Page 322 of Untouchable

"I'm fine," he says, putting his hand on Parker's knee. "I'm great, actually."

* * *

Parker coversHarp’s hand with his own and squeezes.

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t quite trust that Harp is great—it’s harder to know exactly what’s going on in Harp’s head when they’re out in public, but by now he knows that all he can do is check in with Harp. It isn’t Parker’s job, he reminds himself, to babysit Harp. Harp can advocate for his own needs.

“How are you?” Harp asks, his brow furrowing with concern. “It seems like you and Gil are—”

“He’s insulted me zero times since we got here,” Parker says. “So I’d say we’re off to a great start.”

Harp’s eyes flick away and down, and Parker feels a stab of guilt.

“I’m sorry—” he says quickly. “That wasn’t very fair. I’m trying, and I can tell he is, too, and—look. You know me. I couldn’t hold a grudge even if I wanted to. If Gil is ready to wipe the slate clean, then so am I.”

"That's really generous of you," Harp says. "That sounds trite but, honestly, he was awful to you last time and you didn't deserve the way either of us treated you."

Parker bites his lip.

“I was still learning to stand up for myself then,” he says. “I don’t… I don’t want that hanging over us, okay? If we’re really in this for the long haul, there are gonna be times when stuff is shitty, right? So what matters is… learning from it, y’know?”

He finds himself actually wishing Gil would come back, simply to cut the conversation short. He wouldn’t say this out loud to Harp, of course, but a part of him is still terrified—because while he trusts Harp so completely, would follow Harp off a cliff if he asked, there is still a small voice in his head, wounded and alone, that insists this is all too good to be true. And this voice is warning that history might repeat itself.

No. Parker tells himself once more. I’m better. Harp is better. And, hell, maybe even Gil is better.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on Harp’s cheek just as Gil comes back from the bathroom.

“So… drinks?” Gil says, dropping into his seat

* * *

Harp has already thoughtthis through too, and he's determined that they're all going to pace themselves tonight. He orders a pitcher of beer with three glasses.

"Excuse you," Parker teases when the server is gone. "What if I was going to order a..." Parker gestures at the elaborately decorated chalkboard behind Gil's head. "A 'Spit Sister,' or something?"

Gil raises an eyebrow. "Okay, but wereyou?"

Parker crosses his arms in front of his chest and tucks his chin. "Fine, no, that sounds gross."

Gil snorts and Harp expects him to start lecturing on how bubblegum bitters are the next big trend—or whatever it is that goes into the bar's vile signature cocktail. Instead, Gil smiles.

"They brew the beer Harp ordered us in town, actually. It's a low-ABV sour which is very now in Portland."

"ABV?" Parker asks.

"Uh, you know, however much alcohol is in it. Who knows what it stands for."

Harp frowns. "It stands for alcohol by volume."

* * *

“Sour?”Parker asks, making a face. “I feel like that shouldn’t be something brewers aim for.”

“No, it’s way better than you’d think,” Gil says, what appears to be a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I mean, yeah, there’s a certain taste to get used to, but really it’s about…”

Parker doesn’t quite understand all that Gil is talking about—fermentation and hops and a zillion other things he’s apparently learned about brewing—but it hardly matters. Parker has never seen Gil look so much like Harp—they both have the same mannerisms when they’re excited about something, Parker realizes, a certain way of leaning forward, a light in the eyes, when they’re wrapped up in an explanation of something.

And, when the beer arrives, Parker finds it is way better than he’d expected.

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