Page 188 of Untouchable

He wishes there was a way to communicate to Parker just how important what he’s done already is—how close he already is to taking away the bad.

Well,he thinks. Maybe not taking it away.

But there was something about talking to Parker about what had happened that made the worst moments of his life make a sort of sense. It’s as if, by putting away the events and only ever trotting them out to torture himself in his memory but never sharing them with anyone, Harp has never truly had to stitch the timeline together, to understand it in the larger context of who he was—and is.

But here they are, like pearls on a string. Bad things happened—that was one pearl. The car accident, being outed, cheating on Cherry, failing Walt.

But neutral things happened, too—life on the mountain, the years Harp had traveled, the career he’d built slowly. Those were all pearls, all years of his life, all moments just as important.

And absurdly, good things could happen, too. Finding Parker. Having a second chance at being a good brother to Gil.

They feel more like just events when Harp says them out loud to Parker. The earth doesn’t stop spinning because Parker learned about Cherry, the weekend isn’t ruined because he’d spoken about Walt.

“You’ve done more than you know,” Harp says, finally, as he strokes a hand through Parker’s hair. "You know I wish I could do the same for you. But we'd be different people without our hurts. Maybe you wouldn't like me so much, if things had gone another way. I've made my peace with the way things are."

And for the first time, Harp realizes that last statement might be the truth instead of just some mantra he sells to himself when times are hard.

* * *

Parker smiles sadly upat Harp and then tucks his face back into the crook of Harp’s neck.

“I don’t think I could ever not like you so much, but… I see what you’re saying.” He leans into Harp’s hand as Harp pets his hair, and they are both quiet for a moment. Parker has no idea what’s going through Harp’s mind, if he feels relieved or if he’s reliving the past or if he regrets telling Parker any of this. This seems like an impossible thing to make peace with, but maybe, Parker realizes, by the time he’s Harp’s age, he will have been able to lay some of his own demons to rest.

"So. You have any interesting childhood traumas you want to unpack to make the mood even more romantic?" Harp asks, laughing at himself.

Parker laughs in spite of himself.

“Er, I mean, I think you know all my childhood—and current—traumas. Remember when I cried in your lap while I was drunk about it? And then the other time when I called you—also crying—at Thanksgiving about it?”

He pauses, thinking.

“Er, I do have an unpaid parking ticket in Vail that I’ve been on the run from. Cole and I went there, and we ended up drinking a bit too much at dinner and taking a cab back to our hotel, and left my car there overnight. And I just… never paid it. So, y’know, I’m kind of an outlaw.”

Harp laughs. "Really Parker, I want you to feel as comfortable sharing shit with me as I do with you," Harp says, rearranging himself so that they can see each other's faces. "It doesn't have to sound all big and tragic like mine to be important, you know."

Parker smiles weakly.

“What could be traumatic about being told you’re an unwanted surprise baby all your life?” he says, then winces at how pathetic he sounds, how flat the joke falls.

He takes a deep breath, picking at the fraying hem of the flannel he’s stolen from Harp.

“My whole life, my family has acted like they’d fit into the perfect mold they’d dreamed of if only I wasn’t constantly fucking things up for them. But… that’s just the kind of people they are, I think. They’re never happy. Or grateful. I think maybe they focus on me because it’s easy, but… if I weren’t around, I think they’d just find someone else to blame for why they’re unhappy.”

He swallows, suddenly averting his eyes from the steady melted-chocolate warmth of Harp’s gaze.

“That’s why it’s so hard, sometimes,” he says. “To… believe why you’re so nice to me. That it’s just what you want to do instead of a way to get something from me. That’s what love is like in my family. It’s something you… act like when you need something from someone. I think that’s why my family liked Cole so much, why they didn’t want me to break up with him. He was just like them.”

He forces a smile.

“Boy, we’re more fun than a barrel of monkeys tonight, aren’t we?”

Harp sighs, his expression kind. "It's okay, you know? That's not right the way your family treats you, and it's okay that it seeps into other areas of your life. You're doing well for yourself and at least you're aware that they're not objectively right about you," Harp says. He laces his fingers through Parker's.

“Thank you,” Parker says. “It means a lot to me. That you… remind me of stuff like that. It helps.”

He’s too scared to say anything else, because he knows he falls hard and fast for people, and it’s only ever caused hurt before. He can’t even remember what it was like in the beginning with Cole—had he ever felt this safe, this secure, this loved? Is he looking past red flags, the way he always does, because he’s so desperate for affection and a kind word or two?

It doesn’t feel like that. It feels real, more substantial. But Parker’s also not sure if he can even trust his feelings.

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