Page 44 of Untouchable

It all falls into place. Because of course they live together. Because of course they share something that’s more special than plain dating. He thinks back to their first conversations about Parker’s roommate—about how it wasn’t like that. And certainly, Harp thinks, it’s not. They really must share something special.

It all falls into place and for a moment, Harp feels like he’s been sucker punched.

It’s not a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. You don’t grow up awkward and latently gay and strange and smart and not receive more than your fair share of sucker punches. He reels for a moment, just like always, seeing stars as he orients himself back to reality.

The next beat after a sucker punch had always been strange. Harp knows he has to either orient himself to the fight and strike back twice as hard or roll over and play possum.

It’s Parker, though, and he knows the sudden tear he feels opening in his gut is not through anything malicious. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Parker. Harp had somehow stacked his hopes on this person, only to realize that there is no reality in which Harp will ever be as significant a presence in Parker’s life as Parker is in his.

And that’s fine, he reminds himself. He’s already made peace with this. That’s the way his relationships will go for the rest of his life—and that’s fine.

The sucker punch wears off.

They always do.

It’s the type of thing that hurts you in the moment but can’t really break your bones, send you to the hospital.

And in the end, Harp really is happy for Parker. He’s 26 and he already has a career and a place and the love of his life. Even if his parents are total shitheads, he has a lot going for him—and if Harp’s only real role in Parker’s life is to help him realize that he has a lot going for him, so fucking be it. The kid deserves it.

"Well, I don't think you could be more perfect for each other," Harp says, kicking the gravel as they approach his driveway. "It's amazing how two people just click sometimes and slot together and bam, you're sharing a life and—"

Parker snorts.

* * *

“I mean,I wouldn’t say we’re sharing a life,” he says. “I love Mindy to pieces but she does have a tendency to drop off the map when she starts dating someone new, and she’s right on schedule for her next boyfriend.”

Harp shoots him a strange look.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were… open,” he says.

Parker blinks and then immediately bursts out laughing. He stops in the driveway. He suddenly realizes why this conversation has felt so strange, why Harp had seemed so oddly interested in and encouraging about Parker’s friendship.

“Wait—holy shit—did you think Mindy and I were dating?” he asks through his laughter. “Oh my god, no—we’re just—we’re best friends but—eurgh—I mean, I love her but also—yikes—oh my god—”

It really is comical—not only that he thinks Parker and Mindy are together, but that he thinks Parker is straight. And the largest portion of Parker’s laughter is pure relief, because apparently Harp doesn’t realize Parker has a crush on him the size of Storm Mountain itself. Which means that Harp is either completely oblivious—likely—or Parker has been a little more discreet than he thought—highly unlikely.

* * *

And just like that,Harp's vision of Parker's ballooning social spheres has burst, and once again there's the glimmer that Parker is attainable as a friend. Harp feels elated only long enough for his conscience to kick in.

You're perverse, Harp thinks angrily at himself. Don't be happy that someone else might be as lonely as you are.

He almost trips as he thinks the word.

He doesn't get lonely. That's absurd. Lonely people don't move farther away from everyone else.

Christ, Harp feels like his mind is shorting out all at once. Simultaneously, he's happy and sad and hopeful and self-loathing.

Parker is obviously trying hard to stifle laughter at Harp’s blunder.

“Oh my god,” Parker says, sounding affectionate in how amused he is, as if Parker is the butt of this joke and not Harp, for his misstep. “As soon as I have service I’m telling Mindy that—god—I mean, she’s pretty, I guess, but she’s not exactly my type, y’know.”

The phrasing makes Harp clench up viscerally. It's the first thing Parker has said that makes Harp even remotely uncomfortable. Harp hates it when he hears men reduce women to their figures, heights, and hair color.

"Your type?" he repeats back to Parker, hoping he’ll realize how gross it sounds.

* * *

---