Page 63 of Untouchable

"It makes some people anxious every time they try it,” Harp says. “Other people never feel anxious. I use it for anxiety, among other things. But a lot of the classic paranoia has to do with the drug's illegal status. It's legal here—medicinal and recreational, although I happen to have a prescription that makes it cheaper."

Parker smiles, feeling encouraged. He is curious, and he likes the way that Harp answers his question seriously, doesn’t make him feel stupid or silly or dorky for not knowing any of this.

"If you feel anxious at all about being here with me, or if you feel anxious about anything else at the moment, then there is a chance that it could amplify that. There's an equal chance that it will erase it. But if you're already feeling anxiety at any level, I'd prefer you not try it tonight. Another time, maybe."

Harp smiles and shrugs.

Parker picks at the skin of his lip as he thinks. Harp suddenly sounds like he’s trying to talk Parker out of it, which is a shame, because Parker’s now intensely curious about what it would be like. He’s nervous, yes, in the way that he always is when he tries something new, but he’s also a little excited. But not anxious.

“I mean, we don’t have to—or, like, you can, I don’t mind if you don’t want me to—I get that you don’t want to have to babysit me,” Parker says, fumbling to give Harp a way out.

* * *

Harp smiles,trying his best to be... objective.

Because there's a part of him that really doesn't like the idea, now, of Parker getting high for the first time with anyone else.

Because what if a dumbass future boyfriend brings home a rig for concentrates and $30 worth of shatter and gets Parker absolutely ripped without warning him or guiding him through it?

Because... anything could happen. And that's why Harp suddenly feels like he needs to be here for Parker's first time.

"I'm a good babysitter, and at worst I have three dumbass dogs that'll refuse to let you get too far in the snow," Harp says, shrugging. "If you're at all interested, you might as well try it now. Not like we have anything better to do. Do you want to know the third flavor? It's the gross cheesecake one. You could have more than one if you want."

Parker smiles shyly.

“Okay… consider… what if we tried… all of them?” he asks.

Harp snorts. The look Parker gives him reminds Harp of how Bo looks when he wants to play, and it's just as infectious.

"I like your style," Harp says. He explains what the last flavor is—goat cheese and cherry—as he portions it out for them into heavy glass tumblers.

He measures the rainbow flavor carefully, trying to remember how his last time had been eating it, the quality and duration of the high.

It had kicked in fast. That's good. Nobody ever likes to wait on their first time, and as it stands, it'll take at least 45 minutes for Parker to feel it. Harp does his best to guess at the right portion for Parker—keeping it conservative—feeling both guilty and relieved at Parker’s choice. He serves himself a slightly smaller portion than usual, wanting to be relatively sober. Just in case.

Harp moves the six tumblers to a tray with spoons and passes it to Parker. "Take that into the living room and I'll set up the movie. I hope you don't mind watching it on a laptop," he says, frowning. Harp hasn't thought about how awkward the seating arrangement might be.

"Do you want a fire? Are you cold? I'll make a fire," he says, suddenly nervous again.

“Hell yes,” Parker says, taking the tray with the tumblers lined up neatly. “I mean—I’m not cold—I’m really comfy, but—yeah. Fires are awesome. It’s like Christmas.”

That's adorable.

* * *

Harp setsup the DVD on his big, ancient laptop and then crouches by the fireplace, turning his back to Parker and sorting through the tinder and firewood near the indoor stove.

As excited as Parker is about the ice cream, he’s instantly distracted by Harp starting the fire. It’s weirdly… sexy, he realizes, like watching Harp go about cooking had been. Harp’s wearing the small frown he always seems to have when he’s concentrating on something, the one that Parker finds very endearing, as though building a fire is suddenly the most important task in the world. He likes Harp’s single-minded concentration on things, how Harp is so steady and focused, in a way that Parker, whose mind is always racing off in ten different directions, can never seem to be.

He finds himself scrambling to kneel on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Harp, in front of the stove.

“Can I, um, watch?” he asks. “I learned how to make fires in Boy Scouts when I was a kid except it would always end up collapsing and going out after a few minutes and then my scout leader would have to make it again for me.”

"Of course," Harp says. Harp explains how to ensure the smoke is drawn upwards, and it’s not long before a cheery little fire is crackling in the fireplace. It’s almost unbearably cozy, to be so close to Harp, firelight casting dancing shadows in the room, with Harp narrating his actions in his deep, gentle voice.

“Wow,” Parker says, sitting back, when Harp has finished building it. “I can’t believe I made this beautiful fire all by myself with no help from anyone.”

Harp laughs and herds Parker back to the couch. Harp starts up the movie, turning it up as loud as it'll go. Parker perches on the edge of the couch, a little awkwardly. If he had his way, he’d pretty much just climb on Harp’s lap, but he’s not sure that would be exactly welcome. So, instead, he sits stiffly, waiting to take Harp’s lead, wondering how close together they’ll sit, if they’ll touch, if, in the middle of the movie, Harp will reach out to hold his hand—

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