Page 130 of Untouchable

When he sees the text from Parker, he's shocked for a moment. Harp had half forgotten that he'd even sent the photo the night before. Harp smiles and sighs and wants to text him back and ask him if he gets up this early every day and why he's up and what he's going to do and what his Tuesday is going to be like.

Instead, Harp locks the phone down, slips it back onto his bedside table, and rolls over face down onto the side of the bed where Parker had slept just days before, feeling sweet and sore and happy and afraid.

Harp's normal early-morning insomnia thoughts about chores that needed to be finished and bills that needed to be paid are replaced by questions of how Harp should respond, and when, and with what.

After definitely not stressing about it for hours and going through his normal morning routine, Harp settles on a photo of the sunrise painting the valley's cloud's a brilliant orange.

>> HARP: [attachment: one image]

>> HARP: Did you see the sun rise today? You were up awfully early.

* * *

Parker is leaningagainst Mindy’s desk waiting for his first client, when he gets the text. Mindy teases him relentlessly about the smile that steals across Parker’s face, but just as he goes to flip her off, his client walks in. He doesn’t get a chance to reply, and he’s distracted the whole morning, wanting to respond but not wanting to seem too eager, trying to figure out the perfect text message to make him seem clever and cool and interesting even though he wasn’t any of those things.

>>Parker: lol im always up that early

He rolls his eyes as soon as he sends the text message, realizing it’s not funny and also invites no further conversation.

In panic, he snaps a picture from the narrow window in his massage therapy room—there’s normally a tasteful rice paper shade, but when he draws it up, it reveals a gorgeous vista looking out over… the parking lot and the dumpsters.

>>Parker: who has the better view tho? (its me)

* * *

Harp doesn't always carryhis phone on him during the day. There's no need, really, other than keeping in touch with Gil—but Gil has told him over and over again that he doesn't need to live his life waiting to take care of his brother.

Today, though, he keeps the phone with him, tucked in his back pocket and—after he realizes he doesn't reliably hear it from there—his chest pocket.

When Parker's reply comes in, Harp doesn't bother waiting. He's adding more hay to Monica the cow’s shelter. He whistles to get her attention and Harp quickly snaps a picture when she faces the camera, replying back to Parker and shoving his phone back down into his pocket.

He doesn't know what else to say, but he figures Parker might like seeing what he's doing, too. Harp likes seeing the world from Parker's point of view, even if it's just a silly picture of the parking lot and the mountains in the distance.

Harp falls into a sort of rhythm over the course of the day. Parker shows him something stupid or Harp sends him a picture. It takes a few tries before he understands how Parker communicates via text message—no capital letters, no real punctuation to speak of, and autocorrect mangling things half the time. But by the end of the day, he can almost read Parker's texts in Parker's voice to himself.

He's sent Parker another photo of the dogs, a strange dead moth he'd found, deer tracks, and then various pictures throughout the process of prepping his dinner—elk and beef chili. They've kept conversation light all day, just touching base to share a disconnected thought, not really trying to hold up a conversation. It's more like leaving messages for one another, and it feels good to know that Parker is thinking about him throughout the day.

It's been neutral: dogs and work and food.

Harp smiles so hard that his face hurts, though, when Parker sends him a selfie from in front of his gym.

>>PARKER: last workout before thxgiving kill me plz

In the flash of his camera, Parker has contorted his face into a shape that's probably supposed to look monstrous but in reality just emphasizes his dramatic cheekbones and the noble slope of his nose. Asshole can't even make an ugly face, Harp thinks fondly.

>>HARP: I absolutely will not. And you're going to have to try harder than that to look bad.

>>PARKER: i am NOT looking forward to this trip : (

Harp doesn't have anything to say to that. The holidays are a bitch when your family is like Harp's—or Parker's it seems like—and he has no wise words for Parker. He doesn't want to joke and make light of it, but he doesn't want to get into a negative conversation, either. Not by text, anyway.

The conversation fizzles and lapses and Harp feels lame for not offering Parker more support.

It takes hours and several drinks before Harp is lubricated enough for a reply. He tucks a half-empty bottle of bourbon under the sleeping Petunia's arm and snaps a picture.

>>HARP: [attachment: one image]

>>HARP: I'm sorry. At least there's always drinking.

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