Page 52 of Untouchable

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Harp doesn't realizehow nervous he is until he feels Petunia nose into his hand. She whines, and when he turns to her, she sits and paws at him.

She thinks I'm sick, he realizes. Or upset. I guess I amupset.

He hears the shower cut off on the floor below a few seconds later and pours himself a generous shot of whiskey. It's after 4 p.m.—his own personal drinking starting line—and he has more than enough reason to indulge right now.

After all: he’d begun to consider Parker a friend and now he knows he can kiss all of that goodbye. He'll be lucky if Parker makes it through a night without deciding Harp is at best an utterly lost cause and at worst a gigantic creep.

Oh well. Sealed the deal on another one. Easier to pull off the Bandaid now than a year down the line when your hip's all better and he has no reason to come out here.

He's not sure where that thought came from but the moment it bubbles up, he knows it's true.

Bo snorts and barks and Harp turns to see what's got his attention.

For a moment, Harp wants to jump into action. There's a stranger in his house.

But the shock passes quickly when the stranger says a quiet hey in Parker's voice.

It is Parker—just a different version of him than Harp has ever seen.

He seems a little older without the wide-eyed look and smile snuck across his face. This Parker has a crooked, almost lazy grin, approachable like the Parker that Harp knows but more relaxed. Parker pushes an errant strand of damp hair from his face as he approaches.

Parker is shorter than Harp realized without his tennis shoes on. He's chosen to put on the old flannel, rolling the sleeves three times, the collar open wide at his throat, along with bright sweatpants. The mismatched outfit looks almost editorial on him now as he pads in casually—and although Harp had thought he was generically handsome before, now that Parker is out of scrubs, Harp realizes that his beauty is much different than that. Refined, not quite so obvious, subtle. He's just a gorgeous kid.

Harp had only thought he was a Ken doll because he hadn’t taken the time to figure out what parts of Parker’s face came together so perfectly to make him seem like a walking advertisement for something that’s too cool for Harp to think about buying. Parker’s jaw is square and perfectly straight, but it’s softened in the fullness of his high cheeks, the generous lips flushed pink, and expressive eyes that seem shockingly mischievous now that he’s not acting like he’s on the job.

Oh God. The whiskey's kickin' in. Harp gets ahold of himself. Almost.

* * *

Harp givesParker a strange look when he walks in, but it vanishes almost instantly.

It must be weird for him,Parker thinks, to have another person in the house. This time, though he doesn’t let himself feel guilty for interrupting Harp’s life, for being such an imposition.

“So what now?” Parker says with a grin. He slides onto the bench at the kitchen table, tucking his feet up underneath him. “If I weren’t here, what would you be doing?” He props his chin on his fist, looking at Harp expectantly.

"Hm," Harp says, chewing his thumb. "You know, I don't really do schedules. If you hadn't been out today, but everything else was the same, I'd have taken twice as long setting up the cat house, and then probably settled in for a night of completely guilt-free hard drinking and watching the snow."

"Watching the snow?" Parker asks with a smile that's almost teasing. "Seriously?"

Harp hitches a shoulder. "I'm still a Floridian at heart, I guess."

Parker glances out the window. It’s almost dark by now, and the snow is still coming down heavily, in thick winter wonderland flakes.

“Okay, good point,” he says. “It’s kinda gorgeous.” He scrambles to kneel on the bench, shielding his eyes and pressing his face to the glass. Outside, the valley is quiet and almost sleepy—it feels like the whole world is curling up in on itself to slumber through the snowy night.

He turns back around and flops down on the bench, grinning at Harp. He chews on his lip for a moment, allowing himself a rare moment to really see Harp, to notice things he doesn’t normally let himself notice: the semi-permanent furrow between his brow, the way his lashes are surprisingly long and lush, the coarse hair peeking out from the open neck of his flannel. He’s handsome in a way that’s not immediately apparent, as if the brooding, slightly crabby demeanor he projects helps keep people from really seeinghim.

Parker finds himself wearing a goofy smile, his cheeks heating up, and he glances away.

“Not to crash at your house and then be totally demanding,” Parker says, “but… can I get the wifi password? I should probably make sure Mindy knows I’m alive. And do you by any chance have dinner anywhere on that schedule?”

* * *

"Oh I thought—Imean, I figured you would just want food out of the pantry downstairs," Harp says, feeling like an idiot.

He thought Parker would want privacy to call people, let them know where he is, do... whatever it is Parker does at home.

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