Charles and Richard Chapter 22

Standing quietly on the doormat, Richard, who had been looking at the photos hanging on the wall, lifted his head. He spotted Charles standing there as if frozen and reached out his hand. It was a gesture asking him to toss over the towel. Only then did Charles snap out of it and throw the towel to Richard.

Richard caught the towel, shook out his hair, and roughly wiped his damp nape and arms. He looked down at the hem of his shirt, still dripping water. There was no way he could keep wearing this. Without hesitation, he took off the shirt, rolled it up, and used the towel to dry his upper body. After finishing roughly, Richard draped the towel over his shoulder and looked up. Charles was still standing there, silently staring at Richard.

R: Could you lend me some clothes? My underwear is soaked through too.

C: Sure.

R: Where are you going to wash up? Should I go upstairs?

C: Um… Yeah.

R: Charles? Are you okay? Are you cold?

C: No. Go on up. I’ll wash up down here.

Richard wiped his feet with the towel and quickly ran upstairs. Charles went back to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He licked his parched lips, then crawled under the showerhead. As the hot water poured down from the top of his head, his chilled body quickly regained its warmth. Charles stood still in the stream of water for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut and crouched down. He gritted his teeth and slipped his hand between his legs. The warm water streamed gently down his back. Charles let out a hot breath.

Charles finished his shower first. He laid a shirt and shorts outside the bathroom where Richard was washing, and ordered Chinese food. Charles hugged Cherry tightly in his arms and watched a television program he had no interest in. He sensed Richard come in but pretended not to notice. Richard plopped down next to Charles and watched TV with him.

After a few minutes of patience, Richard asked if he could change the channel. Charles didn’t answer. Richard flipped through the channels until he stopped on a movie channel. A 007 reboot series was playing. They sat there without much conversation. Richard soon became absorbed in the movie. Charles stole glances at Richard, absorbed in the film.

His honey-colored hair, tousled from being rubbed with a towel, dried slowly. Charles wanted to comb through his hair with his fingers. And right below it, he wanted to touch the firm nape of his neck. He wanted to caress him. To kiss him, lick him, bite him. Charles couldn’t believe himself. That he had touched himself thinking about Richard while Richard showered upstairs.

While Charles was lost in thought, the Chinese food arrived. He busily ate his dinner, pretending nothing was wrong, but throughout it all, Charles’s mind was completely consumed by Richard. Outside, the rain had stopped, as if it had been nothing more than a brief shower. Richard chewed on the tip of his chopsticks, absorbed in the movie. Only Charles still felt as if he could hear the sound of rain in his ears. Richard was still sitting close to Charles. Cherry had her head resting on Richard’s thigh, while her body was sprawled across Charles’s thigh, dozing off.

In the movie, James Bond had fallen into a trap. Richard was completely engrossed in Bond’s peril. Charles looked at Richard’s flushed earlobe. He thought it was surprisingly close. No—he had been the one to move closer. He kissed Richard on the cheek. It was such a brief kiss that Charles barely felt the texture or the warmth. Richard turned his head toward Charles. Charles kissed him on the lips.

It was brief, but longer than the kiss on the cheek. They stayed with their lips pressed together for a moment. Charles tilted his chin slightly and kissed him a little deeper. It was soft and warm. A little moist, too. Finally, he slowly pulled his lips away and looked into Richard’s eyes. In that moment, Charles had no expectations or predictions about Richard’s reaction. It had been a completely impulsive act, so he hadn’t had time to calculate Richard’s response. But even so, he had never imagined a reaction like this. Richard stared at Charles, frozen.

C: …Richard.

R: …

C: …I….

R: ….

C: …Richard….

R: ….

C: …Answer me….

Richard didn’t answer. He stared at Charles, frozen, then suddenly shot to his feet. Cherry whimpered and burrowed into Charles’s arms. Richard looked at Charles with a pale face, then left without another word. Charles sat in a daze, listening to the front door closing, the sound of a bicycle being pulled out of the garage, and finally the sound of bicycle wheels crunching over gravel.

James Bond: I’ll call you back.

On the television, Bond had rudely hung up on M.

∞ ∞ ∞

For the next six days, Richard and Charles didn’t exchange a single word. Half of it was Richard’s fault, and half was Charles’s own. They played a game of tag, trying to catch each other, then dodging, then suddenly trying to catch each other again.

Charles’s impulsive kiss happened on a Friday evening. Unfortunately, the two days that followed were the weekend. Charles didn’t know where Richard lived, didn’t know his phone number, and above all, didn’t know what Richard was thinking, so he didn’t go out of his way to find him. Instead, he spent the entire weekend holed up in the attic terrace, worrying his parents.

On Monday, Charles didn’t go to the lake. He rode his bike to the garage but couldn’t bring himself to go in. Over the weekend, he had imagined Richard’s possible reactions countless times, but he hadn’t thought at all about how to handle Richard’s actual response. Even so, he was so curious about Richard’s answer that he cautiously stepped inside the garage.

Richard was sitting on the half-built tire fort with the mechanics, drinking coffee. As soon as Richard spotted Charles, he scrambled to his feet as if he’d seen a ghost. He spilled coffee all over his hand in the process, but without even a groan, he fled. Charles turned away, feeling like he wanted to die. But he still didn’t want to give up, so he went back to the garage the next day, but this time he couldn’t find Richard at all.

He had hidden. Charles was shocked. On Wednesday, he didn’t go looking for Richard. If Charles’s thinking was correct, it was clearly the case that Richard had rejected him, and furthermore, Richard was even avoiding him.

Charles was wrong. On Wednesday, Richard came to the house. Charles saw him from the attic terrace. Richard locked eyes with Charles, whose head was sticking out above the roof. With a look of firm resolve, he came inside. Charles absolutely refused to open the attic door. In the end, Richard turned away helplessly. He didn’t even eat dinner—because he knew that if he ate and left, Charles would have to eat alone in the attic.

On Thursday, Richard came to Charles’s school. Spotting him waiting in front of the school gate, Charles escaped by climbing out a window. Charles deliberately wandered around the neighborhood all day and came home late at night. His father told him that Richard had come by. Charles didn’t answer. Charles absolutely did not want to see Richard. He could see exactly what Richard was going to say. He would refuse him, with an attitude as if he were dying of regret, but kindly and gently. Charles felt miserable and sad.