My Dear School Senior - 8. Chapter 8 Winter Is Upon Us

Tate smiled when he heard Richard agree to stay the night.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Richard gently touched his cheek.

“But first, you need to take a shower. You'll sleep better that way.”

Tate raised an eyebrow.

“Is that an order?”

“You can take it as one.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Miller.”

Later that night, when Richard came out of the bathroom, Tate was already lying in bed.

Only one bedside lamp was on.

He still looked exhausted.

Richard walked over quietly.

“Asleep?”

“Not yet.”

Tate opened his eyes.

Richard sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Does your head still hurt?”

“It's much better.”

Suddenly, the bedside lamp flickered twice and went out.

Richard leaned over in the darkness, feeling around until he found the blanket and pulled it up around Tate.

Tate suddenly caught his hand.

“Richard.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Richard looked at him.

After a few seconds, he let out a quiet sigh.

“Yes. I am.”

Tate smiled.

“What am I supposed to do about that?”

Richard lowered his head and kissed his forehead.

“We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

Then Tate's voice came softly beside his ear.

“What about tonight?”

Richard felt Tate's arms suddenly slip around his waist.

“Stay here with me tonight.”

Richard lay down beside him.

In the darkness, Tate reached out tentatively and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Richard didn't pull away.

Instead, he moved a little closer.

“Tonight, we're just going to sleep,” he said.

Tate chuckled softly.

“Okay.”

A little while later, Richard suddenly spoke in a low voice.

“Tate.”

“Hmm?”

“Next time you want to help me, tell me first.”

Tate's arm tightened slightly around him.

“Okay.”

Richard was quiet for a moment.

“It's not that I don't need you.”

Tate opened his eyes.

Richard continued.

“I just want you to believe in me, too.”

Tate lowered his head and gently kissed Richard's hair.

“I do believe in you.”

Richard closed his eyes.

“Good.”

Outside the window, the night over Lake Michigan was still and deep.

Listening to Richard's breathing gradually settle into a steady rhythm, Tate suddenly realized that he'd always believed loving someone meant shielding them from every hardship he possibly could.

But tonight, he finally understood that even love could hurt someone when it took away their right to make their own choices.

And somewhere between waking and sleep, Richard reached out and took Tate's hand.

The next morning, when Tate woke up, the space beside him was empty.

He reached over and touched the pillow.

It was still warm.

He listened to the faint sounds coming from outside the bedroom.

Someone seemed to be doing something in the kitchen.

Tate slowly sat up.

His headache had eased considerably.

He put on his robe and walked barefoot out of the bedroom.

Richard was standing in the kitchen.

He was wearing the same light-blue shirt from yesterday, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, studying the coffee machine with intense concentration.

Two breakfasts had already been set out on the table.

Tate leaned against the doorway and watched him for a moment.

“Morning.”

Richard turned around.

“You're awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Head still hurt?”

“Much better.”

Richard nodded.

“Good.”

He turned back to the coffee machine and continued examining it.

Tate couldn't help smiling.

“Need some help?”

“No.”

A few seconds passed.

“...How the hell does this thing work?”

Tate burst out laughing.

Richard turned and glared at him.

“Don't laugh.”

“I'm not laughing.”

“You're literally laughing.”

Tate walked over and stood behind him, reaching past him to press a button on the machine.

It began humming softly.

Richard looked down at it.

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

Richard shook his head.

“You rich people really have it easy.”

Tate leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“Good morning, handsome.”

Richard's ears turned faintly pink.

“Go wash up first.”

“Yes, sir.”

But Tate didn't leave immediately.

He stayed where he was, watching Richard.

Richard began to feel a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“What?”

Tate shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you keep staring at me?”

Tate smiled.

“It's just strange.”

“What's strange?”

“Today feels different.”

Richard looked at him.

“Different how?”

Tate's gaze settled on the two breakfasts waiting on the table.

“No one's ever stood in this kitchen and asked me if my head still hurt.”

Richard froze for a moment.

Tate gave a small smile.

“It's a pretty nice feeling.”

Richard lowered his head, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Then you should remember to eat properly from now on.”

“Okay.”

“And stop drinking so much coffee.”

“Okay.”

“And don't work until the middle of the night.”

Tate raised an eyebrow.

“Aren't you getting a little demanding?”

Richard finally laughed.

“What, am I nagging you already?”

Tate stepped closer and gently slipped his arms around Richard's waist.

“Not at all.”

He leaned down and kissed him.

“You can make the rules, sweetheart.”

Richard gave his shoulder a gentle push.

“All right. Breakfast is getting cold.”

Halfway through breakfast, Tate suddenly asked,

“What are your plans for today?”

A strained, unreadable smile crossed Richard's face.

“I need to go back to the office for a bit.”

“But it's Saturday. You have to work?”

Richard’s expression immediately turned distant. He set down his fork, folded his arms across his chest, and turned his head away.

Tate noticed the faint discomfort behind Richard's smile.

A sense of unease rose in his chest, but he didn't dare press him.

After a moment of silence, he asked carefully,

“Would you like to have dinner together tonight?”

Another silence followed.

Then Tate spoke again, more quietly.

“You know, I really liked this morning.”

Richard's movements slowed.

Tate looked at him.

“I liked waking up and knowing you were still here.”

Richard said nothing.

“I liked hearing you making little noises in the kitchen.”

“I even liked you scolding me for not taking better care of myself.”

Tate smiled.

“I never knew things like that could make me so happy.”

Richard lowered his head.

His fingers moved slowly around the handle of his coffee cup.

A long time passed before he finally spoke.

“I liked it, too.”

Tate looked up.

Richard smiled a little awkwardly.

“I mean... having breakfast together like this.”

Tate didn't seize the opportunity to ask for anything more.

He simply reached across the table and gently took Richard's hand.

“Then maybe we could do this more often.”

Richard looked at him.

“More often?”

“Yeah.”

Tate smiled.

“Whenever you want.”

Richard didn't answer immediately.

But he didn't pull his hand away, either.

After breakfast, Tate drove Richard back to his old apartment.

When the car stopped outside the building, Richard unfastened his seat belt.

“Thanks for driving me home.”

Tate asked almost immediately, unable to hide his eagerness.

“See you tonight?”

Richard smiled.

“See you tonight.”

He was about to get out when Tate suddenly called after him.

“Richard.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for last night.”

Richard blinked.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me.”

Richard looked at him.

Tate spoke earnestly.

“It's been a long time since anyone's taken care of me like that.”

Richard's expression gradually softened.

“It was nothing.”

Tate thought for a moment.

“Last night, I felt really lucky.”

Richard felt his eyes begin to sting.

He lowered his head and gave a small laugh.

“You really know what to say.”

“I mean it.”

Richard looked at him.

After a moment, he reached out and gently touched Tate's face.

“Tate.”

“Hmm?”

“Actually, I feel pretty lucky, too.”

Then he leaned over and kissed him.

He opened the car door and disappeared into the apartment building.

Back in his apartment, Richard picked up the phone and called Ethan.

When Ethan answered, Richard spoke quietly.

“I'm calling to hand in my resignation. When would be a good time for me to come by with the paperwork?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“I'm sorry, Ethan,” Richard continued. “I couldn't bring myself to destroy everything you've been working toward. That's why I didn't ask Tate to terminate the contract. But I can't keep going under an arrangement like this, either.”

He paused.

“All I can ask is that you find someone better to take my place. I'll still be around if you need temporary help with anything.”

Ethan remained silent for a moment before answering.

“Come down to Mr. Paker 's warehouse. Let's talk in person. I'll be waiting here.”

When Richard arrived, Ethan greeted him with a warm, almost knowing smile.

“So you went to Mr. Paker and laid your cards on the table. I knew you would.”

He glanced around.

“Come on. Let's spend a little time here.”

Ethan gestured toward the workers on duty and the neatly arranged rows of goods, his gaze lingering on them with unmistakable reluctance.

“Look at this place. Everything's so orderly. There's almost something artistic about it, don't you think?”

Richard said nothing.

Ethan pointed toward the trucks moving smoothly through the loading area.

“Look at that. You've done a fine job taking care of Mr. Paker's warehouse.”

He paused, then continued.

“But it's only temporary. If you leave...”

“Tate's previous logistics partner was pretty good, too,” Richard said.

Ethan nodded.

“If you resign, then yes, this place will probably end up back in another company's hands.”

He looked at Richard.

“You know what this industry's going through right now. You know how much things are changing. Beyond making sure we do our own jobs properly, there's very little we can actually control.”

He gestured toward the warehouse.

“If we hand this place over to someone else, can you honestly say you'd feel reassured with that?”

Richard remained silent.

“I'm not accepting your resignation just yet,” Ethan said.

His voice was calm, without any trace of reproach.

“If you still have some respect for me, then let's keep doing what we're good at. Let's keep this warehouse running properly for him.”

Ethan gave him a thoughtful look.

“Wouldn't that be a way of giving something back, too?”

Then his expression grew serious.

“The industry's heading into a hard winter, Richard. You've felt it yourself, haven't you?”

Outside the warehouse, snow had begun to fall without anyone noticing.

The flakes drifted gently through the cold air, growing thicker by the minute.

Richard caught sight of them through the enormous loading-bay doors.

His face suddenly brightened.

“Oh, look. It's beautiful.”

He took a step toward the opening.

“The first snow of the year.”

Standing inside the vast warehouse, Richard closed his eyes.

But the tears came anyway.

He couldn't quite tell whether it was hesitation, reservations, or simply the ache of having to let something go.

Perhaps it was all of those things.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, he found himself missing Tate.

They hadn't even been apart for an hour.

Yet he already missed the man who had suddenly become so talkative over breakfast that morning.