My Dear School Senior - 10. Chapter 10 Deeply Lost

By the time they returned to the apartment, it was nearly midnight.

Tate switched on the light in the entryway and bent down to take out a pair of slippers for Richard.

Richard stood by the door, watching him quietly.

They had kissed for a long time in the car. Yet now, stepping back into this familiar apartment, Richard felt as though something had changed.

Tate took off his jacket and casually draped it over the arm of the sofa.

“Want something to drink?”

“Just water.”

Tate headed into the kitchen.

Richard didn't follow.

His gaze drifted toward the space above the fireplace.

The abstract painting was still hanging there.

Deep blue and gold lines intertwined across the canvas, looking almost harsh beneath the lights.

He remembered the expression on Leon's face when he'd spoken about it.

That man had once stood here, perhaps in the very spot where Richard was standing now, complaining about how ugly the painting was.

He knew what Tate liked.

He knew Tate's habit of working late into the night.

He even knew which light in the apartment was always broken.

Richard slowly walked toward the fireplace.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

“Studying the painting?”

“I don't think it really belongs here…”

Richard turned to look at Tate, raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint, almost challenging smile.

Tate lowered his head with a chuckle. Instinctively wanting to avoid the subject, he headed toward the kitchen.

“I think I'll have some wine tonight. Give me a second.”

When he returned to the living room with a bottle of wine and two glasses, he found Richard still watching him, as though waiting for an answer.

Tate sighed helplessly.

“God, you know how much I love you, don't you? I guess I've really spoiled you.”

He looked at Richard.

That familiar spark had finally returned to those blue eyes.

Richard said nothing. He simply continued watching Tate.

Tate set the glasses aside.

“What is it?”

Richard reached out and caught hold of his shirt.

This time, there was none of the hesitation he'd shown in the car.

He kissed Tate without warning.

Tate stumbled half a step backward, catching Richard by the waist to steady them both.

The water glass wobbled slightly on the table.

Richard's arms were already wrapped around his neck.

Tate let out a low chuckle.

“What's gotten into you tonight?”

Richard didn't answer.

He simply kissed him again.

The smile slowly faded from Tate's lips.

He tightened his arms around Richard, drawing him closer.

They stood between the entryway and the living room, neither in any hurry to let go.

Richard could feel Tate's heartbeat.

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, it was rapid and distinct.

He could actually feel how nervous Tate was.

The realization filled him with a tenderness he could hardly describe.

He raised a hand and slowly caressed Tate's face.

Tate gently cradled the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?”

Richard didn't answer immediately.

He looked into Tate's eyes, then reached up and undid the top button of his shirt.

“I want to be with you.”

Tate gazed at him in silence.

Richard moved closer, resting his forehead against Tate's.

“I don't want us to be apart again tonight.”

Tate closed his eyes for a moment.

Then he leaned forward and kissed Richard softly.

They made their way toward the bedroom, barely breaking their kisses along the way.

As they passed through the hallway, Richard accidentally bumped into a decorative cabinet against the wall.

Tate quickly caught him.

“Easy.”

Richard couldn't help laughing.

“You're the one who keeps pulling me along.”

“Me?”

Tate feigned surprise.

Richard gave him a playful shove.

Laughing, Tate caught his hand and pulled him back into his arms.

The bedroom door closed softly behind them.

Tate didn't turn on the overhead light.

A small lamp beside the bed cast a warm yellow glow across one corner of the room.

Richard stood at the foot of the bed, suddenly feeling a little unexpectedly nervous.

Tate approached him, helped him out of his undershirt , and carefully laid it over the back of a chair.

Then he reached out and rested a hand against Richard's rising and falling chest.

His touch was so gentle, as though he were caring for something extraordinarily precious.

Richard looked up at him.

“You don't have to be so careful.”

Tate smiled.

“I'm a little nervous.”

Richard stared at him.

“You?”

“Yeah.”

Tate took his hand.

“I've waited so long for this.”

Richard gazed at him.

After a moment, a slow smile spread across his face.

“I'm nervous, too.”

Tate pulled him into an embrace.

Richard buried his face in the crook of Tate's neck.

They stood like that for a long time.

Until Richard finally lifted his head and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Tate's mouth.

Tate gently stroked his hair.

This time, neither of them said anything more.

A little while later, the bedside lamp went out.

Beyond the windows, the Chicago night stretched out, vast and still.

They held each other in the darkness, kissing, gradually becoming familiar with each other's breathing and warmth.

Nearly twenty years apart could never be made up for in a single night.

But at least, beginning tonight, they finally belonged completely to each other.

Sometime after two in the morning, Richard woke.

The bedroom was quiet.

Tate was asleep beside him, one hand still resting on his waist.

Richard shifted slightly.

Tate woke almost immediately.

“What's wrong?”

His voice was thick with sleep.

“Nothing.”

Richard looked at him.

Tate's hair was a little disheveled, and without his usual composed smile, he looked younger than he did during the day. Softer, too.

Richard couldn't resist reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

Tate caught his hand and pressed it against his cheek.

“Can't sleep?”

“No.”

Richard spoke softly.

“Just wanted to look at you.”

Tate smiled.

With his eyes still closed, he gathered Richard back into his arms.

Richard rested against his chest.

Listening to the steady beat of Tate's heart, he suddenly spoke.

“Tate.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you used to hold Leon like this when you slept?”

Tate opened his eyes.

Richard was the first to laugh.

“Forget it. Pretend I didn't ask.”

Tate looked down at him.

“Are you still thinking about this?”

Richard was silent for a moment.

“A little.”

Tate didn't tease him.

He simply ran a gentle hand along Richard's back.

“Richard, I can't change the past.”

“I know.”

“But you're the one I'm holding now.”

Richard lifted his head.

Tate looked into his eyes.

“And when I wake up tomorrow morning, I want you to be the one I'm still holding.”

Richard's expression gradually softened.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Tate's chest.

“I'm not going anywhere tomorrow morning.”

Tate smiled.

“What about the morning after?”

Richard looked up and glared at him.

“What else are you going to say?”

Tate looked at him.

His smile slowly faded.

“I want you to move in with me.”

Richard froze.

The bedroom suddenly fell silent.

Tate's hand remained on his back, but it had stopped moving.

“You can take your time thinking about it. You don't have to answer me tonight.”

He added quietly,

“And it's not because we just…”

Tate paused, then gave a small smile.

“I don't want you to feel like I'm using this moment to pressure you into anything.”

Richard looked at him.

Tate lowered his head and kissed his forehead.

“It's just that after you fell asleep, something occurred to me.”

“What?”

Tate stared up at the ceiling.

“I've lived in this apartment for seven years. I've had people over from time to time. You know that.”

He paused.

“Sometimes I'd work late and wouldn't get home until one or two in the morning. The place would be so quiet.”

Richard gently took his hand.

“I used to think I liked it that way.”

Tate turned toward him.

“But these past couple of days, you've been banging around in my kitchen, reminding me to eat, complaining about how difficult my coffee machine is to use.”

Richard laughed.

Tate laughed, too.

“And this morning, after you left, for the first time, the place felt too quiet.”

Richard's smile slowly disappeared.

Tate gently caressed his face.

“So I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like to live here with me from now on?”

Richard didn't answer.

He lowered his head, his fingers absently tracing Tate's palm.

Tate waited for a while.

Then he gently kissed Richard's hair.

“You don't have to answer now.”

Richard lifted his head.

“Tate…”

“I know what you're worried about.”

Tate spoke softly.

“Your job, your life, and the fact that you don't want to depend on me.”

Richard's eyes began to redden.

“I don't want people to think…”

“I know.”

Tate didn't let him finish.

“So we can figure it out together. There's no rush.”

Then Tate asked,

“And that painting in the living room. Where would you like to put it?”

Richard lowered his head and couldn't help laughing.

He didn't suggest a particular spot.

Perhaps where the painting ended up didn't matter after all.

He had already heard the answer he'd been waiting for.

Tate pulled him a little closer.

“Richard, I'm not looking for someone who needs me to take care of them.”

His voice was very soft.

“I just want to come home every day and see you.”

Richard said nothing.

He buried his face in the crook of Tate's neck.

A long time passed before Tate felt something warm against his shoulder.

He lowered his head.

“Sweetheart?”

Richard shook his head.

“Don't look at me.”

Tate didn't ask anything more.

He simply held him tighter.

After a while, Richard finally lifted his head.

“I need some time.”

Tate nodded.

“Of course.”

“I need to figure out how to arrange things.”

“Okay.”

Richard lay down again, resting his head on Tate's shoulder.

A little later, he suddenly asked,

“Do you use that spot by the window in your study?”

Tate turned toward him.

“Which spot?”

“The corner overlooking the lake.”

“Sometimes.”

Richard was quiet for a few seconds.

“I think my desk would fit there.”

Tate looked at him.

Richard seemed to realize what he'd just said and quickly added,

“I mean, if I actually move in someday.”

Tate chuckled softly.

“I think it'd fit perfectly there, too.”

Richard gazed at him.

Then he slowly reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Tate.”

“Hmm?”

“Let's not talk anymore tonight.”

Tate kissed his forehead.

“Okay.”

Richard closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, his breathing grew slow and even.

But Tate was still awake.

He gazed at the man in his arms and gently pulled the covers up around him.

In his sleep, Richard instinctively moved closer, tightening his arm around Tate's waist.

Tate lowered his head and kissed his hair.

Outside, the city lights were still glowing.

But this time, that spacious bedroom no longer felt empty.

The following morning, Richard woke before Tate.

He slipped quietly out of bed and went into the bathroom.

As he washed up, he noticed two toothbrushes on the sink.

One belonged to Tate.

The other was the new toothbrush Tate had unwrapped for him the night before.

Richard picked up his own and studied it for a moment.

Just yesterday morning, he'd thrown his used toothbrush into the trash.

Today, he didn't.

Instead, he carefully rinsed it and placed it beside Tate's.

The two toothbrushes stood side by side in the holder.

Richard looked at them and suddenly smiled.

He hadn't agreed to move in.

But at least this time, he'd decided to leave his toothbrush behind.

And yet, deep down, another reason was still keeping him from making that decision—something from his past that continued to haunt his life.

Something he had always wanted to keep hidden from Tate.