he seemed to check Tate's expression first.

Even when he smiled, there was something faintly eager to please about it, as though he worried that whatever he said might not be interesting enough.

Tate suddenly realized that Richard seemed to have grown accustomed to making himself into an utterly ordinary middle-aged man.

So ordinary that he could easily disappear into a crowd.

If Tate hadn't caught sight of that familiar face earlier, he might have walked right past him in the hall.

The thought made his heart sink.

"You look great," Richard said with a smile.

His eyes traveled from Tate's jacket down to his shoes, and for a short moment, a flicker of like envy crossed his face.

"Looks like life's been treating you pretty well."

"Can't complain."

Tate tried to keep his tone casual.

"How about you?"

Richard shrugged.

"Same old story. Same as usual. Got married, got divorced. Later dated others, but none worked out. "

He gave a small laugh.

"Work hasn't been going too great lately, either."

Tate looked at him.

"What happened?"

"Got laid off."

Richard said it almost casually.

"Worked for the same company for over fifteen years. Then last year, they suddenly decided they didn't need me anymore."

He let out a soft sigh and gazed into the distance.

"Turns out finding a job these days isn't exactly easy."

Tate didn't answer right away.

He wanted to ask whether Richard was struggling financially, whether he had anyone to turn to, whether he was even still living in Chicago.

But then it occurred to him that those questions might only embarrass Richard.

So instead, he simply said,

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ah, it's fine. There actually weren't that many people at the reunion. I heard quite a few others haven't been doing so well lately either. But I guess they weren't as cheeky as me, so they didn't show up. Another senior I used to know even told me not to come. He said these reunions are always full of people who've done well for themselves. And now that I'm here, I guess he was right.”

Richard waved a hand dismissively and continued.

"Anyway I've got plenty of free time now. Guess that's one way to look at freedom."

He laughed.

Fine lines had appeared at the corners of Richard's eyes, and his face had grown more mature. Yet its familiar contours remained unchanged.

But when he smiled, his eyes still narrowed slightly, revealing the same unmistakable elegance. For a moment, Tate could almost see the eighteen-year-old Richard again, the boy who had always seemed capable of overcoming anything.

Tate listened to him in silence, his eyes gradually filling with tears. He took a deep breath and slowly lowered his head, trying to compose himself—or perhaps simply to hide his emotions.

Twenty years had passed, and so much about Richard had faded.

His proud posture, his youthful swagger, and that look of someone who thought the world belonged to him. Only that smile remained.

Suddenly, Tate found himself wanting more. He wanted to see more of the man Richard had become, to discover everything that time had changed.

And before he could think twice, he extended a direct invitation.

"We should hang out sometime."

Richard seemed a little surprised.

"You've got time?"

"Of course. Besides, I could use the chance to help you unwind a little."

Richard lowered his head and thought for a moment.

"Actually... there's somewhere I've always wanted to go."

"Where?"

Richard didn't answer right away.

He looked up at Tate.

There was a hint of hesitation in his eyes, as though he were trying to figure something out.

"A gay bar."

Tate froze for a moment.

Richard immediately laughed.

"Don't get me wrong. I used to be so busy with work that I hardly had any time for fun. But now, if you're willing to come with me, I'd really like to go check it out. I've just always been curious."

He slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I've never been to one before. And I've never really had the nerve to go alone."

Tate looked at him.

Richard seemed relaxed enough, but his eyes never left Tate's face.

He seemed unusually concerned about how Tate would react.

It suddenly occurred to Tate that perhaps this wasn't just a casual suggestion.

"What do you think?" Richard asked.

"Sounds good."

Richard smiled.

"You don't think it's weird?"

"Why would I?"

"Two middle-aged guys going to a place like that."

Tate smiled too.

"I'm pretty sure there are plenty of middle-aged guys there."

Richard finally burst out laughing.

The sound of his laughter suddenly lifted Tate's spirits.

After a moment, Richard's laughter faded.

He looked at Tate, his voice a little softer now.

"So... would you come with me?"

Tate didn't answer right away.

He looked at the man standing before him, dressed in an old cardigan, his hair slightly disheveled, looking almost awkward.

Twenty years ago, Tate had imagined countless times what it would be like if Richard asked him out.

To see a movie together, go to a bar, or simply wander the streets with nowhere in particular to go, but every day after school, there was always an endliess pile of homework waiting for him back home.

And now, Richard was the one asking.

Tate had no idea what he really meant by it.

Was it curiosity?

Is he trying to get a reaction out of me?

Or was it something that had taken twenty years to finally become possible?

"Of course," he finally said.

Richard looked at him.

"Really?"

"Really."

A smile slowly spread across Richard's face.

There was a sense of relief in it, as though something he'd been worried about had finally been settled.

"Okay," he said.

"Next Friday, then."

Tate nodded.

"Next Friday."

Richard took out his phone, and they exchanged numbers.

Before they parted, Richard gave another slightly self-conscious smile.

"Never thought you'd still want to hang out with an old guy like me."

Tate felt a slight tightening in his chest.

He wanted so badly to tell Richard that the only reason he'd come tonight was to see him.

To tell him how desperately he'd wished for an invitation like this twenty years ago.

But in the end, he simply reached out and gave Richard a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"It was really good to see you, my old friend."

Richard looked up.

This time, he didn't immediately make a joke.

Instead, he looked Tate straight in the eyes.

"Same here," he said.

Tate gazed at him, suddenly feeling that those two simple words meant more to him than all the compliments he'd received at the reunion that night.

On Friday afternoon, Tate sent Richard a text asking him to send over his address.

A few minutes later, a location appeared on his phone.

Tate glanced at it.

It was in a rather run-down neighborhood on Chicago's West Side.

At 7:20 that evening, Tate's Bentley slowly turned onto the street.

The road was riddled with potholes, and puddles reflected the harsh lights of a convenience store. Several battered cars were parked along the curb, one of them with plastic sheeting covering its rear window. Paper cups and plastic bags lay scattered around the trash cans, while layers of graffiti covered the walls.

Tate slowed down.

It didn't take him long to spot Richard.

Richard was standing beneath a streetlight, wearing the same dark brown cardigan he'd worn the last time they met, with an old jacket over it.

He seemed to have made an effort to tidy his hair, though it hadn't done much good. His thick, old-fashioned bangs were combed to one side, but a few stubborn strands still stuck up.

He stood rather stiffly, his hands hanging in front of him, occasionally glancing down at his phone.

Less than two steps away from him, a dead bird lay by the curb.

It was a gray pigeon, one wing spread at an unnatural angle. Its feathers were soaked with dirty water, and a few tiny downy feathers lay scattered around it.

Tate pulled up in front of him.

At first, Richard didn't react.

Not until the window slowly rolled down and Tate leaned out.

"Hey, Richard. Looking for someone to fool around with?"

Richard looked up and broke into a delighted smile at the familiar words. It was something Tate used to say to him all the time back in high school.

"Tate?"

Then his gaze shifted to the car.

First, the emblem on the hood.

Then the long, sleek lines, the gleaming paintwork, and the soft glow of the interior lights.

The smile on his face faltered for a split second.

Tate noticed.

It wasn't simply surprise.

It was more like the look of someone who had suddenly realized that everything he'd assumed about something had been completely wrong.

"Hop in," Tate said.

"Oh, sure."

Richard hurried over.

He reached for the door handle, but hesitated slightly, as though afraid he might break something if he pulled too hard.

Once he settled into the passenger seat, he glanced down at the soles of his shoes.

Tate noticed how carefully he kept his feet together, making sure his shoes didn't touch the light-colored trim along the bottom of the door.

"Sorry. The roads around here are pretty rough."

"Don't worry about it."

"This car of yours..."

Richard glanced at the dashboard again.

"A Bentley?"

"Yeah."

"It's beautiful."

Tate smiled.

"Thanks."

Richard reached for his seat belt but couldn't immediately find the buckle. He fumbled around for a moment, then felt Tate lean closer to help him fasten it.

"I've only ever seen cars like this in movies."

He laughed as he said it.

Tate laughed too.

But Richard's smile soon faded, and he turned to look out the window.

The car slowly pulled away from the curb.

"So..." Richard cleared his throat. "Do you go to places like that often these days?"

"Places like what?"

"Gay bars."

Tate smiled.

"Once in a while."

"Once in a while?"

Richard turned toward him, a familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face.

He searched for a few pictures on his phone and held it out for Tate to see.

"Wow, these pictures are pretty wild."

Tate took a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

"That place looks pretty sketchy."

He glanced over at Richard.

"Since when did you start talking about stuff like this?"

"Oh, come on, Tate. You can be honest with me."

"Honest about what?"

"We're almost forty, for God's sake."

Richard laughed.

"You don't have to worry about me giving you a lecture like I used to."

Tate glanced over at him.

"You really did love lecturing me back then."

"Because you were always pulling some stupid shit."

"Like what?"

"Like telling those dirty jokes in math class."

Tate couldn't help laughing.

"You actually remember that?"

"Of course I do. You got me kicked out of class with you once."

"Hey, you were the one who laughed first."

"Because your joke was so damn stupid!"

Richard burst out laughing.

Tate laughed too.

For a moment, Richard's face came alive with the same youthful expression he'd worn back in high school.

But as their laughter faded, his eyes wandered once again to the luxurious interior of the car.

Richard spoke up again.

"So, are you still into those crazy parties?"

"Every now and then."

"What about women?"

"What about them?"

"You know what I mean."

Richard grinned.

"Still as popular as ever?"

Tate kept his eyes on the road.

"I'm divorced now."

"Oh. I am sorry. But that doesn't mean you've been living like a monk ever since, does it?"

Tate laughed out loud.

Richard seemed relieved to have finally gotten a laugh out of him.

He quickly added,

"Hey, I don't mean anything by it. I just figure, at our age, there shouldn't be anything we can't talk about."

Tate was quiet for a moment.

"I've been with men before."

Richard's smile faltered slightly.

"Oh."

He nodded.

"Well, that's good."

Silence settled over the car.

Tate didn't press Richard for anything in return.

After a while, Richard smiled again.

"You know, I always thought you were the kind of guy who'd try anything."

"Including this?"

"Yeah."

Richard turned to look out the window.

"That's actually why I thought of asking you to come out tonight."

Suddenly, Tate understood.

Richard hadn't simply picked an old classmate to accompany him to a bar.

He'd chosen Tate because, in his memory, Tate was still that bold, fun-loving boy who never cared what anyone thought of him.

Maybe Richard had assumed he'd enjoy it.

Maybe he'd even hoped Tate would take him along to do some of the things he'd never dared to try when they were young.

The thought filled Tate with a strange warmth.

Tate let himself believe Richard still thought of him as someone he could get up to mischief with. Someone could even share his innermost thoughts with, without feeling the need to guard himself.

Tate was about to say something when Richard spoke again.

"Though I guess I might've been wrong."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

Richard gave a small smile.

"It's just... you're not quite the same as you used to be."

Tate didn't answer. A faint sense of unease stirred inside him.

He watched as Richard straightened up in his seat, placing both hands neatly on his knees.

The sense of closeness they had only just begun to rediscover seemed to quietly slip away.

The bar was dimly lit, with music pulsing to a low, steady beat.

Tate found them two seats near the bar.

Richard took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.

Underneath, he was wearing a dark brown cardigan. The cuffs had grown loose and soft, and the elbows were worn shiny with age. Compared to the sharply dressed men around him, he looked a little old-fashioned.

Richard had clearly noticed it too.

He adjusted his collar, then glanced down at his shoes.

"Everyone here seems pretty well dressed."

Tate looked at him.

"You look good."

Richard gave a small laugh.

"You don't have to make me feel better."

He picked up his beer and looked around the room.

"I figured you'd like this place."

"Why?"

"It's lively."

Richard smiled.

"You always loved being in crowded places with loud music."

Tate didn't deny it. A wave of happiness washed over him, and once again, he found himself thinking that Richard had chosen this place just to make him happy.

But the truth was, he wasn't particularly interested in the bar itself.

All he'd really wanted tonight was to spend time with Richard.

A young man came up beside them.

"First time here?"

Richard immediately sat up straighter.

"Is it that obvious?"

Tate chuckled quietly to himself. He had to admit it was pretty obvious.

The man smiled and held out his hand.

"Chris."

"Richard."

They chatted for a few minutes.

Richard gradually relaxed, even going so far as to crack a joke of his own.

Tate watched him.

He realized he didn't particularly like seeing Richard try so hard to please a stranger.

But Chris soon turned his attention to Tate.

"Your first time here too?"

"No."

"Then how come I've never seen you around?"

Tate gave a small smile.

Chris leaned a little closer.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, thanks."

"Why not?"

"I'm here with someone tonight."

Richard's hand paused slightly.

Chris glanced between them.

"Are you two a couple?"

"No."

Richard answered almost immediately.

Then he smiled and explained,

"We went to high school together. Hadn't seen each other in twenty years."

Tate frowned slightly.

Richard was far too trusting. Why did he feel the need to tell a complete stranger so much?

But Tate realized that damn smile of his, so fragile and sweet, still drew him into the same familiar attraction, leaving him just as helpless to resist it as ever.

Chris nodded, then turned his attention back to Tate.

"Well, I guess that doesn't mean you can't make a new friend, does it?"

"I'm afraid it does," Tate replied calmly.

"I just want to spend tonight with him."

Chris shrugged and took the hint, leaving them alone.

Richard lowered his head and took a sip of his beer.

"You didn't have to turn him down."

"Why not?"

"He seemed like a nice guy."

Tate looked at him.

"Did you like him?"

Richard blinked in surprise.

"Me? No."

He laughed.

"I mean, he seemed pretty interested in you."

"So what?"

Richard's smile slowly faded a little.

"Nothing."

He turned his gaze toward the dance floor.

"I just thought you'd be into that sort of thing."

It suddenly occurred to Tate that Richard was still seeing him through the eyes of the boy he'd known twenty years ago.

And somehow, Richard seemed disappointed that Tate wasn't showing the excitement he'd expected.

Later that evening, a man in his forties took a seat beside Richard.

He wore glasses and had a gentle, easygoing manner.

The two started talking about bands they'd listened to when they were younger, and soon discovered they both loved the same album.

Richard finally seemed genuinely at ease.

He laughed as he talked about concerts he'd attended back in high school, even forgetting to fuss with his old cardigan.

Tate watched quietly.

He had to admit, the man seemed quite interested in Richard.

But when the man suggested exchanging phone numbers, Tate couldn't help interrupting before Richard had a chance to answer.

"Richard, shouldn't we get going?"

Richard turned toward him.

"Now?"

"It's getting late."

Richard glanced at his phone.

It was only a little after ten.

Tate's smile had grown stiff, his displeasure all too obvious.

"Oh. Okay," Richard said, momentarily unsure how to react.

Tate apologized to the man, picked up Richard's jacket, and headed for the exit.

He heard Richard immediately following behind him.

But the moment Tate stepped outside, he felt regret.

He had no right to interfere in Richard's life.

Especially when this was the very place Richard had wanted to come to in the first place.

After they left the bar, Richard grew noticeably quieter.

The night breeze ruffled his hair.

He lowered his head and zipped up his old jacket, standing by the curb as though waiting for Tate to speak first.

"What's wrong?" Tate asked.

"Nothing."

"Are you upset?"

Richard managed a faint smile.

"No. I was just thinking... maybe I got something wrong again."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you'd like this place."

Tate looked at him.

Richard went on.

"You used to love going out and having fun. I figured you'd like places like this."

He gave a small smile.

"The truth is, I don't really know who you are anymore, do I?"

"Richard..."

"I don't even know why you agreed to come with me."

Richard's voice was low.

"You didn't seem particularly interested all night."

"I wasn't unhappy."

"I know. You've been very polite."

Richard glanced down at his worn-out shoes.

"Maybe I'm still judging you by the person you were when we were 18."

He paused.

"Back then, you were always joking around. You'd say anything, no matter how outrageous. I guess I thought you were still like that."

Tate listened without interrupting.

"But you're not that guy anymore."

Richard forced another smile.

"And here I am, like an idiot, thinking we could still joke around the way we used to."

He looked up.

"I'm sorry, Tate. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

Tate felt his heart tighten.

"No."

"Really, it's okay. You don't have to spare my feelings."

Richard let out a small laugh.

"You've got your own life now, your own friends. Everything's different from twenty years ago."

He hesitated.

"I guess I was just too happy to see you again."

The last words came out barely above a whisper.

But Tate heard every word of them.

Richard lowered his head, as though realizing he'd already said too much.

"Forget it. I shouldn't have—"

"Richard."

Tate interrupted him.

Richard lifted his head and looked at Tate.

"Do you know what made me happiest tonight?"

Richard didn't answer.

"It wasn't the bar."

Tate looked straight at him.

"It was knowing you still remember the person I used to be."

Richard stared at him.

Tate continued.

"That you still talk to me the way you did in high school. That you still feel comfortable telling me what's on your mind."

He smiled faintly.

"I don't know how to tell you how much that means to me."

Richard looked at him.

"But you seemed..."

"Because I'm not as good at making those jokes anymore."

Tate spoke softly.

"But I still love hearing yours."

Something in Richard's expression slowly began to change.

Tate paused for a moment.

"You know, I was actually worried that when you saw me again, you'd think we had nothing left to talk about."

Richard looked surprised.

"You?"

"Of course."

Tate laughed.

"You think you're the only one who gets nervous?"

Richard said nothing.

"But then, the moment you saw me, you started calling me a troublemaker, just like old times."

Tate gazed at him intently.

"I can't tell you how happy that made me."

A smile slowly spread across Richard`s face.

Tate watched that smile, his voice growing even softer.

"Richard, the fact that you still want to be close to me the way we were when we were in school..."

He hesitated.

"There's nothing I'd want more."

Richard stared at him.

The streetlights cast a soft glow across his face.

For a moment, he looked both surprised and a little overwhelmed.

"Really?"

"Really."

Richard lowered his head.

After a while, he let out a quiet laugh.

"God, damn it."

Tate laughed too.

"What?"

"You've gotten pretty damn good with words."

"Wasn't I always?"

"Back then, all you knew how to say was fuck this and fuck that."

They both burst out laughing.

Richard straightened and looked down at Tate, and at last, a familiar brightness returned to his eyes.

"So, next time..." he ventured, "how about we go somewhere you like?"

Tate looked at him.

"Sure."

"You pick the place?"

"Gladly."

Richard nodded.

"Then it's a deal."

He turned toward the parking place.

Tate walked beside him.

After a few steps, Richard suddenly looked back.

"Oh, by the way, Tate."

"Yeah?"

"That younger guy back there... you really weren't interested in him at all?"

Tate smiled.

"Nope."

"Why not? He was pretty good-looking."

"Because I already had a date tonight."

Richard looked at him.

"With me?"

"With you."

Richard`s eyes crinkled with amusement. "Well, all right then."

He lowered his head, as though trying to hide something.

"I'm flattered."

Tate looked at him.

"I'm the lucky one."

Richard didn't answer.

But the smile never quite left his face, not even after he climbed into the car.

As Tate drove Richard home, he listened to him talk excitedly about his feelings at the bar, his heart aching with tenderness.

The boy he had once thought of as an angel had stepped into the world with a heart full of kindness. Twenty years later, he had returned to Tate carrying wounds no one could see.

He was still the angel Tate had always held in his heart.

Only now, that angel was battered and bruised, covered in scars the world had left behind.