Page 217 of Untouchable

“You did this for me?” he asks softly.

"I hope it's not—I don't know. I'm honored you chose me—for Christmas, just in general," Harp says quickly.

“It’s—it’s perfect,” Parker chokes out. “Y-you made me cry it’s so beautiful.”

"Good," Harp says, bringing Parker's hand up to kiss the back of it as he drives them down the winding mountain road.

Parker can hardly comprehend what he’s seeing. The cabin looks almost like a dollhouse, like a painting, like a dreamscape, too precious, too perfect to exist in real life. But it does exist. And the best part of all is that it’s for him. All of this beauty exists because Harp wanted to give it to Parker.

That is what love is, Parker thinks. Spending all day decorating a house only one other person will ever see, because you know it will make them happy.

Of course, Parker is beyond happy—he feels delirious, overwhelmed, drunk off of joy, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. He can’t do much more than let Harp kiss his hand as he looks out over the valley, taking in every little detail that Harp has designed just for him to find.

* * *

When they pullup to the house, Parker looks a little dazed and Harp smiles. "C'mon, let's grab the dogs and go for a walk before we go in and make a fire. Do you want something warmer to wear from inside?"

Parker smiles and shakes his head and follows Harp up the stairs, past the lights, and inside.

"I made you a tree but... okay, hear me out. I didn't want to cut it down so I just found a tree to decorate," Harp says, feeling stupid now that he says it out loud. As much as he cares for Parker's holiday, he just couldn't justify it to himself to kill a perfectly pretty little tree.

Before Parker can respond, the sound of little bells comes tinkling from the bedroom.

"Oh, uh, the dogs. I half forgot," he says, which is a lie because it had taken him a full 45 minutes to get all of the dogs comfortable in their various sweaters and accoutrements. Petunia had absolutely refused the reindeer antlers Harp had tried on her—since none of the dog sweaters fit—and he'd settled on a big red bow for her—but Gunny and Bo are dressed to the nines and skitter around the corner when they hear Harp's voice.

“Oh my god,” Parker says, laughing and dropping to his knees to greet the dogs as they rush to him. They’re dressed in their Christmas best, just like Parker, Bo in a metallic gold sweater and Gunny in a bright red hoodie with green trim. Parker laughs as they try to lick his face. “You guys look phenomenal. I’m glad you convinced your dad to let you dress up.”

Harp grabs leashes and gets them all hitched up. It's never a far or a fast walk with all three dogs at once, but distance isn't the goal. He just wants to be outside, enjoying the night with Parker.

"Are you hungry? I've had a beef stew going on all day," Harp says, realizing that he's actually feeling talkative and barely recognizing the impulse to fill the silence with the least profound things on his mind. He gets them on the path towards the Christmas tree he's decorated and lopes along with Petunia.

“That sounds perfect,” Parker says.

It’s not exactly easy to walk the dogs—despite having the shortest legs, Bo seems to think he deserves to lead the pack, and is pulling desperately, looking a bit like a mylar balloon at the end of a string dancing in the wind.

“God—Harp—it’s just so lovely—I feel like I’m in Narnia or something. Except, y’know, without all the evil snow queen bits.”

Harp laughs and starts talking about CS Lewis's allegories and how he'd never really understood the author until he read The Screwtape Letters. The one-sided conversation gets away from him, and he doesn't notice that Parker has barely said anything until he realizes that his throat is sore from talking so much in the cold, open air.

"Uh, sorry, rambling," Harp says, reaching back to take Parker's hand. "It's just up here."

“No—“ Parker says quickly, squeezing Harp’s hand. “I like it. I mean, I’m... sure as shit never going to read that, to be honest, but when you talk about it I still get to... learn about it, y’know? I could sit and listen to you talk about this stuff all day.”

"Good thing I'm an egomaniac who is perfectly happy lecturing indefinitely to a class of one," Harp says. When Parker frowns at his self-deprecating remark, he adds, "Hey, at least I'm a good cook."

When they round the corner, the tree is just the way he left it. It had been a real gamble leaving it like this in the wind, but he'd picked one in the perfect spot that was sheltered from the sometimes scraping and brutal wind in the valley.

The little tree is only about as tall as Parker, but Harp has draped it with rainbow-colored LED lights, the only thing in the valley that isn't white from top to bottom tonight. He's covered it in lights and added "ornaments" he'd picked up from the valley while he worked this month: a shed antler, an empty blue bird's egg, pinecones of all different sizes, a little discarded nest, and brilliant red leaves that he'd retrieved from the back yard in between snows.

It feels silly almost, seeing it now—like the kind of thing a little kid might make for their parents and then present proudly. But Harp doesn't let himself feel the tempting, creeping doubt. Parker values time and thought and Harp and even if he thinks the display is a little underwhelming, Harp knows that it's truly what he puts into it that matters.

* * *

Without thinking,Parker thrusts the dog leashes into Harp’s hand so he can walk in a slow circle around the tree, examining it. His hands are pressed to his mouth, and when he sees the little bird nest, his laugh rings out over the valley.

“Can I… touch it?” he asks, and when Harp nods, Parker crouches to examine a delicate skein of moss stretched over a branch like a bough, bathed in the soft glow of the lights. It’s utterly magical, like something from a storybook, and Parker can’t help laughing as he explores all of the little treasures Harp has tucked into the branches.

All for him.

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