Page 298 of Untouchable

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The full forceof the moment hits Harp—the enormity of it, the fact that it's what he's been waiting for, what he's been hoping for.

And it's been longer, he realizes, than just these 24 hours without Parker.

It's been since Cherry, since before Cherry, since Harp knew what it was to feel the thrilling desperation of wanting to be loved—to want them, to want to be wanted, to feel helpless in the face of how much you need a person and to be unafraid of that. It’s only multiplied exponentially since the first taste of unhinged desire Harp felt for Parker.

It's terrifying. It's the most frightening thing that could happen to Harp, to put himself, his happiness in someone else's hands.

Gil was wrong about Harp. Being alone on the mountain wasn't rock bottom because he loves Storm Mountain and what he's built here. His rock bottom was long ago—back before he could face who he was and what he'd done.

But that isn't now. Now, Harp is standing with someone who has seen his flaws. He's standing with someone he's hurt. And even still, there are no lies now, no ego, no secret hope for one or the other person to change.

No lies, he realizes, even to himself. Harp looks into himself with an objective gaze, setting aside the anxiety, the old hurts—and he sees absolutely that there is no life he wants other than this one, with this man by his side.

It is an objective truth. Just as Storm Mountain does not love and never will love Harp, Harp does now love and has waited a lifetime for the chance to love Parker.

This hits Harp before Parker is even done talking, all of those doubts compressing down, the relief becoming dense, everything happening simultaneously as Harp understands what he's being offered: a chance to be the man he ought to, a chance to love the best person he's ever met.

Harp wants to say it all but he can't—he can hardly breathe—and he realizes that his throat is tight because he's crying.

Parker still wants him. It'll be okay even when it's not okay.

He wants to hold Parker, to tell him everything, to sob on him and laugh about it and be them again—but as he looks at Parker now, there's a gulf, imagined or real, that Harp is suddenly afraid to cross.

"Can I kiss you, Parker?" he asks dumbly, hearing his voice tremble and not caring.

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