Page 327 of Untouchable

“I’ve got everything to prove,” Gil cuts in dramatically, as if they’re rehearsing some overwrought movie script.

“Then let’s do this,” Parker says, his jaw set grimly as he takes his place. “Advanced it is.”

* * *

Harp wouldn't exactly callwhat happens next the sexist goddamn thing in his life —that honor is reserved for the time Parker had exterminated Cole from both of their lives in one fell swoop—but it is significantly funnier than watching them play racing games.

In perfect unison Gil and Parker "dance." That is, they tap their feet, jumping furiously in a synchronous pattern over the controllers on the ground. It's one of the more bizarre things that Harp has witnessed, made only stranger when the two begin to also compete to see who can execute the best upper body moves at the same time, striking poses and voguing.

Harp flips on the camera in his phone and holds it steady, taking a 90 second video that ends with Gil hugging Parker and nearly knocking him off the stand.

Harp saves the video and texts it to Mindy with no explanation.

* * *

“God damn, that was a workout,” Parker says, still struggling to catch his breath. “Maybe I should just start going to an arcade instead of the gym.”

Gil collapses into a seat at the table, laying his head down dramatically.

“I’m exhausted,” he says. “No more—please, no more.”

Parker grins as he sits down, taking a long sip of beer. Gil is still rolling his head around on the table, whining loudly, and Parker looks over at Harp. They share a look, and though neither of them speak, Parker knows what Harp is thinking. This is good. This is right.

It’s what Parker is thinking, too.

And he realizes that some subtle weight has been lifted. Unconsciously, Parker had been carrying around a fear that the best Gil and him could ever hope for was some uneasy truce. He’d pictured his life full of awkward holidays and stilted interactions where he and Gil both had one eye on the exit. But, since they’ve been at the arcade, Parker has actually spent more time talking to Gil than to Harp—and he’s had more fun than he’s had during a night out in ages.

“So,” Parker says brightly. “What’s next?”

* * *

Harp hasto hand it to Gil: he absolutely shows Parker a uniquely Portland night out. Their bar hopping spans from a punk bar with the best bathroom graffiti Harp has ever seen to a bar that only serves alcohol in spaghetti cans—all with Harp just a few steps behind, picking up the tab and making sure they drink a little water, at least.

He predicts correctly that the both of them are ill before the night's over, which begins with Parker hurling neatly into a dumpster and then feeling instantly better and ends with Gil ducking into his own bushes "just for a rest" on their way home.

"Just leave me," Gil says dramatically, sitting in the eco-friendly mulch.

"No way—no man left behind," Parker says with equal intensity. Parker insists on heaving Gil up, and Harp doesn't argue when Parker says Gil should come home with them. He'd already felt torn about leaving his brother alone for what would surely be an epic hangover.

Parker makes an effort to carry Gil, which goes exactly as well as one might expect.

“Parker—you’re gonna break someone’s arm if you try to do that,” Harp says with a laugh, and Parker gives up, letting out a frustrated growl.

“You’re going to have to walk, comrade,” Parker says, his face grave. “Think you can do that?”

Gil wails loudly, his voice echoing through the quiet residential street they’re on.

“Gil, someone’s going to think you’re getting murdered,” Harp said.

“Make a podcast about me,” Gil yells into the night. “Get the Australian guy to do it!” Harp rolls his eyes as he shepherds his brother and his boyfriend to the Airbnb. It’s like herding cats to get them to drink water, and while Harp is chasing Parker around the kitchen, trying to keep him wearing at least one layer of clothing, Gil ends up collapsing onto the bed, passing out quite definitively.

Parker is now sitting on the counter in his underwear, and he kicks his legs out, wrapping them around Harp’s waist and dragging him closer.

“I’m guessing you probably don’t wanna make out with me, seeing as I threw up in a dumpster about half an hour ago,” he says with a grin. He’s slightly more sober than he was before, but it’s clear he’s having trouble focusing.

"I mean, I never don't want to, but I might demand a toothbrush enters the equation at some point?"

* * *

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