Page 132 of Untouchable

They hang up and Harp realizes suddenly that Gil hadn’t asked a thing about Harp or how he’s doing or what’s going on in his life. It’s not surprising, of course. For the past ten years the answer had been that he was doing only well enough to live to see the next day and that there’s absolutely nothing going on in his life.

And yet that’s suddenly not true anymore. Because of Parker, Harp feels like his life has been transformed into something completely new.

Harp also realizes that he’s a little lonely—that he wishes he had plans he was looking forward to the next day as much as Gil is looking forward to his own plans. For once, Harp is okay with admitting to himself that he’s lonely. He knows he would feel better if he were spending the day with Parker—or even with his brother, he realizes—and maybe there’s no danger in admitting that.

Still, it doesn’t make the feeling any better and Harp hates having to sit with the loneliness.

Well, fuck it. What had he said to Parker the day before? At least there's always drinking.

He fixes a bloody mary as the sun goes down and it makes him instantly too lazy to make the dinner he'd had planned. He feeds the dogs, putters around the kitchen, makes another cocktail along with a grilled cheese sandwich that doesn't do much to cut the alcohol.

Harp reminds himself that if it weren't for Parker and the call from Gil, he wouldn't even be aware that tomorrow is Thanksgiving anyway, that it's just a random day, that it's not something worth his time fretting over. He selfishly wishes Parker were here instead of with his family.

His phone buzzes—and Harp knows it must be Parker this time. No one else texts him. It's taken under 48 hours for Harp to be trained to smile as a reflex every time his phone pings.

Harp expects Parker to say goodnight, or to offer another photo of one of his mother's bizarre home decorating choices, or maybe to share a choice tidbit from a conversation. Instead, though, it's a selfie.

It's not... overtly sexual. Parker appears to be on top of a bed with his shirt off, frowning directly into the camera—but there's enough of his body shown from the angle that Harp has to do a double take at first. He's barely gotten a chance to see Parker shirtless, and now here he's being offered a picture that he can stare at with total abandon.

Harp's reaction is a visceral thrum. He'd almost forgotten he hasn't really seen Parker since the week before. More than anything, he wishes he could run his fingers down Parker's spare torso, to trace the shapes of his muscles, to kiss that same skin.

Harp tries to tell himself to play it cool.

>>HARP: Sorry? I can't hear you over your fitness model abs.

* * *

It’s notthe response Parker was expecting—in the best way possible. He’d thought Harp would send him some kind of comforting platitude, and maybe, if Parker were lucky, Harp might slip up and admit that he missed Parker.

But instead Harp is… flirting with him, and Parker is suddenly wide awake.

Before he has time to realize what a bad idea it is, he snaps a picture of his torso—abs flexed, of course, with the most flattering filter he can find thrown over the top, the kind that edits a photo without really making it look edited—and sends it to Harp.

>>PARKER: you were saying?

He immediately regrets it, but the photo is already sent.

So much for… slow. That seems to be his motto when it comes to Harp.

* * *

"Damn it Parker,"Harp grumbles at his phone when the reply comes through. Parker has wasted no time in his response, which means that he's really there, on the line, holding the phone.

The picture is a little life-ending. Harp feels like he can almost taste Parker's skin if he looks hard enough. He wants to do nothing more than stare and think and ruminate on how the events in his life have brought him to this moment—but he knows if he wastes too much time, he risks Parker walking away from his phone.

He's half hard just from this, just from remembering what Parker's skin was like under his lips, just from thinking of Parker thinking of him.

It's wretched, he decides, to care so much for someone like this. He smiles.

>>HARP: You're an asshole, you know that?

>>PARKER: ya but you kinda like it, don’t you

>>HARP: Not even a little bit. That's a common misconception.

Harp fires off the text before he realizes how obtuse it is. Will Parker even get that he's joking? It's not the first time they've joked via text but it is the first time Harp has replied with an unfiltered joke without thinking.

He's flirting and he realizes that he shouldn't. He hopes, when he looks at the chain of messages again, that the reply is dumb enough to halt the conversation.

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