Page 332 of Untouchable

Deep breath, he reminds himself. You survived a transatlantic flight. You survived being alone with Parker's parents. You survived planning this day. You'll certainly survive what comes next.

Harp shrugs on a hotel robe and joins Parker on the balcony where he's people watching.

"So, uh, time to get dressed," Harp suggests, kissing the back of Parker's neck. "As much as it pains me to say that."

Parker turns around, letting the sheet flutter to the ground, and presses himself against Harp, grinning up at him.

“Couldn’t we be just a little late? I mean, it’s open until late at night, right?”

"We can always go back at night, if you want," Harp offers. He's so nervous that it's easy not to be distracted by Parker's advances, as sexy as he may be.

* * *

Parker cocks his head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “If you’re getting anxious, then—”

“No, no, I’m not anxious—” Harp says, and Parker raises an eyebrow. Considering how unfathomable Harp had been when they’d first met—a year ago today, he thinks—Parker can now read Harp like a book. Or, considering Parker’s disinclination for reading, perhaps there was a better metaphor. Regardless, Parker knew when something was on Harp’s mind—it was just a matter of figuring out what it was.

The strange thing is, Harp didn’t seem anxious, not in the way he usually was. Harp tended to withdraw, and his eyes looked almost as if a screen had been brought down between him and the rest of the world. This morning, though, Harp seemed restless, and his eyes kept darting towards the clock.

“Are you sure?” Parker asks.

"Absolutely sure. I'm just, y'know, ready to get walking."

Parker gives him a dubious look and decides not to push him about it. After a moment, he turns and pads towards their luggage.

"Have you seen the shirt I wore that day on the Chunnel? I swear I threw it in here..."

"Um, actually," Harp says as he holds out the exact shirt Parker’s looking for, along with his favorite pair of pants. "I got these dry-cleaned and pressed. I hope you don't mind."

Parker snorts as he pulls on a pair of underwear.

“Okay, seriously, what is up with you? You’re all… bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and you randomly decided to have my clothes dry-cleaned?”

“Nothing’s up with me,” Harp says, unconvincingly. “I just know you like these pants, so—”

Parker laughs and shakes his head.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says. He’s not concerned—Harp is clearly trying to hide something, and he’s doing a pretty shit job of it, which Parker just finds adorable. It strikes him, too, that this in and of itself is kind of revolutionary—Parker is so used to living life on a kind of tightrope, always alert to the slightest change of wind or fluctuation of mood from the people around him, lest he plummet to his death. But Parker doesn’t feel like that around Harp. He doesn’t feel like he needs to predict or anticipate, like he’s doing damage control for things that haven’t even happened yet.

He knows Harp will tell him, when Harp is ready. And that’s okay.

Parker arranges his face in mock dismay.

“Oh no—” he says. “I know what it is. You’re—you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, aren’t you?” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Now that I’m twenty-seven, I’m too old for you, and you’ve brought me here to trade me in for a new, upgraded vapid twink who speaks French. Alas—”

He throws himself down on the couch, pretending to faint.

* * *

"You're absolutely right,"Harp says, stooping to kiss Parker's lips, then his neck, then the shell of his ear. "I'm going to be late picking up the new model for lunch if we don't get you back to the twink factory."

He's trying to play it cool but they only have an hour and a half to get there, and the walk takes at least 15, and Parker will surely want to stop for a cappuccino on the way there, where they'll get waylaid at some ridiculously picturesque cafe. He's budgeted time for all of these things, of course, because he knows how Parker works. He knows the rhythms of Parker's days—how he is when he goes to work, how he is when he's on vacation, how he is when he's stressed. He doesn't want to deny Parker a thing today, but indulgence has to be on a tight schedule this morning.

Harp tries not to fidget as he gets dressed. He's had his own outfit cleaned and pressed too—his own favorite pants and The Shirt.

When Parker turns around to see Harp wearing it, he smiles and starts to say something. But then he stops himself and bites down a grin, turning away and pulling on his pants.

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