Page 313 of Untouchable

Parker finally rewardshim with a smile. "Millennial," he says through a grin. "I know."

"So... yay or nay on the traditional sides?"

"Harp, you could cook wood mulch as a side and it would still be good. You don't need my advice."

"That's where you're sorely wrong," Harp insists. Parker still seems so far away, and Harp can't stand it.

Harp hates the way that Parker seems to fold in on himself, the way that he's rounding his shoulders ever so slightly and becoming smaller. Harp drags a palm in circles over Parker's back.

He wants to protect Parker from Cole—from his presence, his existence, his gaze. He hates the things he knows about Parker's ex, all of the injustices that Harp can never right for him, all of the scars Cole left on his heart. Harp is overcome, wants to bundle Parker up, wants to do anything but this, this odd discomfort. Gently, Harp catches Parker under the chin and guides him into the softest kiss.

"I absolutely need a consultant," Harp half-whispers. "I'd be lost without you. You know that."

* * *

Parker is spiraling.He tells himself he shouldn’t, that he should be present and with his boyfriend and enjoying the evening—but telling himself what he should and shouldn’t feel only seems to make his feelings all that much stronger. He doesn’t want Cole to ruin this evening, but it’s happening anyway, and he feels weak, he feels lost, he feels small, he feels scared—

But then Harp is kissing him.

All else fades when Harp’s lips are against his, and for a moment, Parker forgets about Cole. It’s like coming in from the cold—his body relaxes, his head clears, and he suddenly remembers that there’s nothing Cole can do to hurt him. Cole has no power over him anymore. And yes, there are wounds. There are scars that may never fade completely, shiny white scrapes across the surface of his heart that will always be there to remind him of what has happened. To remind him of how far he’s come. How much he’s grown.

When they part, Parker’s smile is soft and hazy and genuine.

“If you’re looking to me for direction, you’re fucked,” he says with a soft laugh. “I got lost on the way up to the cabin every single session for the first month or so.”

"Hmm and yet you're still my moral compass. So what is the truth?"

"Oh my god. Is that a reference to—"

"That Oprah gif you sent me. I take your gifs very seriously," Harp says.

“You’re doing a great job,” Parker says proudly. “One of these days you’re going to be all the way caught up to the 21st century.”

He inhales deeply, breathing in the milky-sweet smell of the coffee. The scent is grounding and comforting, reminding him of lazy Sunday mornings in bed with Harp, or driving down the mountain on frosty mornings, sipping coffee out of a travel mug on his way to work.

Parker is still facing away from Cole—very intentionally—but he can tell from the way that Harp’s eyes keep flicking over Parker’s shoulder that Cole is still staring at them.

“Hey—” Parker says suddenly. “We should take a trip somewhere. I know we’ve talked about it before but we should actually do it. Like, um, Iceland or something. Or Patagonia. I dunno. I bet Mandy and Mindy would house-sit for us—would that be weird? I promise Mindy wouldn’t snoop around—she’s nosy but she’d rather just pester me with questions and get her info that way.”

* * *

"Hm,"Harp grunts thoughtfully.

Parker doesn't know it, but traveling this year is one of Harp's biggest goals. He's been denying it to himself, but over the past years as his agoraphobia took over his life, his aversion to confined spaces and flights grew stronger. It's never been a stumbling block for them, but Harp doesn't want to live the rest of his life only seeing what's close enough to reach by car. He deserves more than that—and so does Parker.

"Maybe we could do something more... domestic first," Harp suggests. "Baby steps, you know? Maybe Vancouver or Zion or the Smokies or something."

“Ooh—balloons!” Parker says excitedly, and Harp gives him a strange look. Parker laughs. “I mean that, um, that festival—in New Mexico—the one with all the hot air balloons? We could go do that. I mean, probably not go in a hot air balloon because I’m pretty sure I’d die of fright, but we could see them. I’ve never been down to the desert before. Or, oh my god, we could go to Roswell—”

"Now you're speaking my language."

"Seriously?"

"Fuck yeah. Oh, hell, my ‘Ancient Aliens’ phase was before I met you. How weird."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Only if you want to know more details about your depressed boyfriend watching endless episodes of absolutely wacky conspiracy theories," Harp says.

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