Page 264 of Untouchable

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Harp is officiallythankful he tucked into a second drink before they left the house because when they arrive at the place Gil has suggested, it's packed.

"Ummm, shit, what should we do?" Gil asks.

"Did you get a reservation?" Harp asks, panicked, watching the stream of people walking in.

"They don't take reservations," Gil admits.

Harp feels panic spiraling in his gut. If they go here, he'll be uncomfortable. If he asks them to go somewhere else, he'll feel like an imposition. He loses no matter what.

Parker puts a hand on his shoulder from the back seat and squeezes.

"You good?" he asks Harp confidentially. Harp nods.

"Cool. It's no big," Parker says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'll go get our name on the list and find a place in the bar. You two find parking?"

"Great," Harp says, happy that he can stall walking in a moment longer. "Thanks, Parker."

“Dude, do you actually want to do this?” Gil says, frowning at Harp like he’s playing therapist. “We can just get burgers and I can drop Parker off and we can head back home. I honestly don’t care.”

Harp panics. He doesn't want to do this. The idea of going to a shitty burger joint to eat until they're full, drop Parker off, and never speak of this stupid stunt of Gil's again sounds beyond appealing.

But this had been Gil's peace offering. But Parker is already inside. But this is what they have planned.

There are a hundred reasons why Harp knows the whole night shouldn't hinge on him and his desires.

"Yes," he says, trying to pretend as if he'd never hesitated. "This is what I want to do. I appreciate you suggesting it."

Gil raises his eyebrow—he clearly doesn’t believe Harp, but he’s willing to keep up the charade.

“Okay,” Gil says, pulling into the parking spot. “And, seriously, they have a whiskey list a mile long. Worst case scenario, you get trashed.” He punches Harp lightly in the shoulder.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Harp says, smirking. It does sound like a good alternative to anxiety. Drinking doesn't exactly fix things, but it makes it much easier to ignore nagging doubts.

"Hey, I'm trying okay? You at least have to give me that. Parker seems a little... I don't know, chiller?"

"He does. I told you—you intimidate him."

Gil snorts.

“I’m 5'6" and my brother gives me an allowance. I’m really not that scary.”

"You know a lot of things he doesn't know about. You listen to podcasts and you understand how to break down a poem," Harp says. "Not everybody comes from a place where all that comes so naturally. You know that."

“I don’t know jack shit about the human body, though. He knows stuff I don’t, I know stuff he doesn’t.” Gil shrugs, and then softens. “I get it though. And I know I’m pretty obtuse sometimes, and we have our weird sibling shorthand, which is probably pretty intimidating. And yeah. I did kind of crash your Christmas. So... Yeah.”

"Do you mind if we smoke before we go in?" As much as Harp doesn't want to continue down this awkward path with Gil, he wants to stall going inside as long as he possibly can. Their breath freezes in the air in front of them, but the harsh cold still sounds more appealing than the loud interior of a bar.

They end up around the side of the building, lurking near the dumpsters and a few stubby bushes that had managed to tough out the winter weather. Harp pulls out the pack and then hands it to Gil, and they stand for a moment in silence. Gil takes a deep inhale and when he lets it go, he sends a long plume of smoke billowing out in front of him.

Out of nowhere, Gil starts talking.

“So I’ve been hooked on this true crime podcast lately, and it’s totally ruining my life in the best way,” he says. “I love it and I’m addicted, but I’m also 99% sure I’m going to get murdered at… almost every minute of every day.”

"It's not... is it Casefile? I've been listening to Casefile to go to sleep sometimes and it's oddly soothing, even though I'm also, yeah, pretty ready to get murdered constantly now," Harp says, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Gil says emphatically, smiling. “How can I be lulled into sleep listening to someone recounting some grisly murderer? Anyway, so, the other day, I was walking home from a show I’d gone to with friends—”

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