Page 261 of Untouchable

Some hard, small kernel of Harp hears how pathetic he sounds. Some piece of him can understand what Gil is saying—or at least can understand why Gil would think these things about Parker, even if Harp doesn’t agree at all.

Gil sighs.

“Maybe that’s true,” he says, almost sadly. “And fuck, I hope it is. I just hope you’ll really look at the situation objectively and try to figure out what’s really there and what’s just wishful thinking. And, yeah it’d be fucking fantastic if he ended up being your soulmate or whatever. But, Harp, come on. You’ve been alone for years and suddenly your hot gay massage therapist shows up at your door and wants to fuck. That’s the plot of a porn, not a romance.”

"Jesus," Harp says, laughing. "That's not even how it went down. We were friends before we did anything—hell, we didn't even like each other at first."

Gil frowns at him.

“Fine,” he says. “But I think you should take a long look at your relationship and figure out if it’s really what you want. I’m sure Parker’s a great lay—and I’m not gonna lie, he’s hot as hell, if you’re into that. But for his sake, you should decide sooner rather than later. Because I don’t think he’s the kind of person you’re going to spend your life with. You need someone that challenges you. And you’re both going to get hurt if you keep this up.”

"Maybe he isn't who I imagined myself spending my life with. What does that matter? When I was controlling my own life, I ruined it. Something good is happening for me finally and I want to lean into it," Harp says.

And it's true—he never would've predicted that he could have a successful relationship with someone like Parker. But that's simply because he'd never known someone like Parker before now.

“Whatever,” Gil says, rolling his eyes. He looks thoroughly irritated. “Look, I’ll give him a shot tonight at dinner, okay? A real shot, I won’t be an asshole. Maybe I’ll see the real Parker or whatever.”

He looks skeptical.

"I'd really appreciate that," Harp says and means it.

“I guess I should start now,” Gil says darkly. He sits up straighter and waves a hand over his face, suddenly smiling brightly.

“Hi Harp! Great to see you, bro! You ready for dinner? Want another cocktail?”

"This is the worst. No, I hate your taste in cocktails," Harp says, frowning. Gil keeps the grin plastered on his face and it makes Harp shiver.

“Fuck you,” Gil says brightly. “It’s the best.”

At that moment Parker walks in and Harp’s heart can’t decide whether it wants to cheer or fall because of how goddamned good he looks. He’s wearing a sweater Harp’s never seen before, a muted burgundy thing with a deep-v neck, over dark jeans. He looks suddenly more like someone Gil would date than Harp—almost a little sophisticated—and Harp wonders if maybe this was the outfit Parker had packed for dinner at The Stewart. Remembering the weekend makes him feel steadier in the face of Gil’s childish mocking.

“I bet Parker would drink a specialty cocktail made by me,” Gil says in a singsong voice, speaking as if Parker is his best friend.

Parker laughs and raises his eyebrow as he crosses the room to where Harp is sitting, putting his hand on Harp’s shoulder. The simple gesture is somehow as sweet as a kiss.

“I’m always up for cocktails,” Parker says, leaning a little too hard on the first syllable of the word. He seems looser, more relaxed now.

An illicit thrill rolls through Harp as he remembers what Gil had interrupted and what Parker had promised to take care of in the shower. Maybe Harp would feel more relaxed, too, if Gil hadn't been such a buzzkill—but the confrontation has shaken him more than he'd like to admit.

Nobody knows how to pick on you like family, Harp reminds himself suddenly. He's never felt this way about Gil before, but he had barely even known Gil until his brother was 16. It was inevitable that Gil would've heard the bad-mouthing around the Harper household as he was growing up, even if he was largely ambivalent about Harp's existence.

He knows your insecurities too.

It's uncanny, though, like taking off glasses only to notice that they're scratched—and then being unable to focus through the lenses, only being able to see the scratches.

You’re lonely and you’re projecting what you want to see onto the first person who’s paid you any attention since you came out.

It would be completely understandable if it were true, wouldn't it?

"Here, you can have the rest of mine," Harp says, offering up the remaining half of Gil's concoction to Parker and no longer trying to spare Gil's feelings. He feels frayed and odd and he wants a cigarette but decides against it.

* * *

Parker isn’t quitesure what has shifted during the time he was in the shower, but whatever happened, he’s glad, because for the first time since he got there, Gil seems actually friendly, as opposed to merely not standoffish. Parker sees the Gil that Harp knows, then, an odd and dramatic humor—just like Harp’s—someone with eyes that sparkle as he tells a joke, who seems like he has a fair share of stories about raucous drinking and wild nights out.

Parker takes a sip of the cocktail and chokes.

“Oh my god,” he blurts out. “It’s awful.”

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