Page 57 of Untouchable

Harp rounds up the dogs and keeps his eye on Parker as he navigates the stairs in too-big boots. Harp guides him down with a hand on the middle of Parker’s back—Harp clearly doesn't trust him not to trip over his own feet, tangled in the jacket and muddled by alcohol, but Parker allows himself to pretend, just for a moment, that Harp wants him, too.

The cold is bracing as they step out. It's already so dark it feels like midnight, and lights from the cabin splash off the snow everywhere that it has fallen. The dogs crash off chasing each other through the snow and Parker watches Harp watch them.

"I guess I'm pretty lucky up here," Harp says abruptly. The snow has stopped falling for the moment, and the night is impossibly serene.

“Yeah,” Parker says. He glances over at Harp. “I’m—I’m really glad I’m here. Thank you for… saving my ass. And… yeah.”

He trails off awkwardly. He’d been about to tell Harp that even if there hadn’t been a storm, if there’d been nothing keeping Parker on the mountain, he still would have wanted to be here, standing in a too-big coat, the sharp air turning his nose and cheeks pink.

* * *

It surprisesHarp to hear Parker say he's glad to be there. Harp had just been trying to make the best of an unavoidable, bad situation: Parker being stranded with him.

And no, maybe it shouldn't come as a shock since Parker seems to have been in a good mood since he took off his scrubs. But Harp has rarely been anyone's first choice in life, and even the small statement means a lot.

It feels good to be a source of anything positive for Parker—to feel like anything other than some freaky asshole who hires him once a week to work on his hip. Parker makes him feel valued and interesting and...

Yep, that's enough of that, Harp thinks, cutting himself off. He gets sentimental and philosophical when he's drinking, and the last thing he needs to do is smother this embryonic, unlikely friendship with a lot of dewey-eyed declarations about the meaning of life.

Instead, Harp lights a cigarette and gives Parker a sidelong glance. He's laughing at the dogs in the snow.

But what if.

What. If.

It could be an act. It wouldn’t be the first time Harp had let himself be manipulated by someone, and he knows he has a weakness for his own ego. It seems a little too good to be true: Parker inviting him out for lunch, Parker acting like his buddy over dinner, Parker asking to get drunk with him.

What if it’s just an act?

What if Harp really is a freakshow to Parker? What if Parker is just gathering interesting details about Harp’s sad, bizarre life so that he can text them to Mindy later? It wouldn’t necessarily even be that malicious, Harp realizes. Harp is strange—he’s never tried to deny that. It wouldn’t be Parker’s fault if he regards Harp more as a project or an experiment than someone he’d ever want to be friends with, to have a drink with.

Harp twists that logic around in his mind until it’s completely snarled and the silence between them no longer feels affable. What if Parker… has a motive?

"If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?" Harp asks

Parker turns to look at Harp, squinting at him in the dim light.

“Yeah,” Parker says, a little nervously.

"Why do you want me to get drunk with you?" Harp asks. "Because if it's just that you don't want to drink alone, all you've gotta do is say it but..."

But what?he asks himself. This is a stupid question. He shouldn't harass the kid. Not everyone has an ulterior motive. Not everyone is waiting for Harp to fuck up.

* * *

Parker’s face falls.There’s a hard, closed edge to Harp’s voice, and Parker can feel the wall between them going up again.

What did I do wrong? he wonders. Clearly he’s done something, because they were having a nice night otherwise, and now Harp’s jaw is set and there’s something unpleasant buzzing in the air between them.

“I dunno,” Parker says in a small voice. “I… I thought it would be fun. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… pressure you, or whatever.”

Even as Parker’s saying this, though, he realizes it’s wrong—he does know why. A part of himself, a part he doesn’t want to admit is piping up, is hoping that, once alcohol has stripped away the last of the barriers between them, something might happen.

Even as he thinks it, Parker feels ashamed, almost predatory, somehow. Harp has showed him so much kindness and generosity. And beyond that, Harp has shown him so much vulnerability, trusting Parker with his body, with his pain.

Hoping for anything more than friendship is selfish, he knows. Is manipulative. Is wrong.

And maybe Harp knows. Maybe Parker’s wearing his desire as plain as day on his face.

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