My Dear School Senior - 7. Chapter 7 The Approaching Winter 2

On Wednesday evening, Tate sat alone in his office, a single desk lamp illuminating the room.

The cold outside had fogged the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Beneath the dark, heavy sky, the orderly streams of headlights along the busy streets had blurred into countless moving points of light.

He picked up his phone and called his business development manager.

"Charlie, did you manage to get those tickets for the upcoming game?"

"Come on, boss. Get me two tickets and I'll owe you one. What's going on? Something giving you trouble? Want me to come over?"

"No need. We can talk over the phone. I just need you to look into a logistics company. Richard Miller works there. Find out what kind of business they're running, and what his boss is interested in."

The following afternoon, shortly before the end of the workday, Charlie arrived at Tate's office with a folder of information.

"The company's owner is a guy named Ethan. I've looked into his background. His business is still in its early stages, and it doesn't have much of a reputation yet. Frankly, I don't see any particularly promising opportunities there. His connections wouldn't be of much use to us, either. As for those warehouses we own in the city, I still think our existing partners offer us better value."

"This isn't strictly business, Charlie."

"Well, that explains it."

Charlie glanced down at the documents again.

"There's no question that our warehouse locations and transportation access would be attractive to Ethan. The problem is that he can't afford our current rates. Even if we lowered them to make a deal possible, we'd be putting considerable pressure on our margins."

"Then give him a rate he can afford. I'm doing this for Richard, but Richard can't know about it."

Charlie looked up.

"Tate, I finally understand what those two game tickets are going to cost me. This time, you're not asking me to make you money. You're asking me to do you a personal favor. That's a much tougher assignment."

He leaned back against the sofa.

But when he saw Tate's expression, he understood that this was no passing whim. It was the first time Tate had ever asked him to do anything like this, and whatever the reason, it clearly mattered to him.

Charlie didn't leave. Instead, he sat there, seriously considering the possibilities.

"Let me feel Ethan out first. We can't afford to take too much of a loss. And you'd better stay out of it. I'll handle the negotiations from beginning to end. I'll also make sure Ethan understands that Richard is to be treated better, without revealing who's behind the arrangement."

Tate let out a quiet, skeptical laugh.

"You think you can pull that off?"

Charlie answered sincerely.

"Tate, what I can control is whether Ethan accepts our terms, and whether he agrees to keep the arrangement confidential. That part doesn't worry me. You can count on me."

He paused.

"But secrets have a way of coming out eventually. You know that. Do you still want to go ahead?"

Tate sat in his chair and nodded firmly.

He watched Charlie leave.

Then he glanced at his phone.

There was a message from Richard.

“Busy today?”

A smile returned to Tate's face as he read the words.

“Just finished a meeting.”

Richard replied almost immediately.

“Don't work too late. Get home early.”

Tate couldn't help laughing.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Miller.”

He put his phone away, gathered his things, and headed down to his car.

Once inside, Tate loosened the collar of his shirt and leaned back against the seat.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered something Richard had said to him back in high school.

"Tate, when are you ever going to grow up?"

And Tate answered without hesitation.

"When I'm eighty, probably."

Twenty years had passed.

He still worried sometimes about whether he was mature enough in Richard's eyes.

Only now, he was more than willing to try.

After Charlie finalized the partnership with Ethan, Ethan called Richard into his office.

He took the initiative to revise Richard's responsibilities and even mentioned that he would consider giving him a raise.

Richard was both surprised and delighted.

Apart from that adjustment, however, no one at the company treated him any differently.

Two months later, Richard walked into Ethan's office holding Tate's business card.

He was visibly agitated, and there was an unmistakable sadness in his voice.

"Ethan, do you know Tate Parker?"

Ethan studied Richard's reaction. His hands began rubbing together.

"No. Who is he?"

Richard was trembling slightly, unable to stop himself. He turned his face away, struggling to contain his distress.

Seeing this, Ethan began to suspect that the man Richard had mentioned might somehow be connected to the recent business arrangement.

He stood up, concerned, and carefully considered his words.

"Richard, you've probably noticed that business has been a little easier for us lately, thanks to the unusually favorable warehouse rates. If you think those terms have something to do with this man, I can't say for certain. I'm not lying to you. The person I dealt with wasn't Mr. Parker."

Richard took a moment to steady himself.

"I looked up the company that owns the warehouse. Tate owns it."

Now Ethan was almost certain that something had happened.

"Richard, if you don't want to accept the benefits of this arrangement, that's your decision. I can't make it for you. But you know as well as I do that the economic winter of this industry has arrived. Customers are becoming harder to find. A lot of small logistics companies like ours have already started cutting corners just to compete on price."

Richard sank back into his chair.

"But that's not Tate's problem to bear. It's ours. We're supposed to find a way to deal with it ourselves."

"How, Richard? By doing what everyone else is doing? By lowering our service standards? Delaying deliveries? Leaving customer service so understaffed that clients can't get anyone on the phone?"

"No! Please, stop."

Richard's voice was strained with pain as he lowered his head.

Ethan softened his tone.

"We've worked together for quite a while. Richard. I respect you. We both have standards we expect ourselves to live up to."

He paused.

"If you want to confront Mr. Parker and end this business arrangement, I'll understand. Really. It's all right."

By the time Richard left work, it was already dark.

He sat on a bench outside the office building and took out his phone.

He called Tate.

No answer.

He waited a few minutes and tried again.

Still can`t get through on the phone.

Richard stared at the screen, growing increasingly restless.

He remembered the day he'd been sick with a fever, when Tate had spent hours taking care of him in his apartment.

And that walk by the lake.

Tate had held him and asked whether someone had been treating him badly.

Richard had nearly burst into tears that day.

He'd thought Tate was simply worried about him.

Now he realized Tate might already have been planning something, even then.

Richard stood up.

He was going to find Tate.

They were going to talk about this tonight, whatever happened.

Otherwise, he didn't know how he was supposed to go on living with what he'd discovered.

There were no lights on in Tate's apartment.

Richard stood outside the door for a moment, hesitating.

Tate had given him the entry code some time ago, along with a visitor's access card that allowed him to come straight up to the apartment.

He'd told him,

"You can come over whenever you want."

Richard entered the code.

The lock clicked softly.

He pushed the door open.

"Tate?"

No answer.

Only the lights of the city illuminated the living room.

Richard took off his coat.

"Tate?"

Still nothing.

He was about to check the bedroom when he noticed someone lying on the sofa.

Tate.

He was still wearing the shirt and trousers he'd worn to work, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

One arm dangled over the edge of the sofa. The other rested across his forehead.

A half-finished cup of cold coffee sat on the coffee table.

Beside it were a stack of documents and a laptop that was still running.

Richard stopped.

All the accusations he'd prepared on the way over suddenly caught in his throat.

"Tate?"

He walked closer.

Tate didn't wake up.

Richard crouched beside him and gently touched his shoulder.

"Hey."

Tate frowned slightly.

"Mm..."

At last, he opened his eyes.

His gaze was unfocused.

It took him several seconds to recognize the man in front of him.

"Richard?"

His voice was hoarse.

"Are you really here?"

Richard looked at him.

"I called you twice."

Tate blinked.

"Sorry."

He reached around for his phone.

"I must've fallen asleep."

Richard studied his exhausted face.

"How long have you been sleeping?"

"No idea."

Tate slowly pushed himself upright.

The moment he sat up straight, he winced and pressed his fingers against his temple.

Richard immediately reached out to steady him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Headache?"

"A little."

Richard looked at him closely.

"You look terrible."

Tate managed a smile.

"Work's just been a little busy lately."

Something about those words sounded painfully familiar to Richard.

Work's just been a little busy lately.

That was exactly what he always said whenever he refused to rest.

Richard suddenly felt angry.

"Can't you take better care of yourself?"

Tate stared at him.

"What?"

"Look at you."

Richard stood up.

"You haven't even changed your clothes. You haven't had dinner. And you're sleeping on the sofa like this."

Tate looked at him.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

"How do you know I haven't eaten dinner?"

Richard pointed at the coffee table.

"Because there's nothing here but coffee."

Tate glanced down.

"Maybe I ate somewhere else."

"Well, did you?"

Tate fell silent.

Richard gave a short, humorless laugh.

He turned and headed for the kitchen.

Tate watched him go.

"Richard?"

"What?"

"Are you mad at me?"

Richard opened the refrigerator.

"No."

Tate smiled.

"You sound mad."

"Then go ahead and assume I am."

Richard shut the refrigerator.

There was considerably more food inside than he'd expected.

He found some eggs, vegetables, and bread.

Tate slowly made his way to the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinner."

"I can order something."

"No need."

Richard took out a frying pan.

"You need to eat some actual food."

Tate leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"You know something?"

"What?"

"You sound just like my mother right now."

Richard turned to look at him.

"Then you'd better do as you're told."

Tate burst out laughing.

But halfway through, his expression tightened again.

Richard noticed immediately.

"Head still hurting?"

"A little."

"Go sit on the sofa."

"Richard..."

"Tate."

Richard set down the spatula.

"Can't you just let me take care of you for once?"

Tate went still.

He said nothing.

After a moment, he nodded gently.

"Okay."

Half an hour later, they were sitting across from each other at the dining table.

Richard had made scrambled eggs, toast, and a simple bowl of vegetable soup.

Tate ate with surprising seriousness.

Richard, however, had barely touched his food.

Tate watched him for a while.

"Did you come here to tell me something?"

Richard's hand stopped moving.

He looked up.

Tate continued.

"You've been upset about something ever since you walked in."

Richard said nothing.

A long time passed before he finally asked quietly,

"Do you know Ethan?"

Tate's spoon paused in his hand.

Richard saw it.

His heart slowly sank.

"You do know him."

Tate set down his spoon.

"Richard..."

"Have you met him?"

Tate didn't answer immediately.

Richard stared at him.

"Two months ago?"

At last, Tate nodded.

"Yes."

Richard lowered his head.

Then he gave a small laugh.

It was a terrible, pained sort of smile.

"So it's true."

Tate reached across the table to take his hand.

Richard pulled it away.

"Why?"

Tate was silent for a moment.

"Because I knew how hard you'd been working lately."

"So you went to my boss?"

"I just talked to him."

Richard looked up.

"About what?"

"Some business arrangements."

"And?"

"Some discounted rates."

Richard closed his eyes.

After a few seconds, he shook his head.

"Tate..."

His voice carried a deep exhaustion.

"Why would you do that?"

Tate looked at him.

"Because I couldn't stand seeing you treated that way."

Richard's eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"But did you ever stop to think how that would make me feel?"

Tate said nothing.

Richard continued.

"I thought I was finally doing well enough."

He lowered his head.

"I thought my boss had started recognizing my work because I was actually good at it."

"You are good at it," Tate said immediately.

"Then why did you go to him?"

Tate froze.

Richard looked straight at him.

"If you really believe in me, why couldn't you let me figure things out for myself?"

The room fell silent.

At last, Tate understood.

It wasn't that Richard didn't appreciate what he'd done.

It was that his help had brought Richard face-to-face with everything he'd been trying so hard to put behind him.

He'd lost the career he'd once had.

He'd lost his financial security.

And now even the recognition he'd worked so hard to earn at his new job might have had something to do with Tate.

"Richard."

Tate spoke softly.

"I'm sorry."

Richard looked up, startled.

Tate met his eyes.

"I should've asked you first."

Richard said nothing.

"I just..."

Tate hesitated.

"That day by the lake, you looked so unhappy."

His voice grew quieter.

"I was terrified of seeing that look on your face again."

Richard raised his eyes.

Tate continued.

"I know how hard you've been trying."

"And I know you don't want to ask me for help."

"But when I thought about someone knowing what you were going through and still deliberately piling so much work on you..."

Tate shook his head.

"I was furious."

Richard stared at him.

Tate gave a rueful smile.

"I wanted to help."

"And somehow, I seem to have gotten it wrong again."

Richard's eyes grew redder.

He'd prepared so many angry things to say.

But now, looking at Tate's exhausted face and hearing him explain himself like this, he suddenly couldn't find a single one of them.

A long silence passed.

Then Richard said quietly,

"You bastard."

Tate looked up.

Richard's tears finally spilled over.

"Do you have any ideas? I came here tonight to have a fight with you."

Tate blinked.

Richard's eyes were wet.

"I'd already figured out exactly what I was going to tear you apart with my words."

Tate smiled a little.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can still say it."

Richard shook his head.

"But then I walked in and found you lying there."

His voice began to break.

"You can't even take care of yourself, and you're always so busy trying to take care of me."

Tate's smile slowly faded.

Richard looked at him.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was just now?"

Tate reached out his hand.

This time, Richard didn't pull away.

Tate gently took his hand.

"I'm sorry."

Richard lowered his head.

"I'm really hurt, Tate."

"I know."

Richard looked up.

"Then why are you smiling?"

Tate gazed at him.

"Because you're here."

Richard went still.

Tate spoke softly.

"When I woke up and saw you crouching there in front of me..."

He paused.

"I thought I was dreaming."

More tears slipped down Richard's face.

"You're such an idiot."

Tate smiled.

"You've told me that plenty of times."

Richard had originally planned to get to the bottom of everything tonight and then go home.

But now, looking at the faint shadows beneath Tate's eyes, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"You need to get to bed early tonight," he said.

Tate looked up.

"What about you?"

"I'll clean up the kitchen, then head home."

Tate's arm tightened slightly.

"Don't go."

Richard froze.

Tate looked at him.

"Stay tonight. Please?"

He reached out and caught Richard by the wrist.

Richard felt an ache in his chest.

He tried to pull his hand away, but Tate wouldn't let go.

He tried again, harder.

Tate only tightened his grip.

When Richard gave another firm tug, Tate was pulled forward out of his chair.

He caught himself with one hand against the floor, ending up half-kneeling in front of Richard.

His other hand was still wrapped stubbornly around Richard's wrist.

He looked up at him, refusing to let go.

A long time passed.

Finally, Richard nodded.

He would stay.

And somehow, the sight of Tate in that specific position brought back the same memory for both of them.

Something that had happened in high school.

Tate had begged Richard over and over again to go to the school prom with him to celebrate their graduation.

"We've finished all our exams. What could you possibly still need to study for?"

As far as Tate was concerned, it was an unanswerable argument.

But when classes ended on the day of the prom, he couldn't find Richard anywhere.

He was furious.

He stood at the edge of the dance floor, refusing to join anyone's conversations, looking utterly alone.

After a while, another student offered him a cigarette.

Tate accepted it and followed him outside.

They talked about their plans after graduation and the separations that lay ahead.

As the conversation went on, they discovered that neither of them was entirely happy with how things had turned out.

They bantered easily with each other, made fun of each other's disappointments, and laughed together.

Then, suddenly, someone came up behind Tate and snatched the cigarette out of his hand.

"You're way too young to be smoking. Knock it off!"

Instead of getting angry, Tate broke into a grin.

He'd recognized Richard's voice.

"You should've started keeping me in line a long time ago. It's too late now. You never come out and have fun with me. Look at me—don't I look like I 've gotten pretty good at smoking?"

Tate grabbed Richard's hand and pulled him toward the hall where the music was playing.

He knew Richard was thoroughly irritated behand him.

And that only made him happier.

Tate began moving enthusiastically to the music.

Richard stood beside him, looking awkward and uncertain.

Then, without warning, Tate caught Richard by the wrist and deliberately let himself slide down a step.

Richard instinctively bent forward to pull him back up.

And as Richard leaned over him, looking directly into his eyes, Tate gazed back and sang along with the music.

"Rule me, I need you to rule me, baby."

And now, in this very moment, that long-buried, unforgettable memory seemed to come alive all over again. And now, all these years later, it had somehow happened again.

Tate refused to let go of Richard’s hand, as though he could keep him from leaving simply by holding on.

And now, all these years later, it had somehow happened again.

That night, when they were young, Richard walked Tate home after the prom for the first time.

They both knew they would soon be leaving for different schools, heading toward different futures.

And the road home that evening had seemed filled with everything neither of them wanted to say goodbye to.