Page 144 of Untouchable

Once Parker hears the water start, he throws Harp’s clothing into the washing machine, along with his own for good measure. He’ll need to shower, too, so he pulls an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants from his laundry basket and slips into them for now—he doesn’t want to track bits of hay all over the house. He hears a colossal noise, and is tempted to check in and see if Harp’s okay, but he resists the urge.

He’s antsy because he’s nervous, he realizes—Harp enjoying working on the farm had been a stroke of good luck, but now Harp is here, in his apartment, in his shower, and the pressure to make sure everything goes smoothly has ratcheted up once more. Parker goes into the kitchen, slicing up the apples and baguette and cheeses he’d picked out that morning, and it feels good to do something with his hands. He channels his nerves into arranging everything elaborately on a plate—maybe he can’t cook like Harp, but he can plate, at the very least.

He turns on the overhead light, but it’s too harsh, almost surgical. He switches on the lamps, instead. Better. He turns music on, then off, then on again, putting on some mellow acoustic mix Mindy’s made. He perches on the couch and waits, chewing at his cuticles nervously.

* * *

It's notuntil Harp is out of the shower and attempting to dry himself off with the woefully small towel that Harp realizes he hasn't thought through the logistics of this situation.

He wraps the towel most of the way around his hips—as far as it will go—and calls to Parker from the cracked bathroom door.

"Parker? We may have a problem."

* * *

Parker’s heart sinks—and,god, he realizes it’s exhausting to like someone this much, but to still not quite be able to trust things. Even though Harp is his boyfriend now, Parker feels as though he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to do something wrong and have Harp realize he’s made a mistake.

“Um, yeah?” Parker says, heading towards the bathroom, where he sees Harp peering out at him sheepishly from the smallest crack in the door.

"How far along is the laundry process? Because I'm guessing you don't have any, uh, Harp-sized clothing handy?"

Parker bursts out laughing and slaps his hand to his forehead.

“Oh my god,” he says. “I didn’t think of that. Er… lemme check.” He glances at the washing machine, tucked away in its little alcove. “Well, there’s still 25 minutes left in the washing process. I put it on heavy duty.”

The tiny sliver of Harp’s expression that Parker can see turns to dismay.

“Uh—hang on, I have an idea.” Parker pulls a folded bedsheet out of the hall closet and holds it out towards the bathroom door. “You can do it toga style, you know?”

"Is this, um. Mindy's?" Harp asks, staring at the pink sheet Parker has just passed him through the crack in the door.

"Yeah, none of mine are clean."

"Do you have anythingelse?"

Parker laughs. "She's not gonna care, oh my God. I'll just wash it again after you leave if you're so worried about it."

* * *

In the end,Harp can't come up with a configuration that he's happy with and he wraps the sheet around him starting under his arms. It gives the effect of a strapless, draped, pale pink floor-length ball gown, but it also covers up as much of Harp as possible. He steps out frowning.

"I really did not think this through."

Parker apparently can’t help beaming as Harp steps into the living room.

“What?” Harp asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Parker says, biting back his grin. He stands on his tiptoes and kisses Harp quickly. “Go sit down. I made us food.”

“Is, uh, Mindy going to be home soon?” Harp asks as Parker grabs the plate from the kitchen. Parker snorts.

“I’m not sure. Maybe in like, an hour? She has a date tonight, though, so she won’t be around.”

Harp takes a seat on the couch after a moment of hesitation. The plate of food in front of him, when Parker sets it down, looks amazing with thin-sliced meats and baguettes, apple slices carefully staggered in a pretty pattern, artful smears of mustard. It's clear that Parker has put thought into this and it makes Harp smile.

He waits for Parker to grab the first bite and then enthusiastically assembles a bite of his own. The first taste makes Harp realize how starving he is, but he does his best to pace himself, matching Parker bite for bite and taking no more.

“It’s not the kind of cheese I wanted to get,” Parker says. “I was looking up—well, I was looking up fancy picnic foods because I thought we could hike and then… I dunno, eat something fancy since you’re always making me really gourmet stuff, but then everything got fucked up. Anyway, the blog I was looking at called for this special type of brie but then the grocery store was out and—yeah.” Parker seems to run out of steam and he sighs.

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