Page 53 of Untouchable

Parker's face falls.

"Oh. I guess I could just—"

"Well, what do you want? I have... I mean, anything."

“No—it’s fine—” Parker says, his self-consciousness clearly back in full force. “I can definitely fend for myself—”

“Parker,” Harp says firmly, cutting him off. “I’m going to make us dinner. So what do you want to eat?”

Parker smiles shyly.

“I want… whatever you’d make for yourself if—if it were a snowy night and you—you wanted to do something nice for yourself. Like, whatever your favorite comfort food is.”

"To be honest," and the whiskey does make Harp want to be honest, "I'd probably make my grandmother's chicken and dumplings. I think I have half a fryer defrosted. It's not anything impressive but in terms of comfort food... You can't beat it."

“That sounds perfect,” Parker says, “I mean—if it’s not too much trouble—”

When he gives Parker the wifi password, he expects Parker to disappear until dinner is ready. But instead, Parker taps out a quick message before setting his phone on the table and turning his attention back to Harp.

It's not at all odd to have an audience as Harp gets started on dinner. After all: his three dogs are usually taking turns weaving in and out of his legs as he cooks, hoping to catch a morsel dropped to the floor.

It is strange, however, to have another body in the kitchen tall enough to bump into. Harp had never realized how much of a second sense he had for his kitchen until he has another person in there with him, interrupting his rhythm as he brings out the chicken, measures ingredients into pinch bowls, and chops carrots and celery.

"I really don't need help," Harp says. It sounds more annoyed than he means for it to. No, he doesn't like bumping into Parker at every turn but... no, he also doesn't mind the quiet company, the way Parker stands on his tiptoes to try and see what Harp is doing.

"Sorry, I—"

"Do you want a drink?" Harp offers, hoping to distract him and get him to sit down. "I have beer or wine, or whiskey. There's a nice bourbon I picked up in town the other day on the counter. Glasses are in the cupboard right above."

Of course Parker doesn't have to know that Harp picked up this particular bottle in what, in retrospect, was a moment of despair over Parker's supposed girlfriend.

* * *

It’s lessof a question and more of an order, and Parker has enough sense to realize Harp is trying to get him out from underfoot. Parker pulls down two glasses and pours in the bourbon Harp had directed him to.

Parker knows he probably shouldn’t drink it. He’s a lightweight, and when he drinks anything more than a single beer, he gets flirtatious and extra tactile, which has ended poorly on more than one occasion. He’s already having trouble reining in his crush on Harp—which is only blooming as he watches Harp move around the kitchen with fluid, practiced ease—and he doesn’t exactly need to fuel the fire.

Still, he thinks, a drink might help relax him, might dull the ever-present chatter in his brain that is still trying to suggest he feel guilt for being such an imposition to Harp, for being in his way, for taking up his time and energy by demanding attention like a lost puppy.

“Here you go,” Parker says, setting one of the glasses on the counter where Harp is working. He’d filled them both about half-full—it is definitely more than one shot but Parker doesn’t exactly know what constituted a “normal” drink when it comes to straight liquor.

* * *

Harp acceptsthe drink without looking but he's not ready for the slosh of liquid that comes with the tumbler. It's... veryfull.

"O... kay," Harp says, staring at his glass and then Parker's.

This was most definitely a Harp-sized serving of bourbon that Parker had poured for both of them.

"D'you want a chaser for that or... ice?" Harp asks.

There's no way this is how much Parker drinks, he thinks. He said he drinks... beers sometimes, right?

Harp eyes him waiting for Parker to take the first sip, wondering if he'll even like the room temp whiskey by itself.

When the sip hits him, Parker visibly winces and a full body shudder rolls down his spine. It looks like he only barely manages to swallow it instead of spraying it through the air at Harp.

“Nice,” Parker croaks.

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