Page 216 of Untouchable

"Merry Christmas, by the way. Are you ready to go home for the holiday?"

* * *

Parker openshis mouth to make a smart-ass response, but when he looks up at Harp, he stops. This is Harp, he remembers. He doesn’t have to cloak everything in detachment, like he’d had to with Cole. He doesn’t have to pretend not to feel, not to hope, not to want.

He does want to be home—and home, he realizes, is wherever he’s with Harp.

He’s too overcome with emotion to speak, a lump welling in his throat, and all he can do is nod enthusiastically, tears pricking his eyes and smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"Well... c'mon," Harp says.

When they climb into the truck and Parker’s hot chocolate is safely secured in a cup-holder, Parker launches himself across the bench seat at Harp, kissing him fiercely—though not particularly well, seeing as he can’t stop smiling. When he pulls back, Harp is staring at him like he’s lost his mind. Parker guides Harp’s hand to the center of his chest, hoping Harp can feel how Parker’s heart is slamming itself against his ribcage.

“I—I—I just—I’m—I—” he says, then stops, laughs, and starts again. “I’m just so happy.”

"Good. That's all I want. Thanks for being patient with me. Find us something you like on the radio," he says. Harp turns the radio to static so that Parker will be forced to make a choice and smiles when Parker lands on a top 40 station.

"Sorry—I bet you can't stand this..." Parker says, sneaking a glance at Harp over his shoulder.

"I only hate it if they don't play Mariah Carey Christmas songs."

Parker smiles. "Oh my God. They definitely do."

Parker begins to ramble about the N*Sync Christmas album, knowing that Harp probably has no idea what Parker is talking about. Still, though, he appreciates the way Harp smiles and nods, doing his best to pay attention.

"I like your sweater," Harp says, interrupting Parker. "I mean, shit, I don't mean to interrupt. It's just, I just noticed it. I really like it."

Parker smiles. "Do you?"

Harp nods. "I love it."

Parker’s first instinct is to say I love you in response, but he stops himself just in time. It’s true, he knows—it feels like the truest thing in the whole world, but this isn’t how he wants to tell Harp. There’s a better time, he knows. Maybe tonight, wrapped in Harp’s arms, in the flickering glow of the fire.

“I wanted to dress up nice,” he says. “For you.”

It’s liberating—and a little scary—to be so honest with someone. Being with Harp makes him realize how badly other people have treated him—Cole, of course, wouldn’t have commented, and if Parker had admitted he’d tried to look nice for him, Cole would have made that condescending face he always made when Parker tried to be romantic.

And for the first time in a long time, the comparison doesn’t make him sad for his younger self, for how he’d allowed himself to be treated for so long, by so many people. Because, good or bad or up or down, all those experiences had led him here, to this moment, to the high beams carving through the dark as they wind their way up a mountain, towards the home they’ve created, towards what feels like a future.

* * *

"Thanks,"Harp says. "I really appreciate it. I wanted tonight to be special."

And it's true. He did. He does. It's all Harp has been thinking about for weeks: how special Parker is, how cruel the world could be for not recognizing it, for saddling Parker with a family who doesn't appreciate him, but how incredible Parker has been to grow up, to come into his own and assert himself. He's proud of Parker and happy for him and in spite of all of the evidence Harp has to the contrary that tells him Harp is a bad person, Harp can almost bring himself to see the positive influence he's had in Parker's life.

And it’s unbearably cute that Parker really did dress up especially for him. It feels good to be mushy and dumb and to have Parker be mushy in return.

When they arrive, it's even darker than Harp had planned—so maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd forgotten to text Parker. It'll be more dramatic, Harp thinks as they drive up the final hill, to see the place lit up in the complete dark.

He'd been scrambling to get the final lights hung, including little LED strings of lights around fir-shaped trees out in the distance that will burn out by morning, he knows. This is the only display that matters: tonight's show, where everything in sight is dripping in pure white lights—everything in the valley he could get his hands on. Harp has meticulously wrapped everything he could reach with an extension cord, creating big even loops around banisters and trees and fences. The valley is lit up with it, and as they crest the hill, Harp realizes that it's been snowing there for several minutes.

He reaches for Parker's hand, so happy he can barely breathe. "Merry Christmas, baby."

* * *

Parker clapshis free hand over his mouth and gasps. He’s utterly speechless as they slowly coast down the hill towards the cabin. The house is frosted in Christmas lights, twisted around the columns of the porch and snaking up the trunks of the trees, neatly trimming every peak and eave of the roof. A light snow has started to fall, and the lights illuminate the flakes as they float softly down. It looks like something out of a snowglobe, perfect and still and lovely, and it’s the most beautiful thing Parker has ever seen, a soft and golden haven glowing in the center of the silent, peaceful valley.

He realizes he’s crying.

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