Page 58 of Untouchable

Oh, fuck.

* * *

The old Parkeris like a mask, slipping over his face, and the too-big grin is gone. It makes Harp's buzzed mind fumble over itself to fix things.

"Sorry, what a fucked up question," Harp says, shaking his head. "I don't—I'm sorry. It does sound fun. Yeah, fuck it."

Fuck it, he repeats to himself. He can be imperfect around Parker without worrying. He can stop being so suspicious of people's motivations for half a minute and get out of his own way.

"But we'll stick to the good stuff. Less of a hangover to deal with in the morning."

Harp turns, ready to usher them back inside, to stop making Parker actively think about what a weirdo he is.

“Why did you ask me that?”

Parker’s voice sounds fragile and when Harp turns back, he sees that Parker hasn’t moved at all. Why had he asked? What explanation would even make sense?

Harp tries to think about the last time he's been honest with someone other than his brother.

The last time he can think of is with Parker. It's happened again and again, in fact, and in the end Harp has never regretted telling him the truth.

Harp sighs. He's unhappy that his diversion tactic didn't work. He's unhappy that he posed an uncharitable question to such a charitable person. He's unhappy that he has to hold up these barriers between himself and someone who is obviously invested in him, even just a little bit.

Harp shoves his hands in his pockets and watches his breath in the air.

"I know what they say about me in town. That I'm a hermit, or an asshole, or I get off on making trouble for people. I don't make enemies with people on purpose but damned if I'm not good at it. I know I have a reputation, and I wouldn’t blame you for being curious. And you come up here and you want us to get drunk… It just sounds insane when I say it out loud but, it's hard to feel like there aren't a lot of people outside of this valley who would like to see me fuck up—get drunk with a kid and say something stupid."

Harp rolls his neck, cracking it in the cold. Parker doesn't move to say anything.

"You've never given me any reason to think that... I mean, you don't owe me anything, but I get the impression you wouldn't..."

This is all coming out wrong. Whatever it is you did, you’ve ruined the hell out of this.

"I think I can tell you're honest. And that wasn't a fair question. It's probably my fault that I end up a target so much, but it's hard to get out of that... target mentality. You know? Even something innocent seems like it could blow up in my face when I set myself to thinking about it hard enough."

He sounds insane. He wants to light another cigarette but his body doesn't want it—just his nervous hands.

* * *

Parker is stunned.

He stands there for a moment, watching Harp reach for the pack of cigarettes, then put it back, then reach for it once more.

His mind is scrambling to catch up, and when it does, he feels devastated, as though he’s a thin layer of ice over a pond, cracking sharply into a hundred pieces.

“You… you thought I would do that?” he says.

Harp has an unlit cigarette in his mouth when he responds, talking around it.

"No—it's not you specifically. It's literally anybody who breathes and isn't me," Harp says, looking close to panic.

Parker frowns deeply. He’s reacting more strongly than he should, he knows, and probably much stronger than he would have if he were sober. But it hurts. It hurts to hear that Harp doesn’t trust him, even if he doesn’t trust anyone.

He wants, he realizes, to be the person Harp doestrust.

And he feels foolish, too, because he’d thought he was. Or at least was becomingthat.

But apparently not.

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