Page 278 of Untouchable

Gil beginsto say something to Harp but Harp is throwing cash down onto the table and up after Parker immediately.

He doesn't want to hear what Gil has to say. Gil's feelings aren't what he is worried about right now.

Parker is just outside the door of the restaurant when Harp catches up with him, fumbling with his phone—and to Harp's dismay he is crying.

"Parker, Jesus, it's—come back inside and I'll call us a car. I'll ride with you back to your apartment and then once you're settled I can—"

Parker looks up, his eyes wide as if he’s shocked to see Harp here, amazed that Harp left his brother and followed him out of the restaurant. Tears are still streaming down his cheeks. Of course Harp followed him—was it really a question?

“It’s okay, Harp,” Parker says wearily, not trying to hide the fact that he’s crying. “Please, just—go back inside. Have dinner with your brother, we can talk later.”

"Parker, come on—I don't want to stay either. Gil can wait on me to get back to the house. I want to get you home," Harp says. He wants to pull Parker into his arms but almost feels as if he shouldn't.

He realizes abruptly that maybe Parker doesn't want to share a car home with him.

* * *

Parker wants to throw himself into Harp’s arms, wants to bury his face in Harp’s flannel and breathe in his familiar amber, pine-sap scent, but—

But.

He’s exhausted, too, and he’s still a little drunk, and the past two days have been a goddamn rollercoaster, from highest highs to lowest lows.

Parker feels like he can’t get enough air, each breath coming as a ragged, shallow gasp.

“Please, Harp,” he says, his voice weak and pleading. “Go back inside okay? I can get home on my own and I just want to be—”

He stops himself before he says alone, not even quite sure if it’s true. What he really wants, he realizes, is for none of this to have happened.

But maybe, a morbid part of his brain thinks, this is the consequence of loving too hard, too fast.

"Please," Harp says. Then, Harp is pulling Parker into his arms, and for the first time, Parker jerks away instinctively. He doesn’t want to be touched right now, doesn’t want to be held. He wants to be alone, in his bed, and so asleep he doesn’t even know what year it is.

* * *

All of theoxygen is gone from Harp's lungs because he's done it again.

He's found a way to alienate Parker.

It was only a matter of time.

The beginning of the end.

It feels like he’s tumbling through the air, as if every past hurt is heaped on top of this one—because it isn’t designed to hurt. It isn’t an insult. Parker is instinctively pulling away. One can’t fake that kind of disgust.

Harp had been connected to Parker, an invisible thread strung between them, sensitive and alive. He wasn’t aware of it until it was severed, the moment Parker pulled out of his arms.

Parker has finally realized that life isn't better with him around. Parker doesn't want to be in his arms.

Though Harp had convinced himself otherwise, he is as he has always been: untouchable.

"I'm sorry," Harp says, and the words feel like goodbye.

* * *

“I need—I need—”Parker stammers, not even quite sure what he needs. He’s so confused, so lost, so… weak.

But maybe he’s not weak. Maybe he is strong for the first time in his life, and he hadn’t expected it to feel so bad and lonely. He hadn’t expected growing up, growing better, to hurt so much. He hadn’t expected doing the right thing for himself to be quite so difficult.

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