Page 72 of Untouchable

* * *

When Parker wakes,it takes him a while to remember where he is. He’s still too muddled with sleep to open his eyes yet, but even still, he can tell that, wherever he is, the room is full of a soft, diffuse light. He can smell coffee and bacon—this begins to perk him up as soon as he notices it—and he’s luxuriously warm, cuddled under the comforting weight of a heavy layer of blankets. He’s reluctant to even try to wake up. As far as he’s concerned, he could stay in this warm, snuggly heaven forever and be just fine.

He hears the muted sound of metal and wood scraping against each other, and he cracks one eye open.

He registers things in two distinct stages. His first response is neutral, cloaked in a soft haze of affection and rightness—he sees Harp’s large frame crouching by the fireplace, stoking the merry fire blazing away. Parker is exactly where he’s supposed to be. The universe is gentle and balanced.

His second response is far less pleasant: the events of last night come flying back to him, with the stinging twinge of a rubber band snapping against skin.

Parker, you fucking idiot,is his first lucid thought.

Harp finishes at the fireplace and stands, and because Parker is apparently six years old again, he quickly shuts his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He can’t quite bring himself to face Harp yet—he needs to formulate some kind of apology that can make up for getting way too drunk and spending what should have been a nice night sobbing in Harp’s lap.

How pathetic can you get? Parker thinks. He can tell Harp is still in the living room, so he continues to feign sleep, wondering if perhaps it’s possible to dissipate into a fine mist of shame simply through sheer force of will.

* * *

Harp turns,expecting to have woken Parker up with his noisemaking. Instead, Parker is still dreaming. Harp straightens out slowly, rolling his neck, looking out the window, and finally looking down at Parker.

Harp feels like he's been awake for days rather than hours. He's covered so much ground in his mind between the time when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch to now, looking down at his oblivious friend.

Parker has no idea of the stupid conclusions Harp has come to, the way that he knows now... that he'll never be able to look at Parker quite the same. Because his awful, ugly mind has decided that he can't even simply be friends with someone for a few hours before he wants more.

You chew people up and you spit them out. Don't forget that, Harper.

He doesn't want to wake Parker, so he turns, deciding to put the finished bacon in the oven so that it doesn't get cold.

Food is an easier topic than his personal failings and his appetite comes rumbling back to life suddenly.

Maybe I could try those bacon pancakes again. I think I could get the hang of it this time…

* * *

He wonders if Harp,after last night, regrets agreeing to be Parker’s friend.

Hey, Harp, be my friend! You’ll get to spend your nights taking care of me while I cry about my family! Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll be a total creep and completely invade your personal space and almost kiss you!

When he hears Harp disappear back into the kitchen, Parker decides it’s time to act like the adult that he technically, legally is, and stop pretending to be asleep. Despite the previous night, he actually feels wonderful, as well-rested and fresh as if he’d spent the last week at a spa. He can’t remember a time when he’d slept so deeply.

He stands up, stretching out his body, and wraps himself in one of the blankets, pulling it around him like a cloak. He’s about to go into the kitchen when he glances out the window and gasps. He rushes over to it, peering out to where the entire valley has been transformed by a blanket of snow—even more has fallen overnight, and everything sparkles, perfect and fresh.

“Harp!” Parker says loudly, skidding into the kitchen. “Harp, have you looked outside? It’s gorgeous! Holy shit!”

Harp snorts from where he's mixing batter at the counter.

"Yeah, I did. I took a walk in it. Beautiful sight, right?"

Parker then remembers—again—the previous night, and he immediately becomes more serious. Harp’s busy at the kitchen counter, not looking at Parker, which makes things easier. He starts to talk, realizes he’s mumbling inaudibly, and then tries again.

“I’m really sorry about last night, Harp,” Parker says. “I—I don’t know if it was drinking too much or the—the ice cream or whatever, but if I’d known that was how I’d react, I’d—” He trails off, shaking his head. “Um, anyway, thank you for—for babysitting me, and I’m sorry to turn a nice night into, well, that.” By the time he finishes, he’s bright red.

"You're kidding me, right?" Harp says. "That's the realest conversation I've had with anyone in years. The last thing you should do is apologize for it."

He presses the warm mug into Parker's hands.

Parker frowns down at the mug, which is more milk than coffee and takes a sip. He’s not sure how Harp knew he took his coffee this way—it was probably a lucky guess, but it feels important that Harp had known. That he had cared enough to think about it.

“I mean, I just… cried to you about how my sisters are mean to me,” he mumbles, still thoroughly embarrassed. While in your lap. While you were holding me. While you were saying the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. “But, um. Thank you. It—it—”

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