(Don't Go) Sharing Your Devotion 2/3
Part 1
Eduardo
Thursday is mostly uneventful.
Eduardo doesn’t see or hear from Mark, and he is forcing himself not to text him anymore because it makes him feel like a pathetic loser stalker.
He finally calls his mother back, and she doesn’t even ask about the boyfriend thing, after all that. Apparently his cousin just eloped with some unsavory character and that’s all anyone in the family can talk about, making Eduardo’s love life (or lack thereof) the last thing on her mind.
Especially after that, Eduardo is really starting to wonder why he ever thought this pretend dating thing would be a good idea. It’s been less than four days since he told Mark he was dating Chris, and since then it has just been constant stress. His mom doesn’t even care, that creepy guy stopped stalking Chris…and as for Mark, well, Eduardo doesn’t even know what he was trying to achieve when he decided to lie to him about it.
Okay, so maybe he had some vague idea about getting a reaction out of Mark-making him jealous, basically. But really, what did he think Mark would do? Declare a duel with Chris? Make a dramatic speech about his everlasting love for Eduardo?
Eduardo needs to stop living in a fantasy world. Mark isn’t like that. He’s not one for grand gestures. He’s not one to make his intentions clear, at least not to Eduardo. When has Eduardo ever been able to figure out what’s going on in that genius brain, when has he ever been able to predict Mark’s reactions?
And when it comes to comprehending Mark’s feelings toward him specifically, forget it. No chance in hell.
---
So he goes through all of Thursday and Friday without seeing or hearing from Mark. (And how telling is it, really, that it takes less than two days without contact from Mark for him to get this worked up? How pathetic? )
He exchanges texts with Chris a couple of times, but the ones not about Mark are half-hearted, dull small talk. He can tell Chris is distracted by something too, and he has a suspicion that something might be a certain notoriously overzealous redhead.
On Friday night, Eduardo is in his room, alone, watching a movie on his computer (pathetic, see?) when Chris shows up.
“I’m here for our date,” he says.
“Oh, that’s actually happening?” says Eduardo.
“Yes, Mark thinks--Mark and Dustin think it's happening, so I had to go out."
Right. Mark. Chris lives with him.
“Okay, so where are you taking me?” Eduardo says. “Dinner? Movie?”
Chris plops down on the desk chair, sighing heavily. “Ugh, I don’t really feel like going out. Can I just sit here and watch whatever that is?”
“Are you serious?” Eduardo says. “That’s your first date? That’s terrible.”
“Staying in can be fun too,” says Chris halfheartedly. Eduardo scoffs, but at the same moment, he can’t help but think that if, by some chance, Mark asked him on a date, they could be watching C-SPAN and eating dry cereal for all he cared. It would still most likely be the best first date he’d ever had.
Not helpful, brain.
“This is lame,” he says. “You’re a bad boyfriend!”
“We’re not even dating!” Chris exclaims.
“Exactly,” Eduardo says.
Chris rolls his eyes.
“Would it make it up to you if I said I could get us alcohol?” Chris asks.
Eduardo raises an eyebrow. “Possibly,” he says.
---
Chris apparently has an upperclassmen friend who owes him a favor for cleaning up puke that one time or something, Eduardo doesn’t really know the full story, but the point is Chris goes out for a few minutes and when he comes back he has two bottles of vodka and a jug of orange juice. “For screwdrivers,” he explains.
Eduardo knows he and Chris are supposed to be the responsible ones, the ones that make an effort not to get totally wasted, but you know what, fuck that. He’s had a terrible week.
--
He maybe should have stopped after the third drink, probably. Right now he’s on his fifth-or is it sixth?-and the cocktails are starting to taste more sour and less sweet, which could either be because they’re running out of orange juice or because there’s a distinct bad taste in his mouth. In any case, getting drunk is not turning out to be quite as fun as he was expecting.
“Do you think I’ll die alone?” he says for the umpteenth time. “Am I not desirable?”
“Oh my god, Wardo, shut up,” Chris moans from where he’s draped at the foot of the bed. He seems to be less intoxicated than Eduardo, though not by much. “You’re making me more depressed than I already was.”
“Why would we get drunk,” Eduardo says. “Alcohol is a depressant. That means it makes you depressed. Why would we think that was a good idea.” It’s not really a question so much as a glum statement.
“That’s not what depressant means,” says Chris.
“Whatever,” Eduardo says despondently.
Chris groans. “I thought you were supposed to have fun in college. Why don’t I ever have fun?”
“Because we’re the responsible ones,” Eduardo says.
“Screw that,” Chris says. “I’m always the practical one, the one that keeps everyone in line, the one people go to for advice. I’m a person too! I’m only nineteen, Jesus!”
While he rambles, Eduardo starts to zone out, feeling the room spin slightly. He watches Chris wave his arms around emphatically.
Chris really is pretty good looking, he thinks. Tall, blond, blue-eyed…very classically attractive, broad appeal. So maybe he isn’t exactly Eduardo’s type-he doesn’t, for example, have the curls, you know, the curls, or the eyes, or the lips…but you know what, Eduardo could expand his horizons. He could have a new type.
It really is strange that Chris is single, he thinks as Chris continues to rant about all the misfortunes of his life. He’s smart, he’s motivated, he’s easygoing…and unlike a certain other person that will go unnamed, he’s amiable-you wouldn’t have to apologize for his behavior at a party. He’s dependable-you wouldn’t have to worry about him forgetting to meet you somewhere because he got caught up in coding. He’s mature-he wouldn’t start avoiding you and sulk for a week if he was upset with you. And for the most part, he’s straightforward-you wouldn’t have to guess about his feelings towards you.
Really, Chris is the kind of guy any normal, smart, not-self-destructive person would fall for.
“…and it just sucks,” he finishes whatever he was saying.
“Mm,” Eduardo says, and rolls over on his side to face Chris. “D’you wanna make out?” he slurs.
Chris is slow to react, and when he does he just squints at Eduardo and says, “huh?’
“We should,” Eduardo says. “You’re gay, I’m bi-curious-”
“More than curious, I’d say,” Chris mumbles. Eduardo ignores him.
“We’re drunk. That’s what normal people do when they’re drunk. Hook up,” he says, trying to enunciate his words.
Chris looks like he’s going to argue, but then he just shrugs and says, “Screw it,” and grabs Eduardo’s face and mashes their lips together.
Eduardo thinks he’s a fairly good kisser, generally speaking, although the fact that his wooziness is growing and his coordination is shot is a bit of an impediment at the moment. Still, he kisses back, grabbing Chris’s chin and pushing his tongue between his lips. Chris rolls over on top of him and for a second Eduardo is afraid they might fall off the bed but then he gets his balance back and puts his hand in Chris’s hair. He kisses Chris passionately, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Or at least, he tries to do these things, but the vodka in his bloodstream is making it difficult to have the right finesse, so he ends up almost biting Chris’s tongue. Still, Chris doesn’t particularly seem to notice or care, since he’s busy shoving his hand up Eduardo’s shirt and kissing back with equal fervor. It’s a little slobbery, to be honest, but Eduardo learned in tenth grade when he had his first girlfriend that sometimes that just happens with kissing, and you just have to get over it.
Eduardo is starting to get out of breath, but less in the sexy way and more in the serious-lack-of-oxygen way. Fortunately Chris moves down to his neck, sucking at it wetly. Head spinning, Eduardo says, “You and I should just date for real.”
“Definitely,” Chris says, struggling to unbutton Eduardo’s shirt. “We’d be a good couple. You know, blond and brunet…it just works…” he gives up on the buttons and cups Eduardo’s crotch through his pants.
“Why didn’t we think of it before,” Eduardo gasps. He pushes Chris’s shirt halfway up his stomach, but finds the aspect of trying to get it over his head without getting tangled too daunting. “It just makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Chris says, panting. “Mark and Dustin will just have to get over it.”
“Shut up about them,” Eduardo says. He pushes Chris over on the bed, and in the process smacks his elbow against the wall. He swears under his breath and then tries to ignore the pain and kisses Chris’s stomach. He licks down his belly button but decides it’s probably not worth it to try anything fancy with his tongue, so he pulls back and goes to unbuckle Chris’s belt.
“Wardo,” Chris says.
This buckle really shouldn’t be this hard, and Eduardo knows if he wasn’t so drunk and he could get ahold of his hand-eye coordination he could be a lot smoother about this. He yanks at it, and it finally comes undone. “Wardo,” Chris says again, and he sounds amused.
Eduardo attempts to unbutton Chris’s fly, but it’s really a lost cause, and damnit, he really shouldn’t have had that last drink.
“A little help?” he says, looking up at Chris, and what the hell, Chris is definitely laughing at him.
“What?” Eduardo says crossly, and Chris throws his arm over his face and starts cracking up.
“Oh my god,” Chris says through his laughter.
Eduardo wants to be pissed off, but he has to admit, it is a little bit funny. “Fine, you can forget about the blowjob,” he says.
“There is no way I’m letting you near my dick,” Chris says. Eduardo makes an offended noise. “It’s nothing personal, honey, I just try to avoid letting boys who are inexperienced and totally hammered go down on me. I’d probably end up in the ER.”
Eduardo wants to argue but he has to admit Chris has a point, and he’s starting to feel a little queasy anyway. He flops down on the bed next to Chris.
“Besides,” Chris says. “We never would have gone through with it. We’re the responsible ones, remember?”
Eduardo sighs. “At this rate, we’ll never get laid. I hate having a conscience.”
“Tell me about it,” Chris says. Eduardo looks at him, and it’s his turn to start laughing.
“‘Blond and brunet?’” he says. “Really? That’s why we’d make a good couple?”
“Shut up,” Chris says. “So maybe we’re not really that compatible.”
Yeah, maybe not, Eduardo thinks. Chris might be ideal boyfriend material, but he’s got one fatal flaw: he’s not Mark.
“I think ginger is more your type anyway,” he says, teasing, but not unkind. Chris stops smiling and looks away. It might just be the alcohol, but he looks flushed. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
“You could just tell him, you know,” Eduardo says.
Chris furrows his brow. “Are you serious? Are you kidding me right now? You’re one to talk!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eduardo says, blushing furiously.
“Eduardo, don’t even front!” Chris says angrily. (Eduardo thinks Chris must be spending too much time around Dustin if he’s using phrases like that unironically.) “You are the biggest fucking hypocrite ever!”
Maybe the booze is making Eduardo emotional, but he gets angry at this. “Well, at least he’s not my roommate! Creepy much?”
“Oh, don’t talk to me about creepy!” Chris says. “You started buying him vitamins! Vitamins!”
“So what? You and I both know he doesn’t get enough Vitamin D!” Eduardo says emphatically.
“So, you’re not even dating!”
Eduardo is really mad now. He doesn’t even know why they’re having this argument, but the combination of the vodka and the stress of the last few weeks is weighing down on him and making him angrier.
“Well you know what, fine, maybe it is pathetic, but at least I’m not in love with a man-child!”
Chris widens his eyes dramatically, whether at the word “love” or the dig at Dustin, Eduardo isn’t sure.
“Well at least I’m not in love with a robot boy!”
“At least Mark can actually have a serious conversation once in a while!”
“At least Dustin can actually get along with someone without your help!”
“At least Mark doesn’t sing Britney Spears in the shower!”
“At least Dustin takes showers more than once a week!”
Eduardo is furious. “That’s such an exaggeration! Everyone gets like that around midterms, anyway! And you know what, you’re the one crushing on a guy who admitted to owning six pairs of dinosaur boxers. Six.”
“Yeah, well I’m sure you know all about Mark’s underwear, don’t you!”
Eduardo blushes. “Regardless. You are just as bad as I am with the-the pining. Just as bad.”
“Except I actually had the balls to make a move!” Chris yells.
Eduardo goes quiet and Chris swallows. “What? Since when?” Eduardo says, forgetting about the stupid argument.
“New Years Eve,” says Chris quietly. “I kissed him.”
“No shit,” says Eduardo, who seriously never expected Chris to initiate something. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Chris says. “We were both drunk, naturally, and it just happened.”
“Wow,” Eduardo says. “And what did he do?”
“He-um, he was into it,” Chris says, sounding both embarrassed and pleased.
“Yeah?” says Eduardo, grinning. “And?”
“Nothing else happened,” Chris says. “I didn’t want to take advantage-you know, cockblocking conscience and all that.”
“Right,” Eduardo says. “But that was three months ago. What happened?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything about it the next day,” says Chris. “And I didn’t know if…if it meant he didn’t remember, or…he thought it was a mistake. And was trying to spare my feelings. He does that, you know.”
“Maybe he was wondering the same things about you,” Eduardo points out. Chris just shrugs, channeling Mark for a moment.
“Well, we haven’t talked about it since then,” Chris says. “So I figured it would be best to drop it.”
“That seems stupid,” Eduardo says. When Chris gives him a murderous look, he holds up his arms and says, “I mean, obviously I get it. Fear of rejection, right? But you’ve got an advantage, man. It’s so obvious he feels the same way. That’s more than I can say about Mark.”
“It’s not obvious,” Chris says. “And besides, it’s not about fear of rejection.” When Eduardo looks at him skeptically, he concedes, “Okay, it’s not just about that. It’s also like…the four of us, we argue a lot, but we’re good friends, when it comes down to it, right? And it’s like…we’ve got a very specific dynamic. So say I do make a move, and he’s not interested. Now it’s weird. Even if he tries to be really normal about it, which I’m sure he would be, it all awkward and different.”
“But that won’t-” Eduardo says, but Chris ignores him and keeps talking.
“Or say he is interested, and then we actually date, and then something happens and we break up. Totally awkward for everyone. Or even if we didn’t break up. Now we’re a couple, and you and Mark would feel uncomfortable about that. No matter what I do, the whole group dynamic is totally fucked, and it’s all my fault.”
Eduardo stares at him for a minute. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he says. “Shit.”
“Exactly,” Chris says.
Chris lies back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling fan. Eduardo reaches for his glass on the ground and swallows what’s left in it in one gulp. He shouldn’t, but he’s already in for a nasty hangover, so he might as well.
“So what are we gonna do?” says Chris.
“We can’t wait forever,” says Eduardo.
“I guess not,” says Chris.
Eduardo closes his eyes because the ceiling keeps going in and out of focus. “We should tell them,” he says.
“Just like that?” Chris says.
“Yes,” Eduardo says, resolute, although the very thought of it is making his stomach churn.
“Okay,” says Chris weakly. “At the same time. We should do it at the same time. You know, for…moral support.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Eduardo says. “Someday soon, we’re just going to-”
“Tomorrow,” Chris says.
“What?”
“We should do it tomorrow. Get it over with.”
“Oh god,” Eduardo says.
“So, tomorrow. Agreed?” Chris says.
“Fine,” Eduardo says. Then he throws up over the side of the bed.
---
Mark
It’s 4 AM on Saturday morning and Mark is awake, and Chris is not back.
Last night, before Chris left for his date, Mark made a point not to act interested, watching a movie on his laptop and not asking about the plans for the night or saying anything at all. Dustin, on the couch with his Gameboy, seemed to have the same idea, although Mark caught him giving Chris sidelong glances every few minutes while he was getting ready.
Just past eight, Chris grabbed his wallet and keys and said “Okay, um, I’m going out, see you guys later,”-awkwardly, like he could sense the tension in the room. Dustin said “Have fun,” sounding very obviously unhappy, and Mark said nothing, biting back his frown at Chris, who was wearing one of those stupid v-neck sweaters, the kind that Mark’s grandmother keeps buying him for Hanukkah even though he never wears them, and who had made his hair all…you know…combed. The whole look was a little over-the-top, if you asked Mark-like Chris was trying way too hard. Eduardo is high-maintenance enough as it is, and it works for him, but between the two of them, that is far too much fashion-consciousness for one relationship. Eduardo would do better with someone more low-key, appearance-wise.
But hey, that’s just Mark’s opinion.
At midnight, Chris wasn’t back. Mark and Dustin were on the couch watching a Law and Order SVU marathon on TNT. Mark hoped Dustin didn’t see him checking the clock ever few minutes, even though Dustin was doing the exact same thing. Mark didn’t say Where the hell is he?
At 2 AM, Chris still wasn’t back. It’s not like Mark was waiting up or anything; he was just really engrossed in this marathon, okay?
“Every single episode is exactly the same,” remarked Dustin.
“I know, that’s what makes it so addictive," Mark replied rather snappishly. Dustin said nothing and continued to bite his nails. Mark didn’t say What the hell are they doing?
At 3, Mark was still awake. And no, he was not even thinking about Chris and Eduardo and what the hell they could be up to. He just really enjoys Ice-T’s excellent one-liners, okay?
“Do you think they’re okay?” Dustin asked, anxious.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Mark said, tautly.
“I’m a little worried,” Dustin said.
“Chris can take care of himself,” Mark said.
“Yeah,” Dustin said, sounding wholly unconvinced.
Now it’s 4, and the marathon has ended, to Mark’s dismay, so he’s switched the channel to the Home Shopping Network. (And don’t even start, okay? Some of those saleslady chicks are really hot.)
“Mark,” says Dustin, who is reading one of his textbooks, or pretending to. “Do you think something happened to them?”
“No,” says Mark, not looking away from the TV.
“But it’s so unlike him to stay out all night,” Dustin says. Mark says nothing.
“Maybe they got kidnapped, or roofied, or brutally murdered,” says Dustin.
“Dustin!” Mark shouts, muting the television and turning to him. “If you’re really that worried, why don’t you just text him?”
Dustin sucks his lower lip between his teeth and looks down, looking a little bit like a puppy that’s been scolded. “No, I wouldn’t want to bother him on his date,” he says timidly.
“Well then stop asking me about it!” Mark snaps.
“Sorry,” says Dustin.
Mark almost says What do you THINK they’re doing at 4 in the morning? It’s not that hard to figure out. But he doesn’t. Not because he is trying to spare Dustin’s feelings, but because he refuses to believe that is what’s happening, despite the evidence.
Eduardo is Mark’s best friend, so Mark thinks he knows him pretty well, and Eduardo, well, Eduardo has standards. He’s not the kind of guy that would sleep with just anyone, especially not someone he just started seeing, especially someone so very much not his type as Chris. He wouldn’t.
Mark is pretty sure.
At 8, Mark has finally fallen asleep in the armchair, television still on, Dustin lying on the couch and dozing (or pretending to). They both start awake when they hear a key turning in the lock.
Dustin wakes up more quickly than Mark can recall ever seeing, sitting straight up on the couch as Chris stumbles in.
“Oh my gosh, Chris, what happened?” Dustin says, springing up from the couch.
Chris is pale and wobbly on his feet, squinting. “Vodka,” is all he says, voice low, grimacing like he can’t even think about it.
“Ohhh, yikes,” says Dustin sympathetically. “Come on, lie down, okay?” He puts his arm around Chris and gently guides him over to the couch.
Mark stares at Chris. His hair is a wreck, his clothes are noticeably wrinkled, and he’s missing one sock. Mark feels his stomach clench into a painful knot at these observations.
“Walk of shame much?” he spits out.
Neither Chris nor Dustin respond to this; Chris collapses on the couch while Dustin hurries to pull down the shades, turn off the lights, and pour him a glass of water. “Here, take this,” he says, crouching beside Chris and handing him the water and an aspirin.
“Thank you, Dustin, you’re the best,” Chris groans. Dustin turns pink, but he just shrugs. Then he wrinkles his nose.
“Oh man, Chris, did you throw up?” he says.
“Not yet,” says Chris, voice muffled by the blanket he has pulled over his face. “Wardo did…ugh, I’m never drinking orange juice again.”
Dustin looks slightly confused by this statement but he just nods.
“Mark, do you think you could turn that down?” Chris says, sticking his arm out from under the blanket to gesture vaguely at the television.
“No, I can’t,” says Mark petulantly.
Dustin glares at him. “You weren’t even watching that,” he says.
“You don’t know that,” Mark says.
Dustin snatches the remote control of the table and shuts off the TV. “Can’t you not be an asshole for once? He’s sick!”
“He’s not sick, he’s hungover,” Mark grumbles. “It’s his own fucking fault. Excuse me if I’m not entirely sympathetic.”
“Really, Mark? How many times have you-” Dustin starts, but Chris groans so Dustin cuts himself off, looking both guilty and angry.
“Mark,” Chris says. “You should go see Wardo. He’s worse off than me.”
“He’ll live,” Mark says tightly. The knot in his stomach is getting worse, and he’s vaguely wondering if Chris has anything very expensive and breakable in his room.
Dustin gives him a look that could probably be described as murderous. “Can you just get out of here? You’re making him feel worse.”
“Fine, whatever,” Mark snaps, getting up and grabbing the bottle of aspirin on the way out. He doesn’t feel like hanging around here anyway: He’d rather not see any more of Dustin fawning over Chris as if he’s dying or something, and Chris going along with it for attention.
Seriously, he can’t believe he ever thought Chris was cool. He acts so wise and mature so he can feel superior, but really, he just likes to be a martyr. And everyone thinks he’s so sweet when all he is is a backstabbing, slut-faced, man-stealing-
He lets the door slam behind him. If it hurts Chris’s head, too fucking bad.
---
He fumes all the way to the convenience store, where he buys bottles of ginger ale and water, and all the way from there to Eduardo’s dorm.
He just can’t believe Eduardo could lower his standards like this. He could have literally anyone he wanted, so why would he sleep with…with…with a humanities major? How could he do that?
Still, it’s not like Mark particularly cares about Eduardo’s sex life.
…Except for how he kind of does.
A lot.
If Eduardo if really that eager to hook up with someone, well.
Mark is right here.
It’s a pretty bad scene in Eduardo’s room. The shades are drawn and the lights are off. There’s a bottle knocked over on the floor, leaking and forming a puddle. The air is permeated with the nauseating and unmistakable combination of booze and vomit. Eduardo is lying in bed, shirtless (an observation that makes Mark feel even sicker than the smell), eyes squeezed shut, looking like he’d very much like to just die. Mark’s resentment is momentarily forgotten, pushed aside by compassion.
“Hey,” he says, making sure to keep his voice low and not let the door slam.
Eduardo opens one eye and squints at Mark. “Hi,” he says. Somehow, despite his wretched misery, he manages to sound genuinely happy to see Mark, which does something seriously dangerous to Mark’s insides.
Mark walks over to Eduardo’s bedside and kneels. “You okay?” he asks, unable to keep his voice from sounding disturbingly tender. Eduardo slowly sits up in bed and nods, smiling weakly at Mark. His face looks pale and a little sweaty, and Mark has to suppress a sudden urge to actually stroke his brow. To prevent himself from doing this or something equally horrifying, he fumbles out a couple of pills and the water bottle and hands them to Eduardo, who looks at him, monumentally grateful, before gulping them down.
“And um-I got this too,” Mark says, pulling out the ginger ale. “Tastes bad, but it’s ’sposed to help with your stomach, you know, at least that’s what my mom says.”
“You are so wonderful,” Eduardo groans, which makes Mark feel like he might be sick, or worse, try to kiss Eduardo. It occurs to him that he is actually behaving exactly like Dustin was a few minutes earlier, with the fawning and the doting, which is so very disturbing that he springs up immediately.
“Ugh, it smells awful in here,” he says, and goes to the window to wrench it open. Eduardo sputters protests, something about the sunlight hurting his brain, but Mark insists that the fresh air will make him feel better.
“Damn, Mark, I never knew you were such a good caretaker,” Eduardo says, affectionate, and Mark tries to hide his blush. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from you,” he says, and Eduardo smiles at him, sweetly (and really, how else does he ever smile at Mark, other than sweetly?). Mark thinks about saying that he really doesn’t mind taking care of Eduardo, not in the least.
“Is Chris okay?” Eduardo says, and just like that, the moment is broken. Mark drops his gaze and shrugs. “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” he says gruffly. “Real nice of him to run out on you, huh?”
“No, he thought you guys might be worried and he wanted to sleep in his own bed,” Eduardo says. Mark clenches his fists. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, trying to get his emotions under control.
“Wardo, I-” he starts, just as Eduardo says, “Mark, I need to tell y-.” They both stop.
“Tell me what?” Mark says.
“No, you go first,” Eduardo says.
“Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m worried about you,” Mark says.
Eduardo smiles again. “That’s sweet, Mark, but it’s just a hangover. I’ll be fine.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Mark says.
“What did you mean?”
“I mean, I’m worried about your reputation.”
“My reputation?” Eduardo says, bewildered.
“Yeah, I think people might get the wrong idea if you’re not careful,” Mark says determinedly. When Eduardo continues to stare blankly at him, he adds, “That you’re, you know, easy.”
Eduardo furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying that I think that, but come on. If you put out on the first date, word gets around. And you could get all kinds of unwanted-”
“Mark, what the hell are you on about?” Eduardo spits out. “Why would you even think that?”
“Uh, duh,” Mark says, and makes a vague, sweeping gesture towards the rumpled bed, Eduardo’s half-dressed and generally debauched state.
“What, Chris?” Eduardo says, incredulous. “Are you serious? We were drunk! We passed out!”
“Oh yeah, I’m so sure,” Mark says, peevishly.
Eduardo sits up in the bed and jabs his finger in Mark’s direction, slightly hysterical. “You know what, Mark? If you’re just gonna come here and insult me with your groundless assumptions, you could at least not do it when I feel like shit!”
At this, Mark suddenly remembers that he came here to make Eduardo feel better, and he lowers his eyes, contrite.
“Sorry,” he says. “But can you really blame me for thinking that?”
“Yes!” Eduardo yells. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
“Well, you are dating,” Mark says. “It would make sense-”
“Mark, I can assure you,” says Eduardo, exasperated, “I have not, nor will I ever sleep with Chris.”
Mark freezes. “What? What do you-why?” He definitely doesn’t say, That is an excellent choice, I approve. Because that would be insulting.
“I am not interested in him like that,” Eduardo says.
“Then why-?”
“The dating thing was fake, okay?” Eduardo exclaims, flushing slightly.
“Fake?” Mark says, keeping his voice flat.
“Yeah, he was just trying to get rid of this creepy guy and I happened to be there,” Eduardo mutters. Mark notices that he is refusing to meet Mark’s eyes. It makes him think this is only part of the truth.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that before?” he says.
“Why do you think, Mark?” Eduardo whispers. He looks up at Mark with something intense and unfamiliar in his eyes, something that manifests itself as hot sparks in Mark’s chest.
“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” says Mark, refusing to get flustered. Eduardo frowns and looks away.
“Does this have anything to do with your mom? You know, about how you’d lied to her about the boyfriend thing?” Mark asks.
“I thought it would help but-she hasn’t even asked about it,” Eduardo says.
“Ironic,” Mark says, stupidly, and feels doubly stupid because that is not even a correct use of the term.
“You know what’s funny?” Eduardo says, voice getting all weird again. “She keeps-ever since I told her I liked guys, she keeps asking-‘there is something with you and that nice Jewish boy,yes? The one with the computers?’” He laughs, shakily.
All of a sudden, Mark feels like a large amount of air has been sucked out of the room, or his throat has closed up-either way, he’s having trouble getting enough oxygen. “Oh?” is all he can say.
“Meaning you,” Eduardo adds.
“Yeah, I got that,” Mark says.
“I wonder why she thinks that?” Eduardo says.
“Don’t ask me, she’s your mother,” Mark says, and he is a little proud of how calm he manages to keep his voice.
Eduardo purses his lips. “You’ve got no idea?”
“No,” Mark says slowly. “Moms always think weird stuff, don’t they? Don’t ask me to explain it.”
Eduardo exhales angrily. He lies down on the bed again, turning his back to Mark. “I think you’d better leave,” he says.
“Why? What did I do?” says Mark, who has the intensely annoying feeling that he is missing something. He hates that feeling.
“Nothing. I just need to sleep it off,” Eduardo says to the wall. “Thank you for the ginger ale and painkillers.”
Mark scowls. “Fine,” he says.
He’s starting to get sick of getting kicked out of places.
---
Chris
Chris still feels pretty shitty, but he’s a bit better like this, with an arm over his face, with the aspirin starting to kick in, and without the Mark the Grumpy Bridge Troll raging about the non-existent sex Chris had Mark’s not-boyfriend.
Dustin is still fretting over him, bringing him coffee and crackers (both of which Chris can barely look at without feeling sick). “Do you want me to go get you some Pepto?” he says, and when Chris shakes his head, he says “What about some chicken soup maybe? Just in case?”
Chris laughs weakly. “No, Dustin, I’ll be fine, okay?”
Dustin sits on the other side of the couch. “Sorry Mark is such a dick,” he says.
“It’s not your fault,” Chris says. “And he’ll get over it.”
“Still,” Dustin says. “You don’t deserve that. Especially not when you’re sick.”
Chris moves his arm and looks up at Dustin, smiling a little. “Dustin. It’s just a hangover. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Sorry,” Dustin mutters, wringing his hands and looking down at them. “I just-I hate to see you feeling bad. It makes me feel…” he trails off, the tips of his ears going slightly pink. “…bad.”
Chris looks at Dustin looking away, and suddenly his stomach feels volatile again, and his head is spinning, but he’s not quite sure it’s from the hangover.
There are a lot of great things about Dustin. He’s got the best sense of humor, and he’s quite exceptionally brilliant besides, not to mention the fact that he’s really distractingly attractive. But it’s not like Chris didn’t already know these things. He’s been aware of all that, painfully so, for longer than he’d like to admit.
But what hasn’t totally occurred to him until just now is that on top of all that… Dustin really cares about him, like, really cares. Of course he knew that, before, but now it’s hitting him that Dustin treats him better than…better than probably anyone, even the guys Chris has been with in the past.
It’s just like. Even if Chris could somehow manage to find someone as smart, as funny, as cute, earnest, motivated, optimistic, as everything as Dustin-which seems near on impossible in itself-he knows they could never be as good to him as Dustin is.
The point is, he’d have to be a pretty huge idiot to let that go to waste. Even if Dustin doesn’t have the same feelings towards him, he’s got to at least say he’s tried. Because someone like that-someone like that doesn’t come along every day.
“Dustin,” he says, breaking off from his reverie. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course,” Dustin says.
Chris sits up and opens his mouth, but the sudden movement causes his head to throb again. “Oh shit,” he says, pressing his hands to his eyes to try to diminish the ache.
“God,” Dustin says, concerned in his voice. “Lie down, okay?”
Chris sinks back down and pulls the blanket over his face.
“You should sleep,” Dustin says. “Why don’t we talk later, when you’re feeling better?”
“Alright,” Chris says from under the blanket. He should probably be on the top of his game for this conversation, anyway. Not that he really has any. Game, that is.
“Do you want me to stick around in case you feel worse?” Dustin says.
“No, it’s okay,” Chris says, although he can’t say he minds the thought of Dustin sticking around for him, all the time.
“Alright, I’ll. I’ll just be in the library, okay? Let me know when you want to talk,” Dustin says.
“Yeah, okay. Thank you for everything,” Chris says.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Dustin says. Chris hides his smile under the blanket.
Chris wakes up a couple hours later feeling a lot better. He’s a little wobbly on his feet when he gets up, but eating a handful of the crackers Dustin left on the table helps with that.
He sends a text to Dustin (Just woke up. Feeling much better. Still in lib?) and one to Eduardo (Don’t forget our deal!) and then hops in the shower, figuring he should at least not smell terrible when he makes his big confession. When he gets out of the shower, he sees a response from Eduardo, to which he smirks and replies.
He brushes his teeth (just in case), changes into something nice-but-not-over-the-top, and blow-dries his hair with Eduardo’s hair dryer that he finds in the bathroom. (Might as well go all-out, right?)
He sees that Dustin has replied:
yayyy!!! want me 2 come back?
Nah, I’ll come find you.
KK. 3rd floor, near the back :)
He stares at himself in the mirror. On a whim, his spritzes on a bit of the cologne he finds under the sink (god, does Eduardo live here?), then he takes a deep breath and leaves.
Part 3
Eduardo
Thursday is mostly uneventful.
Eduardo doesn’t see or hear from Mark, and he is forcing himself not to text him anymore because it makes him feel like a pathetic loser stalker.
He finally calls his mother back, and she doesn’t even ask about the boyfriend thing, after all that. Apparently his cousin just eloped with some unsavory character and that’s all anyone in the family can talk about, making Eduardo’s love life (or lack thereof) the last thing on her mind.
Especially after that, Eduardo is really starting to wonder why he ever thought this pretend dating thing would be a good idea. It’s been less than four days since he told Mark he was dating Chris, and since then it has just been constant stress. His mom doesn’t even care, that creepy guy stopped stalking Chris…and as for Mark, well, Eduardo doesn’t even know what he was trying to achieve when he decided to lie to him about it.
Okay, so maybe he had some vague idea about getting a reaction out of Mark-making him jealous, basically. But really, what did he think Mark would do? Declare a duel with Chris? Make a dramatic speech about his everlasting love for Eduardo?
Eduardo needs to stop living in a fantasy world. Mark isn’t like that. He’s not one for grand gestures. He’s not one to make his intentions clear, at least not to Eduardo. When has Eduardo ever been able to figure out what’s going on in that genius brain, when has he ever been able to predict Mark’s reactions?
And when it comes to comprehending Mark’s feelings toward him specifically, forget it. No chance in hell.
---
So he goes through all of Thursday and Friday without seeing or hearing from Mark. (And how telling is it, really, that it takes less than two days without contact from Mark for him to get this worked up? How pathetic? )
He exchanges texts with Chris a couple of times, but the ones not about Mark are half-hearted, dull small talk. He can tell Chris is distracted by something too, and he has a suspicion that something might be a certain notoriously overzealous redhead.
On Friday night, Eduardo is in his room, alone, watching a movie on his computer (pathetic, see?) when Chris shows up.
“I’m here for our date,” he says.
“Oh, that’s actually happening?” says Eduardo.
“Yes, Mark thinks--Mark and Dustin think it's happening, so I had to go out."
Right. Mark. Chris lives with him.
“Okay, so where are you taking me?” Eduardo says. “Dinner? Movie?”
Chris plops down on the desk chair, sighing heavily. “Ugh, I don’t really feel like going out. Can I just sit here and watch whatever that is?”
“Are you serious?” Eduardo says. “That’s your first date? That’s terrible.”
“Staying in can be fun too,” says Chris halfheartedly. Eduardo scoffs, but at the same moment, he can’t help but think that if, by some chance, Mark asked him on a date, they could be watching C-SPAN and eating dry cereal for all he cared. It would still most likely be the best first date he’d ever had.
Not helpful, brain.
“This is lame,” he says. “You’re a bad boyfriend!”
“We’re not even dating!” Chris exclaims.
“Exactly,” Eduardo says.
Chris rolls his eyes.
“Would it make it up to you if I said I could get us alcohol?” Chris asks.
Eduardo raises an eyebrow. “Possibly,” he says.
---
Chris apparently has an upperclassmen friend who owes him a favor for cleaning up puke that one time or something, Eduardo doesn’t really know the full story, but the point is Chris goes out for a few minutes and when he comes back he has two bottles of vodka and a jug of orange juice. “For screwdrivers,” he explains.
Eduardo knows he and Chris are supposed to be the responsible ones, the ones that make an effort not to get totally wasted, but you know what, fuck that. He’s had a terrible week.
--
He maybe should have stopped after the third drink, probably. Right now he’s on his fifth-or is it sixth?-and the cocktails are starting to taste more sour and less sweet, which could either be because they’re running out of orange juice or because there’s a distinct bad taste in his mouth. In any case, getting drunk is not turning out to be quite as fun as he was expecting.
“Do you think I’ll die alone?” he says for the umpteenth time. “Am I not desirable?”
“Oh my god, Wardo, shut up,” Chris moans from where he’s draped at the foot of the bed. He seems to be less intoxicated than Eduardo, though not by much. “You’re making me more depressed than I already was.”
“Why would we get drunk,” Eduardo says. “Alcohol is a depressant. That means it makes you depressed. Why would we think that was a good idea.” It’s not really a question so much as a glum statement.
“That’s not what depressant means,” says Chris.
“Whatever,” Eduardo says despondently.
Chris groans. “I thought you were supposed to have fun in college. Why don’t I ever have fun?”
“Because we’re the responsible ones,” Eduardo says.
“Screw that,” Chris says. “I’m always the practical one, the one that keeps everyone in line, the one people go to for advice. I’m a person too! I’m only nineteen, Jesus!”
While he rambles, Eduardo starts to zone out, feeling the room spin slightly. He watches Chris wave his arms around emphatically.
Chris really is pretty good looking, he thinks. Tall, blond, blue-eyed…very classically attractive, broad appeal. So maybe he isn’t exactly Eduardo’s type-he doesn’t, for example, have the curls, you know, the curls, or the eyes, or the lips…but you know what, Eduardo could expand his horizons. He could have a new type.
It really is strange that Chris is single, he thinks as Chris continues to rant about all the misfortunes of his life. He’s smart, he’s motivated, he’s easygoing…and unlike a certain other person that will go unnamed, he’s amiable-you wouldn’t have to apologize for his behavior at a party. He’s dependable-you wouldn’t have to worry about him forgetting to meet you somewhere because he got caught up in coding. He’s mature-he wouldn’t start avoiding you and sulk for a week if he was upset with you. And for the most part, he’s straightforward-you wouldn’t have to guess about his feelings towards you.
Really, Chris is the kind of guy any normal, smart, not-self-destructive person would fall for.
“…and it just sucks,” he finishes whatever he was saying.
“Mm,” Eduardo says, and rolls over on his side to face Chris. “D’you wanna make out?” he slurs.
Chris is slow to react, and when he does he just squints at Eduardo and says, “huh?’
“We should,” Eduardo says. “You’re gay, I’m bi-curious-”
“More than curious, I’d say,” Chris mumbles. Eduardo ignores him.
“We’re drunk. That’s what normal people do when they’re drunk. Hook up,” he says, trying to enunciate his words.
Chris looks like he’s going to argue, but then he just shrugs and says, “Screw it,” and grabs Eduardo’s face and mashes their lips together.
Eduardo thinks he’s a fairly good kisser, generally speaking, although the fact that his wooziness is growing and his coordination is shot is a bit of an impediment at the moment. Still, he kisses back, grabbing Chris’s chin and pushing his tongue between his lips. Chris rolls over on top of him and for a second Eduardo is afraid they might fall off the bed but then he gets his balance back and puts his hand in Chris’s hair. He kisses Chris passionately, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Or at least, he tries to do these things, but the vodka in his bloodstream is making it difficult to have the right finesse, so he ends up almost biting Chris’s tongue. Still, Chris doesn’t particularly seem to notice or care, since he’s busy shoving his hand up Eduardo’s shirt and kissing back with equal fervor. It’s a little slobbery, to be honest, but Eduardo learned in tenth grade when he had his first girlfriend that sometimes that just happens with kissing, and you just have to get over it.
Eduardo is starting to get out of breath, but less in the sexy way and more in the serious-lack-of-oxygen way. Fortunately Chris moves down to his neck, sucking at it wetly. Head spinning, Eduardo says, “You and I should just date for real.”
“Definitely,” Chris says, struggling to unbutton Eduardo’s shirt. “We’d be a good couple. You know, blond and brunet…it just works…” he gives up on the buttons and cups Eduardo’s crotch through his pants.
“Why didn’t we think of it before,” Eduardo gasps. He pushes Chris’s shirt halfway up his stomach, but finds the aspect of trying to get it over his head without getting tangled too daunting. “It just makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Chris says, panting. “Mark and Dustin will just have to get over it.”
“Shut up about them,” Eduardo says. He pushes Chris over on the bed, and in the process smacks his elbow against the wall. He swears under his breath and then tries to ignore the pain and kisses Chris’s stomach. He licks down his belly button but decides it’s probably not worth it to try anything fancy with his tongue, so he pulls back and goes to unbuckle Chris’s belt.
“Wardo,” Chris says.
This buckle really shouldn’t be this hard, and Eduardo knows if he wasn’t so drunk and he could get ahold of his hand-eye coordination he could be a lot smoother about this. He yanks at it, and it finally comes undone. “Wardo,” Chris says again, and he sounds amused.
Eduardo attempts to unbutton Chris’s fly, but it’s really a lost cause, and damnit, he really shouldn’t have had that last drink.
“A little help?” he says, looking up at Chris, and what the hell, Chris is definitely laughing at him.
“What?” Eduardo says crossly, and Chris throws his arm over his face and starts cracking up.
“Oh my god,” Chris says through his laughter.
Eduardo wants to be pissed off, but he has to admit, it is a little bit funny. “Fine, you can forget about the blowjob,” he says.
“There is no way I’m letting you near my dick,” Chris says. Eduardo makes an offended noise. “It’s nothing personal, honey, I just try to avoid letting boys who are inexperienced and totally hammered go down on me. I’d probably end up in the ER.”
Eduardo wants to argue but he has to admit Chris has a point, and he’s starting to feel a little queasy anyway. He flops down on the bed next to Chris.
“Besides,” Chris says. “We never would have gone through with it. We’re the responsible ones, remember?”
Eduardo sighs. “At this rate, we’ll never get laid. I hate having a conscience.”
“Tell me about it,” Chris says. Eduardo looks at him, and it’s his turn to start laughing.
“‘Blond and brunet?’” he says. “Really? That’s why we’d make a good couple?”
“Shut up,” Chris says. “So maybe we’re not really that compatible.”
Yeah, maybe not, Eduardo thinks. Chris might be ideal boyfriend material, but he’s got one fatal flaw: he’s not Mark.
“I think ginger is more your type anyway,” he says, teasing, but not unkind. Chris stops smiling and looks away. It might just be the alcohol, but he looks flushed. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
“You could just tell him, you know,” Eduardo says.
Chris furrows his brow. “Are you serious? Are you kidding me right now? You’re one to talk!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eduardo says, blushing furiously.
“Eduardo, don’t even front!” Chris says angrily. (Eduardo thinks Chris must be spending too much time around Dustin if he’s using phrases like that unironically.) “You are the biggest fucking hypocrite ever!”
Maybe the booze is making Eduardo emotional, but he gets angry at this. “Well, at least he’s not my roommate! Creepy much?”
“Oh, don’t talk to me about creepy!” Chris says. “You started buying him vitamins! Vitamins!”
“So what? You and I both know he doesn’t get enough Vitamin D!” Eduardo says emphatically.
“So, you’re not even dating!”
Eduardo is really mad now. He doesn’t even know why they’re having this argument, but the combination of the vodka and the stress of the last few weeks is weighing down on him and making him angrier.
“Well you know what, fine, maybe it is pathetic, but at least I’m not in love with a man-child!”
Chris widens his eyes dramatically, whether at the word “love” or the dig at Dustin, Eduardo isn’t sure.
“Well at least I’m not in love with a robot boy!”
“At least Mark can actually have a serious conversation once in a while!”
“At least Dustin can actually get along with someone without your help!”
“At least Mark doesn’t sing Britney Spears in the shower!”
“At least Dustin takes showers more than once a week!”
Eduardo is furious. “That’s such an exaggeration! Everyone gets like that around midterms, anyway! And you know what, you’re the one crushing on a guy who admitted to owning six pairs of dinosaur boxers. Six.”
“Yeah, well I’m sure you know all about Mark’s underwear, don’t you!”
Eduardo blushes. “Regardless. You are just as bad as I am with the-the pining. Just as bad.”
“Except I actually had the balls to make a move!” Chris yells.
Eduardo goes quiet and Chris swallows. “What? Since when?” Eduardo says, forgetting about the stupid argument.
“New Years Eve,” says Chris quietly. “I kissed him.”
“No shit,” says Eduardo, who seriously never expected Chris to initiate something. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Chris says. “We were both drunk, naturally, and it just happened.”
“Wow,” Eduardo says. “And what did he do?”
“He-um, he was into it,” Chris says, sounding both embarrassed and pleased.
“Yeah?” says Eduardo, grinning. “And?”
“Nothing else happened,” Chris says. “I didn’t want to take advantage-you know, cockblocking conscience and all that.”
“Right,” Eduardo says. “But that was three months ago. What happened?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything about it the next day,” says Chris. “And I didn’t know if…if it meant he didn’t remember, or…he thought it was a mistake. And was trying to spare my feelings. He does that, you know.”
“Maybe he was wondering the same things about you,” Eduardo points out. Chris just shrugs, channeling Mark for a moment.
“Well, we haven’t talked about it since then,” Chris says. “So I figured it would be best to drop it.”
“That seems stupid,” Eduardo says. When Chris gives him a murderous look, he holds up his arms and says, “I mean, obviously I get it. Fear of rejection, right? But you’ve got an advantage, man. It’s so obvious he feels the same way. That’s more than I can say about Mark.”
“It’s not obvious,” Chris says. “And besides, it’s not about fear of rejection.” When Eduardo looks at him skeptically, he concedes, “Okay, it’s not just about that. It’s also like…the four of us, we argue a lot, but we’re good friends, when it comes down to it, right? And it’s like…we’ve got a very specific dynamic. So say I do make a move, and he’s not interested. Now it’s weird. Even if he tries to be really normal about it, which I’m sure he would be, it all awkward and different.”
“But that won’t-” Eduardo says, but Chris ignores him and keeps talking.
“Or say he is interested, and then we actually date, and then something happens and we break up. Totally awkward for everyone. Or even if we didn’t break up. Now we’re a couple, and you and Mark would feel uncomfortable about that. No matter what I do, the whole group dynamic is totally fucked, and it’s all my fault.”
Eduardo stares at him for a minute. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he says. “Shit.”
“Exactly,” Chris says.
Chris lies back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling fan. Eduardo reaches for his glass on the ground and swallows what’s left in it in one gulp. He shouldn’t, but he’s already in for a nasty hangover, so he might as well.
“So what are we gonna do?” says Chris.
“We can’t wait forever,” says Eduardo.
“I guess not,” says Chris.
Eduardo closes his eyes because the ceiling keeps going in and out of focus. “We should tell them,” he says.
“Just like that?” Chris says.
“Yes,” Eduardo says, resolute, although the very thought of it is making his stomach churn.
“Okay,” says Chris weakly. “At the same time. We should do it at the same time. You know, for…moral support.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Eduardo says. “Someday soon, we’re just going to-”
“Tomorrow,” Chris says.
“What?”
“We should do it tomorrow. Get it over with.”
“Oh god,” Eduardo says.
“So, tomorrow. Agreed?” Chris says.
“Fine,” Eduardo says. Then he throws up over the side of the bed.
---
Mark
It’s 4 AM on Saturday morning and Mark is awake, and Chris is not back.
Last night, before Chris left for his date, Mark made a point not to act interested, watching a movie on his laptop and not asking about the plans for the night or saying anything at all. Dustin, on the couch with his Gameboy, seemed to have the same idea, although Mark caught him giving Chris sidelong glances every few minutes while he was getting ready.
Just past eight, Chris grabbed his wallet and keys and said “Okay, um, I’m going out, see you guys later,”-awkwardly, like he could sense the tension in the room. Dustin said “Have fun,” sounding very obviously unhappy, and Mark said nothing, biting back his frown at Chris, who was wearing one of those stupid v-neck sweaters, the kind that Mark’s grandmother keeps buying him for Hanukkah even though he never wears them, and who had made his hair all…you know…combed. The whole look was a little over-the-top, if you asked Mark-like Chris was trying way too hard. Eduardo is high-maintenance enough as it is, and it works for him, but between the two of them, that is far too much fashion-consciousness for one relationship. Eduardo would do better with someone more low-key, appearance-wise.
But hey, that’s just Mark’s opinion.
At midnight, Chris wasn’t back. Mark and Dustin were on the couch watching a Law and Order SVU marathon on TNT. Mark hoped Dustin didn’t see him checking the clock ever few minutes, even though Dustin was doing the exact same thing. Mark didn’t say Where the hell is he?
At 2 AM, Chris still wasn’t back. It’s not like Mark was waiting up or anything; he was just really engrossed in this marathon, okay?
“Every single episode is exactly the same,” remarked Dustin.
“I know, that’s what makes it so addictive," Mark replied rather snappishly. Dustin said nothing and continued to bite his nails. Mark didn’t say What the hell are they doing?
At 3, Mark was still awake. And no, he was not even thinking about Chris and Eduardo and what the hell they could be up to. He just really enjoys Ice-T’s excellent one-liners, okay?
“Do you think they’re okay?” Dustin asked, anxious.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Mark said, tautly.
“I’m a little worried,” Dustin said.
“Chris can take care of himself,” Mark said.
“Yeah,” Dustin said, sounding wholly unconvinced.
Now it’s 4, and the marathon has ended, to Mark’s dismay, so he’s switched the channel to the Home Shopping Network. (And don’t even start, okay? Some of those saleslady chicks are really hot.)
“Mark,” says Dustin, who is reading one of his textbooks, or pretending to. “Do you think something happened to them?”
“No,” says Mark, not looking away from the TV.
“But it’s so unlike him to stay out all night,” Dustin says. Mark says nothing.
“Maybe they got kidnapped, or roofied, or brutally murdered,” says Dustin.
“Dustin!” Mark shouts, muting the television and turning to him. “If you’re really that worried, why don’t you just text him?”
Dustin sucks his lower lip between his teeth and looks down, looking a little bit like a puppy that’s been scolded. “No, I wouldn’t want to bother him on his date,” he says timidly.
“Well then stop asking me about it!” Mark snaps.
“Sorry,” says Dustin.
Mark almost says What do you THINK they’re doing at 4 in the morning? It’s not that hard to figure out. But he doesn’t. Not because he is trying to spare Dustin’s feelings, but because he refuses to believe that is what’s happening, despite the evidence.
Eduardo is Mark’s best friend, so Mark thinks he knows him pretty well, and Eduardo, well, Eduardo has standards. He’s not the kind of guy that would sleep with just anyone, especially not someone he just started seeing, especially someone so very much not his type as Chris. He wouldn’t.
Mark is pretty sure.
At 8, Mark has finally fallen asleep in the armchair, television still on, Dustin lying on the couch and dozing (or pretending to). They both start awake when they hear a key turning in the lock.
Dustin wakes up more quickly than Mark can recall ever seeing, sitting straight up on the couch as Chris stumbles in.
“Oh my gosh, Chris, what happened?” Dustin says, springing up from the couch.
Chris is pale and wobbly on his feet, squinting. “Vodka,” is all he says, voice low, grimacing like he can’t even think about it.
“Ohhh, yikes,” says Dustin sympathetically. “Come on, lie down, okay?” He puts his arm around Chris and gently guides him over to the couch.
Mark stares at Chris. His hair is a wreck, his clothes are noticeably wrinkled, and he’s missing one sock. Mark feels his stomach clench into a painful knot at these observations.
“Walk of shame much?” he spits out.
Neither Chris nor Dustin respond to this; Chris collapses on the couch while Dustin hurries to pull down the shades, turn off the lights, and pour him a glass of water. “Here, take this,” he says, crouching beside Chris and handing him the water and an aspirin.
“Thank you, Dustin, you’re the best,” Chris groans. Dustin turns pink, but he just shrugs. Then he wrinkles his nose.
“Oh man, Chris, did you throw up?” he says.
“Not yet,” says Chris, voice muffled by the blanket he has pulled over his face. “Wardo did…ugh, I’m never drinking orange juice again.”
Dustin looks slightly confused by this statement but he just nods.
“Mark, do you think you could turn that down?” Chris says, sticking his arm out from under the blanket to gesture vaguely at the television.
“No, I can’t,” says Mark petulantly.
Dustin glares at him. “You weren’t even watching that,” he says.
“You don’t know that,” Mark says.
Dustin snatches the remote control of the table and shuts off the TV. “Can’t you not be an asshole for once? He’s sick!”
“He’s not sick, he’s hungover,” Mark grumbles. “It’s his own fucking fault. Excuse me if I’m not entirely sympathetic.”
“Really, Mark? How many times have you-” Dustin starts, but Chris groans so Dustin cuts himself off, looking both guilty and angry.
“Mark,” Chris says. “You should go see Wardo. He’s worse off than me.”
“He’ll live,” Mark says tightly. The knot in his stomach is getting worse, and he’s vaguely wondering if Chris has anything very expensive and breakable in his room.
Dustin gives him a look that could probably be described as murderous. “Can you just get out of here? You’re making him feel worse.”
“Fine, whatever,” Mark snaps, getting up and grabbing the bottle of aspirin on the way out. He doesn’t feel like hanging around here anyway: He’d rather not see any more of Dustin fawning over Chris as if he’s dying or something, and Chris going along with it for attention.
Seriously, he can’t believe he ever thought Chris was cool. He acts so wise and mature so he can feel superior, but really, he just likes to be a martyr. And everyone thinks he’s so sweet when all he is is a backstabbing, slut-faced, man-stealing-
He lets the door slam behind him. If it hurts Chris’s head, too fucking bad.
---
He fumes all the way to the convenience store, where he buys bottles of ginger ale and water, and all the way from there to Eduardo’s dorm.
He just can’t believe Eduardo could lower his standards like this. He could have literally anyone he wanted, so why would he sleep with…with…with a humanities major? How could he do that?
Still, it’s not like Mark particularly cares about Eduardo’s sex life.
…Except for how he kind of does.
A lot.
If Eduardo if really that eager to hook up with someone, well.
Mark is right here.
It’s a pretty bad scene in Eduardo’s room. The shades are drawn and the lights are off. There’s a bottle knocked over on the floor, leaking and forming a puddle. The air is permeated with the nauseating and unmistakable combination of booze and vomit. Eduardo is lying in bed, shirtless (an observation that makes Mark feel even sicker than the smell), eyes squeezed shut, looking like he’d very much like to just die. Mark’s resentment is momentarily forgotten, pushed aside by compassion.
“Hey,” he says, making sure to keep his voice low and not let the door slam.
Eduardo opens one eye and squints at Mark. “Hi,” he says. Somehow, despite his wretched misery, he manages to sound genuinely happy to see Mark, which does something seriously dangerous to Mark’s insides.
Mark walks over to Eduardo’s bedside and kneels. “You okay?” he asks, unable to keep his voice from sounding disturbingly tender. Eduardo slowly sits up in bed and nods, smiling weakly at Mark. His face looks pale and a little sweaty, and Mark has to suppress a sudden urge to actually stroke his brow. To prevent himself from doing this or something equally horrifying, he fumbles out a couple of pills and the water bottle and hands them to Eduardo, who looks at him, monumentally grateful, before gulping them down.
“And um-I got this too,” Mark says, pulling out the ginger ale. “Tastes bad, but it’s ’sposed to help with your stomach, you know, at least that’s what my mom says.”
“You are so wonderful,” Eduardo groans, which makes Mark feel like he might be sick, or worse, try to kiss Eduardo. It occurs to him that he is actually behaving exactly like Dustin was a few minutes earlier, with the fawning and the doting, which is so very disturbing that he springs up immediately.
“Ugh, it smells awful in here,” he says, and goes to the window to wrench it open. Eduardo sputters protests, something about the sunlight hurting his brain, but Mark insists that the fresh air will make him feel better.
“Damn, Mark, I never knew you were such a good caretaker,” Eduardo says, affectionate, and Mark tries to hide his blush. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from you,” he says, and Eduardo smiles at him, sweetly (and really, how else does he ever smile at Mark, other than sweetly?). Mark thinks about saying that he really doesn’t mind taking care of Eduardo, not in the least.
“Is Chris okay?” Eduardo says, and just like that, the moment is broken. Mark drops his gaze and shrugs. “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” he says gruffly. “Real nice of him to run out on you, huh?”
“No, he thought you guys might be worried and he wanted to sleep in his own bed,” Eduardo says. Mark clenches his fists. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, trying to get his emotions under control.
“Wardo, I-” he starts, just as Eduardo says, “Mark, I need to tell y-.” They both stop.
“Tell me what?” Mark says.
“No, you go first,” Eduardo says.
“Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m worried about you,” Mark says.
Eduardo smiles again. “That’s sweet, Mark, but it’s just a hangover. I’ll be fine.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Mark says.
“What did you mean?”
“I mean, I’m worried about your reputation.”
“My reputation?” Eduardo says, bewildered.
“Yeah, I think people might get the wrong idea if you’re not careful,” Mark says determinedly. When Eduardo continues to stare blankly at him, he adds, “That you’re, you know, easy.”
Eduardo furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying that I think that, but come on. If you put out on the first date, word gets around. And you could get all kinds of unwanted-”
“Mark, what the hell are you on about?” Eduardo spits out. “Why would you even think that?”
“Uh, duh,” Mark says, and makes a vague, sweeping gesture towards the rumpled bed, Eduardo’s half-dressed and generally debauched state.
“What, Chris?” Eduardo says, incredulous. “Are you serious? We were drunk! We passed out!”
“Oh yeah, I’m so sure,” Mark says, peevishly.
Eduardo sits up in the bed and jabs his finger in Mark’s direction, slightly hysterical. “You know what, Mark? If you’re just gonna come here and insult me with your groundless assumptions, you could at least not do it when I feel like shit!”
At this, Mark suddenly remembers that he came here to make Eduardo feel better, and he lowers his eyes, contrite.
“Sorry,” he says. “But can you really blame me for thinking that?”
“Yes!” Eduardo yells. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
“Well, you are dating,” Mark says. “It would make sense-”
“Mark, I can assure you,” says Eduardo, exasperated, “I have not, nor will I ever sleep with Chris.”
Mark freezes. “What? What do you-why?” He definitely doesn’t say, That is an excellent choice, I approve. Because that would be insulting.
“I am not interested in him like that,” Eduardo says.
“Then why-?”
“The dating thing was fake, okay?” Eduardo exclaims, flushing slightly.
“Fake?” Mark says, keeping his voice flat.
“Yeah, he was just trying to get rid of this creepy guy and I happened to be there,” Eduardo mutters. Mark notices that he is refusing to meet Mark’s eyes. It makes him think this is only part of the truth.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that before?” he says.
“Why do you think, Mark?” Eduardo whispers. He looks up at Mark with something intense and unfamiliar in his eyes, something that manifests itself as hot sparks in Mark’s chest.
“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” says Mark, refusing to get flustered. Eduardo frowns and looks away.
“Does this have anything to do with your mom? You know, about how you’d lied to her about the boyfriend thing?” Mark asks.
“I thought it would help but-she hasn’t even asked about it,” Eduardo says.
“Ironic,” Mark says, stupidly, and feels doubly stupid because that is not even a correct use of the term.
“You know what’s funny?” Eduardo says, voice getting all weird again. “She keeps-ever since I told her I liked guys, she keeps asking-‘there is something with you and that nice Jewish boy,yes? The one with the computers?’” He laughs, shakily.
All of a sudden, Mark feels like a large amount of air has been sucked out of the room, or his throat has closed up-either way, he’s having trouble getting enough oxygen. “Oh?” is all he can say.
“Meaning you,” Eduardo adds.
“Yeah, I got that,” Mark says.
“I wonder why she thinks that?” Eduardo says.
“Don’t ask me, she’s your mother,” Mark says, and he is a little proud of how calm he manages to keep his voice.
Eduardo purses his lips. “You’ve got no idea?”
“No,” Mark says slowly. “Moms always think weird stuff, don’t they? Don’t ask me to explain it.”
Eduardo exhales angrily. He lies down on the bed again, turning his back to Mark. “I think you’d better leave,” he says.
“Why? What did I do?” says Mark, who has the intensely annoying feeling that he is missing something. He hates that feeling.
“Nothing. I just need to sleep it off,” Eduardo says to the wall. “Thank you for the ginger ale and painkillers.”
Mark scowls. “Fine,” he says.
He’s starting to get sick of getting kicked out of places.
---
Chris
Chris still feels pretty shitty, but he’s a bit better like this, with an arm over his face, with the aspirin starting to kick in, and without the Mark the Grumpy Bridge Troll raging about the non-existent sex Chris had Mark’s not-boyfriend.
Dustin is still fretting over him, bringing him coffee and crackers (both of which Chris can barely look at without feeling sick). “Do you want me to go get you some Pepto?” he says, and when Chris shakes his head, he says “What about some chicken soup maybe? Just in case?”
Chris laughs weakly. “No, Dustin, I’ll be fine, okay?”
Dustin sits on the other side of the couch. “Sorry Mark is such a dick,” he says.
“It’s not your fault,” Chris says. “And he’ll get over it.”
“Still,” Dustin says. “You don’t deserve that. Especially not when you’re sick.”
Chris moves his arm and looks up at Dustin, smiling a little. “Dustin. It’s just a hangover. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Sorry,” Dustin mutters, wringing his hands and looking down at them. “I just-I hate to see you feeling bad. It makes me feel…” he trails off, the tips of his ears going slightly pink. “…bad.”
Chris looks at Dustin looking away, and suddenly his stomach feels volatile again, and his head is spinning, but he’s not quite sure it’s from the hangover.
There are a lot of great things about Dustin. He’s got the best sense of humor, and he’s quite exceptionally brilliant besides, not to mention the fact that he’s really distractingly attractive. But it’s not like Chris didn’t already know these things. He’s been aware of all that, painfully so, for longer than he’d like to admit.
But what hasn’t totally occurred to him until just now is that on top of all that… Dustin really cares about him, like, really cares. Of course he knew that, before, but now it’s hitting him that Dustin treats him better than…better than probably anyone, even the guys Chris has been with in the past.
It’s just like. Even if Chris could somehow manage to find someone as smart, as funny, as cute, earnest, motivated, optimistic, as everything as Dustin-which seems near on impossible in itself-he knows they could never be as good to him as Dustin is.
The point is, he’d have to be a pretty huge idiot to let that go to waste. Even if Dustin doesn’t have the same feelings towards him, he’s got to at least say he’s tried. Because someone like that-someone like that doesn’t come along every day.
“Dustin,” he says, breaking off from his reverie. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course,” Dustin says.
Chris sits up and opens his mouth, but the sudden movement causes his head to throb again. “Oh shit,” he says, pressing his hands to his eyes to try to diminish the ache.
“God,” Dustin says, concerned in his voice. “Lie down, okay?”
Chris sinks back down and pulls the blanket over his face.
“You should sleep,” Dustin says. “Why don’t we talk later, when you’re feeling better?”
“Alright,” Chris says from under the blanket. He should probably be on the top of his game for this conversation, anyway. Not that he really has any. Game, that is.
“Do you want me to stick around in case you feel worse?” Dustin says.
“No, it’s okay,” Chris says, although he can’t say he minds the thought of Dustin sticking around for him, all the time.
“Alright, I’ll. I’ll just be in the library, okay? Let me know when you want to talk,” Dustin says.
“Yeah, okay. Thank you for everything,” Chris says.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Dustin says. Chris hides his smile under the blanket.
Chris wakes up a couple hours later feeling a lot better. He’s a little wobbly on his feet when he gets up, but eating a handful of the crackers Dustin left on the table helps with that.
He sends a text to Dustin (Just woke up. Feeling much better. Still in lib?) and one to Eduardo (Don’t forget our deal!) and then hops in the shower, figuring he should at least not smell terrible when he makes his big confession. When he gets out of the shower, he sees a response from Eduardo, to which he smirks and replies.
He brushes his teeth (just in case), changes into something nice-but-not-over-the-top, and blow-dries his hair with Eduardo’s hair dryer that he finds in the bathroom. (Might as well go all-out, right?)
He sees that Dustin has replied:
yayyy!!! want me 2 come back?
Nah, I’ll come find you.
KK. 3rd floor, near the back :)
He stares at himself in the mirror. On a whim, his spritzes on a bit of the cologne he finds under the sink (god, does Eduardo live here?), then he takes a deep breath and leaves.
Part 3