Charles and Richard Chapter 21

Charles replied indifferently and turned around. His white cheeks, dotted with freckles, flushed slightly red.

While Charles cooked at the sink set up in one corner of the workshop, Richard kept hovering behind him. He seemed fascinated by the sight of Charles cooking. Charles was so annoyed by Richard loitering behind him that he could hardly stand it, but he couldn’t just chase him away. He silently rolled the minced meat into balls and tossed them into a bowl. Richard kept trying to make conversation, but his answers were short.

R: So that’s how you make meatballs. I never knew.

C: ….

R: Do they sell the meat chopped this fine? How do you chop it?

C: With a machine.

R: Can I come grocery shopping with you next time?

C: ….

R: What are you going to do now?

C: Bake them.

R: Can I do it?

C: No.

R: Why?

C: ….

R: I really want to try….

Charles ignored him and greased the pot. As Charles poured the meatballs into the pot and cooked them, Richard, who had been standing behind him, suddenly rested his chin on his shoulder. Charles felt as if he couldn’t breathe again. What was more, Richard calmly sniffed near his ear and then spoke. His breath came and went right by his ear.

R: Smells good.

Charles knew that wasn’t what he really meant, but this time he truly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Charles knew Richard couldn’t see his expression anyway, but he stomped hard on Richard’s foot. Richard grabbed his foot and hopped back a few steps, grumbling. Charles ignored him.

They sat half-reclining on worn-out tires and ate their meal. Richard still ate an enormous amount of meatballs. After eating their fill, they lay down for a while, then started building the fort again. It was an early summer night, not yet hot, and the stars were very bright. They sweated a lot as they stacked tires in various shapes to make the fort’s floor. Occasionally, from beyond the garage fence, they heard cars passing on the street or the noisy clamor of high school students crowding by.

Richard and Charles barely spoke about anything other than the fort. They only had animated conversations about how they would complete the fort. When it grew so dark they could barely see each other’s faces, they decided to head home. As they parted in front of the garage, Richard smiled brightly. With sweat plastering his hair to his temples, Richard seemed about to say something, then closed his mouth. Instead, he flashed a grin, got on his bike, and rode off in the opposite direction.

Charles didn’t even sit on his bicycle saddle, just watched Richard’s retreating figure. On the way home, as Charles pedaled, his back, which had been damp with sweat, slowly dried. His dried back grew increasingly cold, and the garage grew farther and farther away, but Charles’s cheeks kept flushing with heat, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

∞ ∞ ∞

Richard said he wanted to take Cherry for a walk that weekend. For some reason, he said he couldn’t come all the way to the house, so Charles brought Cherry to the park. Richard brought a skateboard to the park. Cherry spotted Richard and immediately ran up to him, tail wagging wildly with joy. Charles sat on a bench and watched them play.

Every now and then, Richard would look up and check Charles’s reaction. When Charles asked what he was doing, he’d just flash a grin and say it was nothing. Charles didn’t force himself to watch Richard and Cherry tumbling around on the grass. Richard’s shirt had started riding up, revealing a very difficult-to-ignore area, so Charles decided to just turn his head away entirely.

Thinking Charles was bored, Richard soon came over and spoke to him.

R: Wanna ride?

C: I didn’t bring mine.

R: I have mine.

C: You ride first, then lend it to me.

Unusually, Richard hesitated. He seemed somehow embarrassed. He said okay and put his foot on the board. Charles watched his awkward stance in silence. As expected, Richard fell flat on the ground ten seconds later. Charles had already guessed Richard’s skill level from the board that looked brand new, so he wasn’t surprised. Charles stroked Cherry’s back and tossed out a remark.

C: Want me to teach you?

Richard, lying on the ground, tilted his head back to look at Charles. He nodded. Charles readily got up, but immediately regretted his suggestion.

To teach him how to ride the board, he inevitably had to put his hands on Richard’s body. On that damned perfect waist and forearms, no less. On top of that, Richard, who was huge and clumsy, was overly timid and kept trying to grab Charles’s arms. Charles tried hard not to think about those rough, calloused, firm palms gripping his forearms tightly.

Whenever Charles tried to pull his arm away and put some distance between himself and Richard, Richard would hold on tighter, whining and making a face. Charles hastily averted his eyes.

R: Whyyyyy?!

C: What do you mean, why?! How are you supposed to ride if you keep grabbing my arm like this?!

R: Well, how am I supposed to do it perfectly on my first try ever?!

C: No, just let go of my arm for one second!

When Charles yanked his arm back sharply, Richard, who had been stubbornly clinging to it, toppled straight to the ground. Richard groaned and pushed himself up. His elbow was scraped. The two boys were silent for a moment. Cherry squeezed between them and tried to lick Richard’s wound. Charles grabbed Cherry by the scruff of the neck, Richard tucked the board under his arm, and the two boys trudged home.

When they got to the front of the house, Charles said he should disinfect it before going, but Richard waved it off as nothing and turned back. For some reason, he didn’t want to come inside. Charles watched Richard grow distant and sighed. This was all wrong. He couldn’t keep going on like this.

He had to change the situation.

The Friday evening ritual between Charles and his mother began to change little by little. When Charles went to the garage to pick up his mother, she would only go with him as far as his father’s grocery store. His parents gave Charles an allowance to sort out his own dinner and went out together. They always added a word to eat with Richard. When Charles returned to the garage, Richard would have washed up, changed his clothes, and be waiting for him.

They rode their bikes toward home, sometimes one ahead, sometimes the other. Then, when the house came into view, they both got off their bikes. For reasons unknown, at some point they had started walking their bikes from that distance to the house. Sometimes they cooked at home, and sometimes they picked up food from a restaurant nearby. And so, Friday dinners became a routine just for the boys.

That evening, however, was different from usual. On their way biking, it started to rain. The two boys got drenched in the torrential downpour and pedaled hard. By the time they got home, they looked like drowned rats. Richard and Charles stood barefoot on the doormat and shook themselves off.

C: I’ll get you a towel, so you stay here.

Brushing back his dripping wet hair, Charles quickly dashed to the bathroom. He roughly dried his own hair with a towel, then came out carrying two dry towels for Richard. Charles paused for a moment to look at Richard, who stood motionless in front of the entrance. His body was cold from getting soaked in the rain, yet his mouth felt parched.