Page 26 of Untouchable

"Yep, nope, my fault. No harm done. If you want to go ahead and set up, uh, wherever, I'm gonna step out for a cigarette, and come find you."

Parker's face falls.

"Don't worry—I'll brush my teeth," Harp says before letting himself out the back door.

He'd forgotten how cold it is and his bare feet freeze against the deck. He steps around the corner and lights up, suddenly shaky and appreciating the tobacco, the excuse to step away for a minute.

Parker seems like a nice kid. Of course it's stupid of him to have thought they would connect on any level. It was stupid to think a potential friend was going to materialize out of thin air after Harp had gone full hermit—and certainly not something to hope for.

Oh well. He knows his shit.Harp is still confident Parker can fix his hip. And he's less nervous than he was the last time.

* * *

Parker wants to cry.For one brief, glowing moment, there had been a thread of connection between them, and Parker had snapped it.

He’s confused, too. He goes upstairs and begins to set up his table, still trying to figure out what had just happened. Harp had asked him to be honest, and then he was.

But... not the right kind of honest, maybe? Or too honest? Honest about the wrong thing? Maybe he just should have lied.

All he knows for sure is that he’s messed up and offended Harp, and next time he should keep his mouth shut. Just like everyone has always told him to. Harp is probably going to call Rocky Mountain, and Parker will be—rightfully—fired.

The nasty little voice in his head is practically cackling with glee. Harp’s upset with him, and no amount of fumbling apologies can fix that. It’s been this way since he was a kid—the feeling of knowing he’s disappointed someone has always been the worst kind of agony. And sadly, it seemed to happen a lot.

I told you so, I told you so, I told you so, it chants.

Parker’s head is bowed in shame, and he can barely bring himself to glance up when Harp strides through the bedroom to brush his teeth.

"How do you want me?" he asks when he re-emerges, minty fresh. His voice is deceptively friendly which only makes Parker more anxious.

“Go ahead and start laying on your stomach,” Parker mumbles. He’s being a coward but he can’t handle looking at Harp, seeing the disapproval and disappointment etched on his face.

He moves to step out of the room but then stops, whipping back around.

“Actually—wait. No,” he says, steeling himself. He forces himself to meet Harp’s gaze, a sudden, surprising courage blazing in him. He wants more for himself, and he wants more for Harp. “Harp, I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I wasn’t saying you were making the pain up. If—If you want me to just shut up and do the massage, I can, but—I—I think we can do better.”

He falters, and he realizes his hands are shaking. He makes himself keep eye contact, even though he’s suddenly so nervous he wants to throw up. The stakes suddenly seem so, so high, and not because of his job. It’s something else, but he doesn’t know what.

* * *

"You know,It's really fine. I asked for your opinion and as a practitioner, you gave it to me. Quite frankly, you're the subject matter expert between the two of us," Harp says. His voice is even. The non-threatening smile comes to his face easily. Despite the fact that he only rarely summons up the ability, Harp knows how to roll over and show his belly, to put his hands in the air.

"Besides, I've been taking pot shots at you since the first time we met, trying to get a rise out of you. Maybe I'm just jealous that between the two of us, there's only been one... rise? That made more sense in my head."

Harp frowns and then self-consciously contorts it back into a smile.

“Last time—last time I worked on your hip, that didn’t hurt, right?” Parker says, frowning deeply.

"It was uncomfortable but... I was okay," Harp says truthfully.

“When you feel it, is it sharp pain? Dull pain? Or just… stressful and tense?” Parker asks.

Parker had asked the same sort of question the other day and Harp hadn't known how to respond then, either. But instead of digging his heels in, Harp tries. He wants to try. He doesn't want to be the big crazy guy on the mountain that Parker goes home to tell his roommate about.

Maybe I don't want to be the Harptopus, he realizes. Maybe they can meet somewhere in the middle.

"It's bone deep," he says slowly, kneading the area absentmindedly. "Sometimes it radiates, sometimes it's sharp. Sometimes I feel it in places that don't even make sense."

“What about when I was working on it, though?” Parker says, pressing the issue gently. “If you can remember. Did that pressure itself hurt?”

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