Page 87 of Untouchable

Harp can tellfrom Parker’s casual tone, from his friendly expression that Harp was right: these moments mean nothing to Parker and everything to Harp. He would’ve been insane to do something as harebrained as trying to kiss Parker—and then what? That would’ve left Parker no room to breathe, no way to escape. Harp feels almost panicked now—now that the moment has passed—that it ever even was something he had the impulse to do.

Fucking ruinous, he tells himself. That’s what it would’ve been.

As they make it back down into the valley, Harp wishes he could go back to being handsy and casual. But now he is overthinking everything. He watches Parker stumble down a steep overhang and wishes he felt courageous enough to walk over and steady Parker by the hips as he scrambles. He stands close to Parker and wishes he could take his hand to help him cross a little brook that hasn't frozen over.

But he can't, because it wouldn't be right. Because he knows that Parker is just being polite and trying to be his friend. Parker pities him, wants to help him because Parker wants to help all weak, pathetic things—and for Harp to continue to prey on that would be wrong.

Not only would it be wrong—it would jeopardize the friendship you've worked so hard for.

They reach the back fence and Harp steps inside, locking it behind them and then crossing to the shelter where he hopes the feral kittens have been bedding down.

Sure enough, a mother cat comes bailing out of the little house, hissing at them before running off as they approach.

“They’re safe, right?” Parker asks softly. It’s the first thing he’s said since they left the ridge.

Mewling starts up as soon as the mother cat is gone. The kittens' eyes weren't open the last time Harp got a look at them. Harp reaches in to gingerly feel around, finding a kitten and plucking it gently by the scruff of its neck. He lifts it out and then supports it with one big hand. It's the color of a creamsicle and it looks at him with two big blue eyes.

Harp smiles and sets the kitten into Parker's outstretched hands. Parker looks at it for a moment and then clutches it to his chest.

"They're safe," Harp echoes. "Thanks to you."

“You helped, too,” Parker says with a crooked grin. “I wouldn’t have been able to get service without you. I mean, until you dropped me.”

"Let's leave these poor little guys alone and go have a toast upstairs," Harp suggests. "I know some dogs who have earned their bones for the night."

Parker reluctantly tucks the little kitten back into the shelter they’d made together and then together they climb the stairs to enter through the kitchen door.

Inside, Bo is still on edge, and Parker scoops him up, cooing to him and praising him for his heroic deeds.

Harp stops a moment to greet Gunny and Petunia, scruffing the fur under their chins and telling them they did a good job before straightening out. He rummages in the cabinet and finds another nice bourbon he likes to save for special occasions, pouring them each a small shot and then passing one of the tumblers over to Parker.

He needs a lot more whiskey than this to settle himself, but he's not about to drink so heavily in front of Parker.

"To more moonlight hikes and kitten heroics," Harp offers, knocking his glass against Parker's before throwing it back in one gulp.

* * *

Parker watchesas Harp throws back the shot as easily as if it were water, and he does his best to mirror this. Of course, though, he sputters and shudders as it burns its way down his throat, and he sees Harp trying not to laugh at him.

“Hey, man,” Parker whines. “You know I’m a lightweight.”

"You're right," Harp says. He grabs the glass out of Parker's hand, pouring another small shot into Parker's glass and his own.

Instead of handing the glass back to Parker, though, Harp double fists them, drinking both shots back to back.

Parker’s mouth drops open and he makes an indignant noise.

“Rude,” he says, putting his fist on his hip, still cradling Bo in his other arm. Harp snorts, looking entirely unapologetic.

“Tell you what,” Harp says. “If you want to pour yourself a drink, you’re welcome to all the tap water you can drink.”

Parker tries to shoot him a dirty look but he’s laughing as he goes and fills up a glass at the sink.

“Probably for the best,” Parker says. “I mean, I thought you liked having to deal with me crying for like, five hours, but whatever.” Bo wriggles, demanding to be let down, and Parker stoops to set him on the kitchen floor.

Harp snorts. "I wish it had been five hours," he says. "I mean, forced human intimacy is basically what I pay you for, right? It's nice to have the real thing and feel, uh, appreciated."

Harp’s face drops and he takes a gulp of water. "Oh no."

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