Page 69 of Untouchable

"Being nice isn't easy. You do realize that, right? Just because you have a talent for something, doesn't mean it's easy. If I tried to be as nice as you, I'd go insane. I'd be exhausted. I would hate my life. Not just anyone can be kind. It takes energy and thought and time and patience and... stamina. Faith."

Parker buries his face in his hands, suddenly overwhelmed, and sucks in a deep, shaky breath.

"And doing massage is important," Harp says. He leans in and puts a steadying hand in the center of Parker’s back. The gesture is comforting, but Parker suddenly feels like he doesn’t deserve it. He realizes he’s shaking hard now.

"If you weren't taking care of me right now, no one would be,” Harp continues, his voice fierce. “And I wasn't getting any better on my own. Not everyone can afford a doctor, or trusts doctors, you know? Sometimes people just need help that docs don't provide. Even if your sister is a doctor, it's fucked up that your parents wouldn't be proud of you, too. Siblings aren’t entrants in a contest."

Parker lifts his face from his hands, leaning back slightly into the warm, comforting weight of Harp’s hand on his back. Everything is suddenly so much—just a few minutes ago, he’d been writhing under Harp’s touch, practically purring like a cat, and now he feels as though every emotion he’s ever felt, and would ever feel, is roiling up inside him, spilling out over the edges like boiling water, hissing loudly and scalding him.

He wants to believe Harp, but he’s so, so afraid to. He’s spent 26 years building up a scaffolding in his mind about how life works, about where his place is. Harp is threatening to tear that all down, and it’s an intoxicating and terrifying prospect.

Parker’s face crumples, and without thinking, he throws his arms around Harp, burying his face against Harp’s shoulder as he bursts into tears.

* * *

Harp goesstiff out of instinct, but it only lasts for a moment.

There have been so many times in Harp's life when he's craved this closeness and earnestness with a person, only to scare them off with how big he was, or how abrasive, or his sense of humor, or the way he was unpredictable. And here is Parker—not only totally unfazed by his stupid jokes and weird approach to life, but not intimidated by his size, by the way he holds and conducts himself both when he is comfortable and when he’s at his worst.

He forgets for a moment that he's supposed to be comforting Parker, and just appreciates the hug, the closeness.

His sober brain takes over quickly, though, shaming him for being so selfish in a moment when Parker is unguarded.

He hadn’t meant to go off ranting about Parker’s family, but it nearly drove him to tears realizing how unappreciated and unimportant Parker felt with the people who should hold him the highest. Harp almost regrets it—going so serious and trying to attack that baggage all at once—but suddenly it had felt so desperately vital that Parker hear how important he is.

"You're okay," Harp says softly in the same steady voice he uses when the dogs are sick. "Keep breathing. You're ok." He strokes a hand down Parker's back in time as he draws his own deep breaths.

He's shocked by how small Parker feels in his arms. Parker's hands and strength feel so much larger than life when he's working on Harp's back that he half-forgets the rest of the time that he's so narrow and skinny.

* * *

Strangely enough,crying feels… good. Like a release Parker hadn’t known he’d needed, as though he’s clearing out all the bats and beetles and dark things that have been scuttling around the back of his subconscious for far too long. Harp’s arms are strong around him, and all Parker can think about as his tears form a damp patch on Harp’s shirt is how safe he feels, how Harp is enclosing him, protecting him—a rock, an anchor, a fortress.

He doesn’t even think to be embarrassed, at least at first. He’s simply relieved, in a strange way, cleansing himself from inside out.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he comes back to himself. He realizes he’s somehow made his way onto Harp’s lap, and he sits up, feeling unsteady and exhausted but much calmer. He wipes at his eyes almost impatiently, using the sleeve of the worn flannel Harp had given him.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Harp’s hands are still on his waist, holding him firmly. “I—I—I don’t know what—”

He trails off and breathes in deeply. He’d been about to say he wasn’t sure what the outburst had been about, but then he realizes that isn’t true. Hurt and sadness and fear, but above all—hope.

Because there’s something about Harp that makes Parker feel like maybe he does deserve good things.

“You’re just so kind to me,” he says softly, not meeting Harp’s eyes. “Nicer than… anyone else has ever been. It—it feels… good.”

* * *

Harp can't imaginethat the baseline level of human decency Harp has tried to show—hasn't even consistently shown, if he's being honest with himself—is considered some of the nicest behavior Parker's ever been on the receiving end of.

He wants to hold Parker out at arm's length and say, "That can't be true. I won't believe it."

Because how could someone with so much kindness and love inside of him never have felt it in return?

Surely he'd dated someone who loved him—who he loved? Even if it was misguided...

"I just try to be decent," Harp says. "You've been very patient with me."

Harp sighs and Parker shifts in his lap.

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