Page 181 of Untouchable

The hotel lobby is even more crowded that before, and though Parker finds the hustle and bustle festive and energizing, he sees now how this must be Harp’s worst nightmare—a crush of people, loud voices, bright lights, and underneath it all, the tinny, too-cheerful Christmas carols. He shoulders his way through the crowds, practically bowling over a few of the architects who don’t get out of the way in time, keeping his hand clamped around Harp’s as he tows Harp to the elevator.

* * *

The factthat Parker is willing to move on without dwelling on the cancelled dinner plan seems to give Harp a new strength, a second wind.

It's easier to cross the lobby this time, knowing that Parker understands that he doesn't want to linger here, that Parker knows at least a fraction of how he feels when he's faced with the wall-to-wall crowd.

"Actually, can we take the stairs?" Harp says, guiding them past the narrow elevator doors. "I think maybe it'd give me something to concentrate on."

The suite is only four stories up, but the stairwell is likely to be deserted. Parker nods and Harp leads the way, setting a brutal pace.

It's something that works at home sometimes, forcing himself to be out of breath, usually by chopping wood.

I guess it's not that different from what Parker did for me the other day.

Parker follows Harp up the stairs, keeping pace with Harp easily. Harp all but sprints, and mercifully they don’t encounter a single other person.

Harp feels a little more centered when they're back in the room, but the sun has mostly set and the champagne sits in half-melted water. A bit of the luster of the room has worn off, and Parker's energy seems to have followed suit.

Parker kicks off his shoes and tosses his jacket aside and then turns around to look at Harp.

“So… how are you feeling?” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Are you hungry? Do you need time alone?”

"I'm okay. I really am. I feel better now that we're back up here and... just being with you. It helps. I'm really sorry about dinner... and yes, I'm fucking starving. How about you?"

* * *

Parker givesHarp a small smile and closes the distance between them, hugging him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I could definitely eat,” he says, grinning.

He picks up the room service menu on the desk and glances at it. The font is tiny, and half the words are in French or something, and the prices make his stomach clench. He hands it to Harp.

“Here,” he says. “You pick something out for me.”

Harp sighs. "I'm sorry, Parker. I can tell you're disappointed about dinner—you don't have to act for me. I want to start over and take goofy selfies with you and go on a good walk and I guess... I don't know. I guess I'm rustier at being around people than I realized."

Parker opens his mouth to deny this, then stops himself. For as much as he’s been encouraging Harp to open up, to be honest and vulnerable, Parker is suddenly finding it excruciatingly difficult.

“You’re right,” he says, and though Harp looks crushed, Parker wills himself to continue. “I… I was looking forward to dinner, and I am sad we aren’t going to do it, but… that’s not the most important thing right now, you know? And if we did go to dinner but you were having a bad time, then it wouldn’t be any fun for me either.”

He takes a deep breath, staring at a point on the carpet between them.

“What matters is being here with you,” Parker says. “What matters to me most, actually, is that you planned all this out for me and thought of stuff that I would love doing, even if it wasn’t necessarily your favorite thing. And that you told me when you were having a tough time. And… I guess I thought, oh, if we’re 100% honest all the time everything will be easy and fun and great, but… I mean obviously that’s not how life works.”

He bites his lip, feeling like he’s doing a terrible job articulating himself, and he’s too afraid to look up at Harp, afraid he’s doing irreversible damage to their relationship.

“I don’t… I don’t want things to be like they were with… with Cole. Where, even if he did stuff I didn’t like, I was too afraid to say anything, because he’d get mad or I’d be asking for too much or he’d leave me or something. That really fucked me up. So… I want to be honest with you and say, yes, I was looking forward to it, but it’s just dinner, and ultimately it’s not important. And I’ll get over it in, like, two seconds anyway because I have the attention span of a goldfish. And making sure you feel safe is more important than eating steak downstairs with a bunch of architects or something.”

He finally looks up at Harp anxiously.

"Thanks, Parker," Harp says seriously. "I'm trying to stay honest with you too. It means a lot." "And if anyone should be ordering for us, it's you. You did an excellent job of amending my delivery order the other night..."

“I’ll, uh, see what I can do,” Parker says, taking the menu and studying it. It’s much different than scrolling through the Taco Town menu on his phone—this menu has detailed descriptions of each dish, and as Harp watches him, the words begin to squirm around the page as he reads like they’re line-dancing.

“Hmm,” he says. “Wow. This is, um, fancy. I don’t know what a lot of this stuff is…”

“No, no,” Harp says, refusing the menu Parker offers him. “Get whatever you want.”

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