Page 180 of Untouchable

* * *

Harp just nods,and Parker tries not to read into the fact that, instead of grabbing Parker’s hand, he just follows Parker across the elaborate brickwork of the walkway to where a small fountain, illuminated by cleverly hidden lights, is burbling brightly.

Parker shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to focus on how pretty the fountain is, how the light dances on the surface. Cole never liked taking pictures with Parker, would throw a fit if Parker ever uploaded pictures of them on Facebook together without permission. Parker knows it’s stupid for him to care so much about something as small as a picture in front of a Christmas tree, but he’d been looking forward to having a picture of the two of them, something he could look at when he was lonely and sad Harp wasn’t there, a tangible reminder of sharing this perfect day.

Stop being a baby about this, Parker, it’s dumb. It’s just a picture.

He’s nervous. He begins to ramble.

“So, um, what are you doing for Christmas? I guess probably not going back to Florida? Are you gonna like, um, see Gil maybe? Do you even like Christmas? It’s my favorite, but, I dunno this year I’m barely even looking forward to it because Thanksgiving was so shitty. We always go to my uncle’s house and I guess I’m just worried it’ll be exactly like how Thanksgiving was where I feel crappy and then also feel guilty for not liking my family so much, you know?”

Harp nods and mumbles an incoherent response, and Parker realizes Harp has barely said a word since they left the hotel room. His heart begins to sink, and he can feel his shoulders turning inward, as if he’s curling in on himself, trying to take up less space, be less of a nuisance.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. “I’m… talking a lot.”

* * *

The shiftin Parker is silent but monumental. It only takes Harp a moment to understand what he's done.

He really hasn't been listening to Parker, completely wrapped up in his own mental drama, and instead of stopping Parker and admitting that he needed a break to think, he'd just let Parker keep on talking. Now he looks crushed and embarrassed and young in a way that makes Harp’s chest hurt.

"Parker," Harp says, grabbing his hand again. He doesn't even remember dropping it. "I'm sorry. I'm really—"

He stops where he stands and sighs. "This sounds ridiculous. I'm having a lot of anxiety. I didn't expect the hotel to be so crowded."

Parker's face falls.

“Oh,” Parker says. “Um—do, uh—do you want to leave?”

"No. I really don't. I want to stay here with you. I just need a few minutes to think and maybe decompress and..." Harp doesn't want to deliver bad news to Parker. Not after he's been so happy all afternoon. He hates ruining things—and Harp always finds a way to ruin them.

"Okay," Parker says warily, raising one of Harp's hands to his lips and kissing the back of it. "Good. Because I'm really having fun with you. But only if you're sure."

"I don't think I can do dinner downstairs," Harp says quickly, trying to rip off the bandaid, feeling like an utter failure and waiting for Parker's face to fall again.

* * *

Parker bites his lip,trying to hide his disappointment. He’s been looking forward to this, to the fancy dinner in the fancy hotel with his boyfriend, to food with hard to pronounce names and blood-red wine and candlelight and cloth napkins.

“No problem,” he says, pasting a smile on his face. “Do you wanna just... go back up to the room?” He tries to sound casual, but he’s sure he’s failing.

"We'll order the fanciest things we can get from room service," Harp says, and Parker can tell by Harp’s expression that he’s doing a terrible job of hiding his disappointment. "I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you but—I just know if we go to the restaurant tonight and we sit down, I'm going to have a panic attack. And ruining it in the middle of the meal instead of before is... you don't deserve that. And you deserve me to listen to you, and remember what you say, and I'm just not right now. I'm so sorry."

“It’s okay,”Parker says softly. He knows he’s being shitty, acting like a petulant child who hasn’t gotten his way. Harp is really, really trying and Parker can see that. And isn’t this—Harp being open, Harp actually telling him what he’s thinking instead of shutting down—exactly what Parker wants?

Parker realizes he’d been assuming that, once Harp opened up, it would be easy and fun and his life would be sunshine and daisies. But that’s not true, he sees now. Harp is a complex, fucked up person—and so is Parker. And all Parker can do in this moment is be grateful for Harp’s honesty and, in return, be honest to Harp as well.

He grabs Harp’s hand and squares his shoulders.

But right now, he realizes, he can help Harp. And that, in itself, is something special.

“Okay, let’s head back up to the room,” he says, his voice firm and resolved. “Do you feel okay going through the lobby right now? Or would you rather find a different way back? Or maybe wait somewhere quiet for a while?”

"Let's bulldog it," Harp says. "I'd rather get up to the room and relax there than relax here, get freaked out in architect city, and then have to calm down all over again."

Parker nods. He feels better now, stepping into the role of self-proclaimed caretaker. Making sure Harp is okay pulls him out of his own spiral, his nagging doubts and insecurities.

“Sounds good,” he says. He leads them back to the front door and gives Harp a little fake salute before plunging them into the chaos.

---