Page 236 of Untouchable

He wants to reach out and squeeze Harp’s hand, to take away whatever anxiety Harp is feeling, but he’s not sure how Harp feels about PDA, and especially after the… unique first impression Parker made, he wants to lay a little low.

“That’s awesome,” he says. “I’m glad you were able to move. So what do you do in Portland?”

Gil shootsa half-panicked look to Harp and then sees that Parker sees, frowning when Harp doesn't say anything to rescue him. "I thought you would—hah, I mean. I do what I can... I do this and that to get by," he babbles. "I'm between things."

Parker smiles. Gil has a way of giving answers that aren’t really answers—just like Harp, he realizes—but Parker is determined to get to know this person that’s important to Harp.

“I know that feeling,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and trying to relax a little. It helps him to pick out the similarities between the brothers, makes Gil feel like less of an unknown quantity, someone to be intimidated by. “I had to search for ages before I found Rocky Mountain—er, that’s where I work, how I met Harp—and even then, it was kind of an accident. My housemate—Mindy, she’s, like, my best friend—works there too, and she was able to get the guy who owns it to meet with me.”

He stops, realizing he’s rambling about himself again.

“So, like, maybe a better question is… what do you… like doing? What would be your… ideal job or whatever?”

He hates that he’s asking this question, because it sounds so much like something a relative might ask him, in a condescending tone. He hates the implication that what someone does for a paycheck is somehow indicative of someone’s worth or even who they are as a person. He’s nervous, though, and desperate to keep the conversation flowing, and it’s the first question that tumbles out.

* * *

"I was,um, making terrariums for a while but I kind of got edged out of my booth in this cute little space on Mississippi—you know how that goes," Gil says, snorting.

"So, something with plants?" Parker guesses.

"God, just, anything creative that gets me out in the world. Plants, paints, whatever."

"Oh, do you paint, too?"

"Well, I helped this brilliant muralist on this series down by Division during the huge crystal and craft fair in April and—"

"Yeah, fetching the guy's coffee," Harp pipes up.

Gil frowns at him.

"What?" Harp asks, raising his eyebrows. "You hated that whole gig."

"Okay but it was still important work he was doing, you know?" Gil shrinks a little.

"Sorry—I wasn't trying to be a dick. I just remember the weeks of tedium when you were doing that. Sorry. Uh, go on. I didn't mean to interrupt." Harp had half forgotten about how often he used to talk to Gil. It had been daily sometimes when he got to Portland. A pang of guilt goes through him like the jolt from touching a hot wire.

"It's whatever."

"You had that, uh, internship," Harp volunteers, trying to make up for interrupting.

"Well, it wasn't officially an internship. It was more like... structured volunteering at this really niche distillery in Gresham of all places that does small-batch liqueurs."

* * *

“Wow,”Parker says, intimidated once more. Gil’s life seems sophisticated and glamorous and impossibly cool, and it makes Parker, who’s left Colorado only a handful of times, feel rather dull by comparison. “Distilleries, that’s like… liquor, right? What did you do there?”

"It wasn't a big deal—I wasn't even going to bring it up, really," Gil says, giving Harp a pointed look. "I mean it's all just stuff to pass the time until I figure out what my calling is going to be. It'd be great to have a steady gig like what Harp does, but I don't dig the whole isolation thing. I'm sure you must feel me on that since you seem to like working with people."

“I gave Harp a lot of shit about that,” Parker says, smiling fondly at Harp. He seems to be the only one smiling at the table though, and he tries to dial himself back a little. “I was like, so convinced he was dying of loneliness up here but… I dunno, I kinda get it now. I mean I would definitely die if I only went into town once a month or something like he does, but… it’s nice up here. It was easy to get used to.”

Parker stops himself, wondering if he’s accidentally let onto the fact that he’s practically been planning their wedding for weeks now, picturing non-stop what it would be like to move in with Harp.

"Do you spend a lot of time up here or does Harp... come to town?" Gil asks, raising an eyebrow.

Parker pauses to consider this.

“A little of both, I guess,” he says, and he can’t help reaching over, finding Harp’s hand under the table and squeezing it. Harp still seems almost shell-shocked, and Parker chalks it up to the disruption of his routine, remembering how out of sorts Harp had been the first day Parker met him. “My car’s in the shop—I hit a deer and… pretty much almost totaled it—so Harp’s been coming down more, which is really nice. Honestly, though, I get withdrawal if I don’t see Bo at least once a week, though—”

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