fic: the deeper you cut, the deeper i hurt (it only gets worse), part three
All the attention Mark got for Face Mash can probably be multiplied by one thousand and still not compare to the amount of attention he gets for Thefacebook. For a week, Eduardo watches him field phone calls and reply to emails, all of them asking for interviews or a single quote. If Harvard had a Most Wanted list, Mark would be on the top, listed next to a million dollar reward, he’s in that high demand.
Eduardo doesn’t mind it at all. He’s actually quite proud of Mark for finishing this huge project in a few weeks and launching it to such an extravagant amount of success. It’s not like he’s deprived of Mark just because a horde of people demands his attention.
What he does mind, though, is that his name is never mentioned. All the articles in The Crimson talk only about “sophomore founder of Thefacebook Mark Zuckerberg” without any reference to Eduardo or his help in getting Thefacebook off the ground. Sure, he didn’t do any coding for the site but he did do its errands. He was the one writing checks for more servers and making sure Mark didn’t die from malnutrition or lack of sleep. Thefacebook wouldn’t exist in this form if Eduardo hadn’t kept its creator alive or agreed to fund it.
So, yes, it bothers him that Mark always ignores his role in the site’s development when he gives interviews. But he tries not to dwell on it. His name’s on the masthead, at least, and that’s all he needs to show his father that he can be successful.
And Mark knows Eduardo’s important to Thefacebook. He thanks him once, too, when he’s half-asleep on Eduardo’s chest. He mumbles something unintelligible and then, clear as a whistle, “Thanks, Wardo.” There’s no telling for sure if he says it because Eduardo pulls a blanket over them or if it’s because he understands the concerns Eduardo had aired not even ten minutes ago, but Eduardo likes to think it’s the second reason.
Since only a few people know about Eduardo’s involvement, he’s not surprised when, at the Bill Gates lecture, the two girls who introduce themselves have no idea who he is. He takes it in stride, though. Eduardo’s always been good at that.
The long-haired brunette who’s clearly the most outspoken of the pair - Asian, just like all the other girls Eduardo has ever dated for an appreciable amount of time while at Harvard - asks him, as soon as her stupidly annoying giggles die down, “Your friend - is that Mark Zuckerberg?”
Eduardo blinks at them. He can’t really understand why they had to do so much laughing to get his attention. Was it really not easy enough to lean over and tap on his shoulder? “Uh, yes,” he says after a beat, trying really hard not to sound annoyed.
“He made Thefacebook,” she whispers back. It’s not a question as much as it is a very slightly uncertain statement.
And Eduardo had thought the attention wasn’t a big deal but now that he’s faced with it, he can’t fight a smile. They’ve done something awesome and, well, maybe this is the “not expendable” thing Mark had talked to Eduardo’s father about his first night in Miami. Maybe Thefacebook is what Mark’s always wanted to accomplish.
He bites his lip and then says, voice still low but a little bit shaky, “Yeah. I mean, it’s both of ours. But, yeah, we - yes.”
“Cool.” The girl tosses her hair, leaning forward a little more so that her red bra is even less covered by her white shirt, and points at her friend. “I’m Christy. This is Alice.”
Murmuring, “Very nice to meet you,” he shifts around in his chair and briefly catches the eyes of two people who are pointing at and obviously talking about him and Mark - or, really, Mark. But the fact still stands: The recognition Thefacebook has given them is almost unbearably surreal. His heart maybe skips a beat thinking about what this could mean for his future.
“Facebook me when you get home. Maybe we can all go out and grab a drink later.”
It’s really hard for Eduardo to stop his eyes going all buggishly wide at that. He’s not even sure how he manages to say, “Certainly. Absolutely, I will do that,” without stammering or blushing or dropping dead.
This is just way too much.
Facebook me.
Jesus fucking Christ.
- - -
They do a lot more than go out for drinks that night.
After he and Mark argue about monetizing the site (after all, a “not expendable” site needs money to run and he can’t keep paying for the servers himself) and responding to the Winklevoss’ cease and desist letter, they meet Alice and Christy and both end up being sucked off in the bathroom in adjacent stalls. Eduardo’s pretty sure he comes thinking about Mark on the other side of the wall and not about Christy’s hot mouth on his dick (she uses a little bit too much teeth anyway, and although seeing all that cleavage was cool in the beginning, he’s never been charmed by showy girls).
Then all four of them go back to Kirkland because Mark decides, after running into Erica at the restaurant, that the next step with Thefacebook is to expand - right now, tonight. There’s no time, he tells Eduardo on their way out the door, to walk the girls back to their dorms because this has to be done now, before he loses all the codes that are in his head or whatever. Eduardo can’t do anything but agree and turns to Christy to tell them they have to go but she latches on, insisting they can join them.
And that’s how, after hours of brainstorming with Chris and Dustin ways on how exactly to expand and get the word out on campuses that are hundreds of miles away with a limited budget, Eduardo’s faced with a sleepy, clingy Christy and a very sober and awake Alice. He’s not even sure why they’re still here. It’s three o’clock in the morning; they should be tucked into their own beds, not in a partial stranger’s suite.
“Eduardo, I had so much fun,” Christy gushes, shaking off Alice’s hand on her shoulder and wrapping her arm around Eduardo’s neck.
Eduardo pulls his head back and raises his eyebrows, keeps his arms at his sides. “You did?”
“Yeah, hearing you guys talk about all that stuff was fascinating. I think getting Stanford really isn’t going to be as difficult as you think. Californians are easy to win over.”
Chuckling, “Right, yeah, you’re probably right,” he finally reaches his hand back to get Christy’s arm off him. Before he can move it, she laces their fingers together and kisses him on the mouth. It’s like when she kissed him in the bathroom, hot and full of tongue, just not as long because Eduardo breaks it. He doesn’t want Mark, who’s in his room, to see that or Alice, who’s waiting by the door with a stern look on her face, to witness it for too long. “You should go get some sleep, Christy.”
She smiles at him, finally letting go, and nods. “Yeah, I should. But, hey, we should go out to dinner soon, ok?”
“Um . . .” He blinks at her, because this is definitely not what he wanted to get into. He’d just wanted to go out and have fun; he’d never intended for this night to lead to a possible relationship. He has Mark, after all, and he’s more than enough, way, way more than enough.
And, God, Mark’s in the other room, probably listening to this whole conversation because, even though he makes a big deal about being wired in, he’s always aware of what’s going on around him.
But Eduardo still says, “Sure, yes, that would be nice,” as if nothing he’s just realized matters at all. Then Christy’s gone and he sits on Mark’s couch, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this mess.
- - -
In the end, there’s no mess to clean up. Eduardo tells Mark about Christy the night before he goes on his second date with her and Mark doesn’t even pretend to care. He stares at his computer, falters maybe the tiniest bit with his keyboard, and says, “Yeah.”
Yeah and that’s it. Eduardo gave him a long explanation on how he couldn’t get out of the date because Christy’s manipulative and all Mark says is yeah. He’s not even looking at him when he says it. He’s just typing into that stupid black box on his screen, like Eduardo only deserves the least amount of his attention.
If Eduardo weren’t so crazy about him, if he weren’t so invested in keeping Mark happy, he’d take Mark’s computer and smash it into pieces.
He’s more level-headed than that, though. It’s easier to be passive-aggressive and say, “Ok, fine. I guess that’s it, then,” and then walk out of Mark’s suite without looking back to see if Mark’s stopped coding yet.
He goes out with Christy, too, and that’s actually not as bad as he’d thought it would be. She makes it pretty obvious that she wants a boyfriend and that, in particular, she wants Eduardo to be her boyfriend, but he figures there could be worse things. Things like being in an almost purely physical relationship with your best friend. Things like caring for someone who doesn’t seem to care enough.
Christy’s not a monster. She’s sweet and she’s smart and when she drinks a little too much, her sentences are like ten-car pileups, words mounting on top of words until it sounds like one long word. Eduardo really enjoys holding her hand and kissing her in front of the steps of Littauer before his Immigration Economics class and taking her to his Phoenix parties.
And after the first time they have sex, Christy doesn’t get up to check on her email or make some excuse to get out of bed. Instead, she licks the sweat off Eduardo’s upper lip and kisses him long and slow, helping him breathe. Her hands mold around his shoulders, massaging, and she rubs the back of his calves with the heels of her feet. He feels so taken care of, so reassured. He hadn’t realized this was what he was missing in not having an actual significant other. He doesn’t want to think about how things may have been if he had just asked Mark to be his boyfriend before winter break like he’d really wanted to. He really doesn’t because it hurts to know that he could have probably had it all if he hadn’t been so worried about how Mark would react. It couldn’t have hurt to try and -
Shit. Now he’s in bed with Christy, thinking about Mark after making a very conscious effort earlier not to do such a thing, and he feels terrible about it. It’s not fair to Christy for his mind to be anywhere else but here, with her, where’s she putting so much work into making him feel good.
“Eduardo?” she whispers in his ear, carding one of her hands through his hair and scratching his scalp.
He sighs as quietly as he can but it’s a sound magnified by one thousand and is about as loud as any normal exhalation. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, licking his lips and rolling off her. He’s not a big person but he’s pretty sure it can’t be comfortable to be underneath him for so much time. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”
She gives him this tiny smile that makes him feel a little better. Quietly, she says, “Stop thinking,” and settles against his side, nuzzling into his chest and tightening her arm around his waist. She’s so small next to him, so much more fragile than he’s used to (not that Christy’s fragile or anything).
Nodding, he swallows hard and wraps his arm around her shoulders, leans down to kiss the top of her soft hair. “I’m stopping,” he promises.
- - -
Things with Mark are awkward.
It’s not like Eduardo purposefully sets out to make their relationship as uncomfortable as possible but he can’t control the stiltedness of their conversations. Mark certainly doesn’t help in trying to alleviate the tension because he just keeps on being absorbed by Thefacebook, almost constantly altering code and checking out test accounts to make sure everything is running smoothly. He’s got Dustin doing much of the same stuff he’s doing too, so whenever Eduardo’s in their room, it’s even more difficult to talk about things.
He just wants to settle the score, ok? He can’t do that if Dustin is in the suite, yelling shit about hits and overloads whenever he thinks it’s necessary to fill the awkward silence that constantly falls between Eduardo and Mark.
But when Eduardo brings up Christy’s connection with Sean Parker, Mark stops everything he’s doing, turns to Eduardo, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and highlighting his notes, and says, “You have to make a meeting happen.”
Eduardo just blinks at him. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have any idea what meeting Sean Parker could do for Thefacebook, Wardo? Do you even know who Sean Parker is?”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes, and goes back to his notes. “Yes, I know who he is. I’m not exactly fond of the idea of associating him with Thefacebook.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re fond of it,” Mark snaps, and he tosses something - a pen, Eduardo realizes as he lifts his hand to pull it out of his hair - at him. “You’re going to have to compromise. If he contacted Christy, we need to meet him.”
Eduardo clenches his jaw. Of course Mark would want to meet a man who started his legacy at the same age as Mark’s beginning his own. But Eduardo doesn’t want Sean Parker imparting any kind of wisdom when he’s very publicly floundered. Thefacebook doesn’t need that kind of reputation.
Mark insists on it some more, though, and this is the first time since Thefacebook launched that he’s seen Mark get so fired up. When he wants something, he goes after it, full force, knocking everything down in his path if it means reaching his goal. Eduardo vaguely, remorsefully, wishes he were one of the things Mark would fight for.
Nostalgia, eventually, is what gets Eduardo to give in, twisted as it is. He shouldn’t be nostalgic for something he never had. It’s just - well, the opportunity to make Mark happy trumps everything every single time.
So, over spring break, Mark, Christy and Eduardo go to New York to meet Sean Parker, the infamous Napster founder. He’s almost thirty minutes late and Mark’s still impressed by him. So impressed, in fact, that when Sean pauses meaningfully for them to mull over what he’s saying, Mark doesn’t say a single thing.
It wouldn’t even be so bad if Sean was making any sense but that’s just the thing. Everything that comes out of his mouth is bullshit and he doesn’t offer them a single piece of advice on how to make Thefacebook more successful, other than relocating to Palo Alto, which is way out of reach. He talks circles around them, wraps both Mark and Christy up in his stupid paranoid philosophy and then pays for their meal. Oh, sure, he predicts that Thefacebook could be worth up to a billion dollars but nothing else he says is of value.
That is, until he backtracks when he’s on his way out, to tell Mark - because apparently Sean thinks Thefacebook is all about Mark and not at all about his team of co-founders - that it would be cleaner if he drops Thefacecbook’s “the.”
Hundreds of dollars spent just to get out to New York to meet this idiot and all he tells them to do is drop the “the.”
It’s not enough to say that Eduardo’s angry.
- - -
There’s nothing from the Sean Parker Variety Hour, as Eduardo so affectionately comes to call it, that Mark doesn’t take to heart.
First, he changes Thefacebook to Facebook as soon as they get back to Cambridge without talking to anybody about it.
Then he starts looking at houses in Palo Alto, which is something Eduardo doesn’t find out about until the afternoon that Facebook crosses the 150,000 member mark. Mark’s slip is intentional, of course. He very casually mentions that he’s interviewing two interns to go out with him to California in the middle of a conversation about needing more money and Eduardo couldn’t be more outraged.
It’s one thing for Mark to make a decision about semantics on his own (and, ultimately, changing Thefacebook to Facebook is the best thing that has happened for the site since it launched) but he can’t just one day wake up and decide I’m going to Palo Alto today and I’m taking everything with me. That’s not how business works. Business relies on structure. Eduardo likes structure; that’s why he wants to be in business. If he didn’t like structure, he’d be studying history or working as a substitute teacher.
Mark can’t just walk up to a very carefully made business plan and uproot it.
Except he insists that he can. Amidst squawks from the caged chicken Eduardo’s carrying around as part of his Phoenix initiation and the steady number-calling from Dustin, Mark makes it very clear to Eduardo that his opinion doesn’t matter. He trusts Sean, not Eduardo, and he wants to give Facebook a shot out west. There’s nothing that’s going to change his mind.
And of course, Eduardo shows up the following night at the CS lab with 18,000 dollars and the willingness to be a team player, as long he’s able to keep Mark as a friend and not ever have to hear something like Get on board with this man, you know - or I don’t know what else to say ever again. Because that sounded too much like an ultimatum and Eduardo never wants to lose Mark. Being with Christy doesn’t change the way he feels.
That’s what Eduardo chalks it up to a few weeks later when it’s just him and Mark left after finals. Chris and Dustin are both gone and Mark’s suite is so empty. All that’s left are the Harvard-issued couch and coffee table and Mark’s things. The posters and pictures that hung up all year have been taken down, the walls stripped bare, and everything feels eerie. Eduardo remembers being here at the beginning of the year when everyone but Mark was helping tape things in weird places with loud music playing in the background and he misses it. He misses that, what they all had before Facebook took over.
He especially misses what he and Mark had - but he catches himself before he starts to feel too nostalgic. It’s not the time for that.
He could be in his own room, where everything is already packed and he doesn’t have to worry about the junk Mark’s sticking into boxes of his own, but he wouldn’t be a very good friend if he didn’t at least give Mark a hand.
Between the two of them, they manage to take twelve boxes to a storage facility that’s just off campus, right across the street, in three hours. When they get back, they splurge on both pizza and Chinese and break out the last of the vodka and beer.
A few after-dinner shots later, Eduardo’s nursing a beer, lying on the dirty floor, when he asks, “What do you think?” right up to the dark ceiling. Mark’s desk lamp isn’t potent enough to reach all the corners of the room.
From somewhere, Mark’s disembodied voice says, “About what,” with absolutely no inflection. Drinking does that to him sometimes. He gets all monotone. Eduardo’s spent enough time around drunken Mark to know.
“What do you think about -” Eduardo props himself onto one elbow to take a quick swig of his beer then plops back onto the floor. “About - about me and, like, you know.”
“Wardo, I don’t know.”
“About - you know, Mark!” He sits up fully this time, pointing around the room with his index finger until he finds Mark sitting on his bed. “You know what I mean, Mark, you always know.”
Mark snorts into his beer, which is not the same as Eduardo’s because it’s in a green bottle and Eduardo’s is brown. “Jesus, you’re drunk.”
“Jesus isn’t drunk, Mark,” Eduardo says, widening his eyes. “Jesus can’t get drunk.”
“Yeah, ok, Wardo, whatever you say.”
He pouts exaggeratedly at Mark. “Will you listen to me?”
“I’m waiting.” Mark looks too amused for someone who’s talking like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
“So, ok, what do you think about me and, um, and - meandyou?” Blushing, Eduardo tucks his chin against his chest and brings his beer back to his lips.
It’s silent for a long time. Eduardo feels stupid for even bringing this up now, when they’re both just hours away from parting ways for a whole summer. That question is something he should’ve asked months ago, before Christy came into the picture, before Mark was too sucked into Facebook to pay him any attention, before they stopped being best friends and their friendship turned into a shell of what it used to be. It’s not something he has any right to ask now, when they’re both drunk and mildly vulnerable.
But, God, he wants to know this answer so badly it’s making his chest hurt.
His eyes fall closed as he focuses extra hard on pulling the last bit of beer out of his bottle without having to tip back his head, so it surprises him when two warm hands land on his shoulders and try to pull him up. He drops his bottle and jerks and it’s a miracle he doesn’t scream, even though he knows there’s no one else in this room but Mark that could be touching him.
It scares him. It’s been way too long since Mark’s touched him so purposefully.
Eduardo takes a deep, shaky breath and pushes himself to his feet, not even sliding on the little puddle of beer that spilled from his overturned bottle. Mark’s looking at him, straight at him, and pulling his bottom lip through his teeth like he does when he’s nervous.
Something balloons in Eduardo’s chest as he watches him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says firmly, tilting up his chin in what he thinks he wants to be defiance. He’s not really all that sure if he wants Mark to think that he’s being demanding or that he’s being bold. Either of them works but only one of them will get him what he wants. He’s just not sure which, so he tries his best to be both.
Mark just keeps staring from ten feet away and, in this state, Eduardo can see this scene in his mind looking like something out of an old western film, tumbleweeds, quick draws and all. Only not so much quick draws as tumbleweeds, because no one’s doing any moving here.
Sick of waiting, he presses on, “Mark? Are you going to answer?” and crosses his arms across his chest. His balance is thrown momentarily.
And then he’s completely off balance as Mark takes five long strides across the room and pulls Eduardo by the upper arms right into a kiss. Their teeth click together painfully as Eduardo hastens to uncross his arms and wrap them around Mark instead. He groans, not even caring that it hurts, just enjoying that the hurt is there because he hasn’t felt something like it in so long.
They kiss so hard that, after a minute, Eduardo can taste blood in his mouth. He doesn’t, however, make any effort to slow this down. Mark’s already rucking up the back of Eduardo’s shirt, his burning hands all over Eduardo’s back, and Eduardo’s busy too, willing his usually deft but now useless fingers into undoing the fly of Mark’s jeans. The first time they break apart, it’s to finish removing their shirts without getting anyone’s head stuck in the collar. Then they’re right back at it, kissing and sucking on tongues, walking backwards and pushing down waistbands until they gracelessly topple onto Mark’s bed with their pants around their knees.
Thankfully, they’ve had enough practice doing this drunk and Mark’s really good at flipping Eduardo onto his back without hurting him. All Eduardo’s good for, though, is lying there, watching Mark wrestle with Eduardo’s jeans until they’re on the floor, arching off the mattress every once in a while when Mark’s nails scrape against his skin. It’s hard not to wriggle around when all of Mark’s attention is on him. His gaze is so intense, like it’s trying to burn a pattern into Eduardo’s skin, and Eduardo wants it all over his body, just about as greedy for Mark’s mouth as he is for his eyes. All he ever wants, anyway, is Mark’s narrow focus all for himself.
Now that he’s got it, he doesn’t plan to let it go, no matter how much he’s had to drink. He can school himself into being completely present for this - he’s not that hammered. It helps, too, that they banged teeth earlier because the pain definitely sobered him up, no matter how delicious it was.
Before he knows it, Mark makes quick work of all the clothing they’re still wearing and then straddles Eduardo’s thighs, leaning over to kiss him and pull stuff out of the nightstand at the same time. (That Mark still even has those things in his drawer after packing all his stuff is something to think about later.)
Eduardo catches Mark’s bottom lip in his teeth and runs his tongue over it as Mark climbs up a little higher, their hard dicks able to touch each other now. He has to pull back his head and groan, all the nerves extra-sensitive. He hears Mark’s grunt too, hears how it turns into a whimper when Eduardo twitches his hips up and their dicks rub even more.
He’s way too hard now and he’s had too much to drink and he’s not going to last long if this is how they’re going to do things.
“Mark,” he starts, panting and clutching at Mark’s hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other. “Mark, I’m not - I can’t be - this is so -” He makes a really whiney noise, then forges ahead on a big breath, “You need to fuck me because I’m not going to last long enough.”
Mark nods against Eduardo’s palm and Eduardo feels it all over, until Mark climbs off him and starts fumbling with the condom and lube.
Gasping, Eduardo props himself onto his elbows to watch Mark’s nimble fingers roll on the latex and then slick on the lube. He can already feel him, a ghost memory, deep inside him, searing hot, and he wants it now so badly. “Mark,” he involuntarily whispers, the syllable breaking into two at a really high pitch. “Please.”
Mark’s face goes so red and then he says, “Want this just as bad, Wardo,” and hikes Eduardo’s legs onto his shoulders, no warning necessary.
Eduardo isn’t sure if he’s referring to sex or answering Eduardo’s earlier question or both. He’s kind of hoping it’s both.
3 | clinging to the remnants of perfection
Eduardo doesn’t regret what happened with Mark. The next morning, he’d made sure Mark knew that he didn’t want that to be it for them. He’d said, “It’s just that with Christy in the picture, it’s hard,” and Mark had understood. When they said their goodbyes to each other, they’d hugged and Mark had whispered that he really wished Eduardo could come out to Palo Alto, that it’d be so much better than sucking up to ad execs in New York and working for Lehman Brothers. Much as Eduardo would’ve enjoyed being out there, it wasn’t something he was willing to do.
Although their last exchange was quick, Eduardo left on his train to New York feeling so much better about where he stood with Mark and where they stood together. He didn’t think the summer would be too hard to bear.
A month later, though, things aren’t going as planned. He quit his Lehman Brothers internship to regale advertising executives with his ideas for Facebook full-time because he knew half-assing this job wouldn’t get them any money. But after all the hard work and all the headaches, he still hasn’t managed to convince anybody to take Facebook on. He’s running out of ideas fast.
He tries to ask for Mark’s opinion but whenever they talk, it’s hit or miss. He can say one thing and Mark will respond but he can say something else and all he’ll get is white noise or keyboard or shouts or slurping. It feels like Mark wants to undo everything they’ve just gotten back and Eduardo can’t deal with that.
So he stops calling every other day and starts checking in once a week, at a time when he’s almost positive Mark won’t be too busy to pay Eduardo some attention. It’s a better strategy but not nearly as satisfying as it could be.
At least Christy’s in New York too. He’s not totally miserable running around when knows he has someone to come home to. She’s not Mark but she’s good enough and he really does like her.
At some point, though, even his relationship with Christy takes a turn for the worst when, after one particularly long day out that just so happens to be on a Friday, she accuses him of cheating. She throws stuff across the room, pegs him with a stiletto, slaps him in the cheek. She’s like a train wreck and all Eduardo can do is stand and watch, too stunned to defend himself.
Three days later, when he’s talking to a potential client, he coughs into his elbow and then has to excuse himself because his chest hurts too much from where Christy had dug her heel. It’s embarrassing and he was already off to a crappy day.
After a week of her jealousy, he books a flight to Palo Alto, calls Mark so that he’ll pick him up at the airport the next night at nine, and swears off ad execs and Christy for at least a week.
- - -
Mark doesn’t pick him up. No one does. He has to call a cab and pay the driver sixty dollars because he charges an exorbitant airport surcharge for being the only cab running around there this late at night when it’s raining. He has to wait outside the front door for five minutes, suit getting ruined as the rain pounds down on him. He has to face Sean, who’s for some reason letting him in. It’s three in the morning in New York and he has to face Sean in his Palo Alto house, as if that makes any kind of sense at all. Sean shouldn’t be anywhere near Facebook, it’s what they’d agreed on.
So when Mark finally comes downstairs and they go into the hallway to talk, the first thing he asks him is why Sean is setting up meetings when it’s Eduardo’s job to get them money. Just the thought of Sean representing himself as part of Facebook is enough to make Eduardo’s blood boil. He’s said it time and again that they don’t need someone as notorious as Sean, that he’ll just screw with their public image, that whatever he suggests will be a really bad idea and Facebook will tank. It’s pessimistic, sure, but it’s the reality they have to face if they align themselves with Sean.
And now they have to face it, because Mark doesn’t give a shit about what Eduardo thinks is best for their company. Because Mark is too absorbed in his hero worship of Sean to see that this is a bad idea.
What makes it even worse is that he threatens to leave Eduardo behind, which is ten times more terrible than his almost-ultimatum when he asked Eduardo for money to relocate to Palo Alto. That one, Eduardo could deal with because he wanted - and still wants, for that matter, and probably always will - to get on board with Mark and Dustin and there was no way he could convince either of them that Palo Alto was a bad idea. After a few weeks, he was even able to accept that Palo Alto was indeed the best place for any successful web site to be headquartered, especially if they wanted to get attention from any other Silicon Valley companies to keep Facebook moving forward.
This, though, this having Sean Parker conduct business for Facebook thing is not something Eduardo is ready to handle.
Freezing Facebook’s bank account, then, is the best course of action Eduardo can think of in order to get Mark to understand that he refuses to accept Sean into Facebook. It’s the first thing he does when he gets back to New York the following morning. He’s angry and tired and he’s determined to get this out of the way and get his point across as soon as possible. That’s probably why the teller at the bank just gives him one glance and says, quickly looking down at a paper he handed her, “Certainly, Mr. Saverin.”
Mr. Saverin - he doesn’t usually get sick of being addressed that way, like he’s heard his father be addressed his entire life, but today, it doesn’t feel right. The thing he’s doing now, it’s just out of vengeance and it’s immature and it’s not what any “mister” would do. It’s unprofessional and unbecoming of a future businessman.
But he has to go through with it. He can’t just keep letting people - and people like Mark, he thinks bitterly - walk all over him. He’ll never get anything right if he doesn’t stand up for himself once in a while.
This is Eduardo Saverin standing up for himself.
- - -
That evening, when he’s lying on top of his bed in his un-air-conditioned box of an apartment, Christy barges in, demanding an explanation for why he hadn’t told her he’d come back and why he hadn’t answered any of her messages. Eduardo’s freaked out, stammering half-assed excuses and trying to get her to calm down. He’s already spent a weekend with Christy’s crazy alter ego, he doesn’t want to spend even another second with it.
But when she’s like this, seeking some kind of retaliation, she’s impossible to win over. Her eyes are dark, shoulders rolled back, chin up - all the proper ways to stand when you want to intimidate someone. She’s doing a hell of a job of intimidating, that’s for sure.
It gets worse when his phone rings and she realizes that he really has been ignoring her all day, that his phone actually isn’t messed up. “It’s Mark,” she says, and her tone is a cross between disgusted and annoyed, like she can’t believe Mark’s calling at such an inopportune time for her, since she’s clearly about to rip out Eduardo’s throat or something equally violent. Like hit him over the head with the box he hands her when he takes the phone from her and goes into his bathroom to talk to Mark.
Once Mark starts talking, though, Eduardo realizes he’s really got his plate full while having Mark and Christy in his life at the same time. Mark’s busy yelling at Eduardo about the possible, thankfully avoided, consequences of Eduardo’s frozen bank account stunt (“College kids are online because their friends are online and if one domino goes, the other dominos go. Do you get that? I’m not going to back to Caribbean Night at AEPi!”) and Christy is -
Well, Christy’s setting Eduardo’s bed on fire and walking out and that’s it, Eduardo has had enough of this fucking - “What is wrong with you?” he yells after her, tearing his free hand through his hair and rushing over to dump his phone on the side of the bed that isn’t in flames. “Hang on, hang on!” he shouts down at his phone, quickly pressing the speaker button and then dashing to the kitchen area.
Mark is still talking and the fire is still crackling to life while Eduardo rummages through all the cabinets and drawers, looking for the fire extinguisher. When he finally finds it, he pulls back the lever and sprays his bed, blocking Mark out for most of whatever he says. Eduardo does manage to hear “That was the act of a child” and “Maybe you were angry” and then, once he’s put out the fire, he’s able to grab his phone and say, “I’m sorry. I was angry and maybe it was childish. But I had to get your attention.” He hates the way his voice cracks on that last word.
“Wardo, I said I’ve got some good news.”
He exhales, “What is it?” and drops the extinguisher by his feet.
“Peter Thiel’s just made an angel investment of a half a million dollars.”
Suddenly, the fire and Christy’s craziness and Mark’s stupidity and Sean’s existence don’t matter. After all this work, Facebook finally has money. 500,000 dollars worth of money that they can use for servers and employees and equipment and -
Eduardo can’t even breathe but he somehow manages, weakly, so disbelieving, “What?”
“A half a million dollars and he’s setting us up in an office. They want to re-incorporate the company, they want to meet you, they need your signature on some documents. So get your ass back on the next flight to San Francisco.” Mark pauses and when he says, “I need my CFO,” it’s even more fervent than anything that preceded it.
The smile that spreads across Eduardo’s face hurts, it’s so wide. “I’m on my way.”
“Wardo.”
“Yeah?”
“We did it.”
- - -
By the time Eduardo’s waiting at the arrivals section at SFO the next morning, he realizes he’s probably spent more hours in the sky than on the ground these last two and a half days, flying back and forth between here and New York. The whole time, he’s been running from something - running from Christy and failed pitches to ad execs, running from Mark and Sean - but now he’s just here, hopefully for long enough to stop feeling like he doesn’t have a place in Mark’s life.
And he’s broken up with Christy too, so that’s another one hundred pounds off his back. It didn’t even hurt to break up, like all his other breakups did. This one was just I’m breaking up with you and You need to leave your keys and get out and he felt absolutely nothing watching Christy walk out of his apartment with tears in his eyes.
Well, ok, he felt remorse but it wasn’t specifically dealing with Christy. He felt remorse for wasting so much time and putting so much energy into a relationship he didn’t even really want.
At least he’s free now and Mark’s free and things are going to go right back to how it was between them, maybe even with more. Hopefully with more.
When Mark arrives, he gets out of the car to help Eduardo with his two suitcases - it’s not like he could’ve left all his valuable things in New York when he wasn’t going to be there for a few weeks - even though Eduardo doesn’t ask for it and even gives his arm a quick squeeze in greeting, a tiny smile too.
Eduardo’s still upset with Mark for not even warning him about Sean taking up space in his house for free but Mark’s being too kind right now for his annoyance to last long. Once they’re settled in the car, embarking on the thirty minute ride back to Palo Alto, Eduardo turns to Mark in his seat. He watches him for a little bit, taking in the new freckles that have appeared on his cheeks and the way his lips purse whenever someone passes him or cuts him off on the highway. He tracks his gaze down to his arms, all sinewy and taut as he grips the steering wheel tightly, like he’s afraid he’ll make a wrong move. It makes him laugh and Mark quickly looks over with a raised eyebrow. “What?”
Shrugging, Eduardo smiles and shifts in his seat. “You look like you haven’t driven in centuries or something.”
“Well, I haven’t driven in centuries, so, yes, you’re very observant, Eduardo.”
“I’ve always prided myself on that.”
That earns him Mark’s laughter.
After a few minutes, Eduardo finally figures he can go ahead and get it out there. It’s not like Mark’s not going to be happy to hear he broke up with Christy. “Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“I broke up with Christy.”
Mark’s grip changes on the steering wheel so that it’s tighter, the leather squeaking quietly under his palm. Eduardo gulps.
“Why’d you do that?”
“She was crazy, I told you. She set my bed on fire last night.”
“She - what, with what?”
Eduardo shrugs and turns to look out the window. He loves coming out west and cataloguing all the ways it’s different from and similar to the east. “I guess with her lighter, since she started smoking this summer.”
Mark nods and flips his turn signal on. The Palo Alto exit is less than a mile away.
“I guess I thought you should know. Because - well, I mean, you know why.”
“Well, yeah, I do,” says Mark and spares a glance at Eduardo again. Eduardo can’t see it because he’s staring very intently at his lap now, trying to will away the redness threatening to creep up his neck, but he can feel it.
“Um. Ok.” He nods and bites his lip. “Good.”
They don’t talk about anything else and when they get to the house, they don’t make an effort to make any extra conversation. Mark tells him he can sleep in his room and that there are clean towels in the closet and blankets under the pillow. Eduardo pulls his suitcase on top of the bed and unzips it, already starting to unfold his dress shirts and pants because even though he’s tired he can’t let them get any more wrinkled than they already are. Meanwhile, Mark clears some space for him in the dresser and the closet and then he’s out the door, laptop under his arm.
Eduardo puts all of his clothes away, changes into a t-shirt and gym shorts and slides into Mark’s bed, ready to zonk out for the next twelve or so hours, which will hopefully be enough to settle some of his sleep debt.
- - -
He wakes up a few times during the day.
Once, Dustin decides it’s a good, fun idea to jump on the bed of a sleeping person and then he justifies himself by saying, “I haven’t had the chance to bug you for months, Wardo. Months!” He plops down on the mattress beside Eduardo and turns huge eyes on him. “Do you have any idea what that’s doing to my heart’s health?”
Then around seven, he wakes up because the doorbell is being pressed repeatedly and he can’t block it out with his pillow. He ends up having to go downstairs and open the door himself because everyone in the living room is too busy working and Sean isn’t around to field these things for them like he figures has been his job. It’s a pizza deliverer who’s got a pile of boxes on his feet and two more in his hands. Eduardo can smell the pepperoni.
Thankfully, Sean has already paid for the pizza; all Eduardo has to do is sign Sean’s name on the receipt and add a tip. After some quick calculations - six one-topping pizzas at fifty dollars times fifteen percent is seven fifty - he writes twenty dollars in the tip section and gives the pizza boy a huge smile.
He ends up staying downstairs for thirty minutes, sorting out plates and napkins for all the guys and then sitting next to Mark while he eats his own couple of slices. Mark actually talks to him about what he’s doing while he’s down there, licking grease off his fingertips.
When Eduardo gets back to bed, he can’t fall asleep this time, so he takes a long, hot shower and, after, lies in bed reading a random, overpriced novel he picked up at JFK until he can fall asleep again.
This time no one wakes him up until three in the morning - and it’s Mark, failing epically at quietly closing his drawers.
Eduardo groans and sits up, leans over to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. Mark looks relieved to be able to see. His shirt is on inside out.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling off his shirt so he can put it on the right way.
Eduardo looks down so he won’t be caught staring and finds his book under one of the pillows. He sets it on the nightstand. “It’s ok.”
Mark kicks his drawer shut, not caring to be careful now that Eduardo’s awake. “Finally done for the day.”
Eduardo yawns and nods at him. The longer he stares, the more apparent it becomes that Mark isn’t sure whether to climb in bed or go sleep on the couch. “Mark, you know you can sleep here right? This is your bed.”
“Yeah, no, it is, I know,” Mark says, scratching the back of his head and teetering back on his heels. “But you’re exhausted, you should get good sleep -”
Chuckling, “I’ve been sleeping all day, Mark,” Eduardo kicks off the sheet he’s using and pats the space next to him.
“I don’t want to disturb your rest or whatever.”
He laughs again, pats the mattress more firmly. “Mark, come on. We’ve slept together before - and that was in a much smaller bed, so.” Mark still looks unsure. “Get over here, man.”
Muttering, “Right, ok,” Mark walks to the side of the bed Eduardo’s not occupying and lies down. There’s like a foot between them and Mark has his arms pressed against his sides.
“Jesus, Mark,” Eduardo snorts, and then he pulls Mark into his own side, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. Mark stays stiff, obviously not comfortable touching Eduardo. Eduardo can’t be anything but baffled. “Mark, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he grunts, his breath ghosting over Eduardo’s chest.
“You can touch me, Mark. It’s ok.” He pauses. “I want you to.”
Mark looks at him like he doesn’t understand Eduardo’s language or something and Eduardo, beyond tempted at this point, kisses Mark gently on the lips. “It’s ok,” he says again when he pulls back. “I want you to.”
And once Eduardo’s turned off the light and settled back into his spot from before, Mark stretches his arm across Eduardo’s waist. His fingers curl around the jut of Eduardo’s hip and he lays his head on Eduardo’s chest.
Eduardo squeezes him tightly, whispers, “Good night, Mark,” and falls asleep to the feel of Mark’s warm breath moistening the cotton of Eduardo’s t-shirt.
- - -
When Eduardo cracks open his eyes again, the sun’s cutting across Mark’s face, lighting him up like a candle in the dark, the rest of him merely a silhouette. He’s pretty sure it’s not a decent hour to be awake but he is anyway. It takes a few minutes for him to jar his mind into working order.
That’s when he notices just how close Mark is. At some point in the night, Mark must have thrown a leg over Eduardo’s thigh, pressed himself in close enough for his exhales to be Eduardo’s inhales. And now it’s obvious just how hard they both are because, even through layers of fabric, Eduardo can feel it all.
It’s been months since this has happened. He can’t just let this opportunity go, no matter the hour.
Slowly, he slides his hand between their bodies and slips it down the front of Mark’s sweatpants, deliberately palming skin on the way. He leans over, places his lips to each corner of Mark’s mouth alternately, just lightly kissing because he has to take advantage of this.
Mark doesn’t wake up until Eduardo’s fingers have encircled his dick and started jerking, which is pretty remarkable for all the work Eduardo’s doing. He gasps but before he can even try to say Eduardo’s name, Eduardo closes his lips over Mark’s, tongue already forcing them to part.
It’s times like these he’s glad they’re both blessed with good dental hygiene, no morning breath to worry about.
When Eduardo pulls back and leans his forehead against Mark’s, Mark pulls a hand through Eduardo’s hair, holds onto his skull with crushing fingers, and finally groans. Eduardo loves seeing him this way, so uninhibited, unconcerned that anyone might hear if he makes any louder noises. Mark’s so vulnerable when he’s half asleep, so easy to unwind and so easy to convince. All it takes is the right actions and he’s mush in Eduardo’s hands. This is the only time Eduardo can have anything he wants without Mark’s ridiculous babble getting in the way.
He’s not exploiting Mark or anything. He’s just taking advantage of this rare opportunity to please Mark in complete serenity, no worry for coding or thin walls or classes to distract either of them. It’s just him and Mark, only enough space between them to breathe.
Mark whimpers, “Eduardo,” into Eduardo’s mouth, voice caught and pinched in his throat so it makes the sound of a whining dog, when Eduardo flicks his wrist and thumbs the slit of Mark’s cock at the same time. Pleased with himself, Eduardo takes Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth and licks at it in short, random strokes. Mark starts squeezing Eduardo’s head again, so Eduardo times his licks and jerks with that, tugging and tasting every time a little burst of pain blossoms in his skull.
There are these wonderful noises Mark makes when he doesn’t have full function of his mouth that remind Eduardo of their first time, when neither of them had a single clue how to get the other off without fucking it up. He remembers, as he screws his eyes shut and forces himself not to start rutting against the mattress, how Mark writhed when Eduardo danced his fingers down each of his ribs slowly, taking the time to memorize the bumps and curves. He remembers the sound Mark made when Eduardo scraped his teeth up the hollow of his waist to the tip of his hipbone, when he sucked a hickey right where the waistband of Mark’s shorts had left an angry, red groove in his skin. He remembers the incredibly quiet, low scream Mark let out when Eduardo finally pushed inside of him.
He remembers it all, as if it just happened, and it’s difficult to keep himself from coming just from that memory alone.
“Wardo. Wardo, please,” Mark mumbles, almost delirious, clutching Eduardo’s hair tighter and thrusting into Eduardo’s fist. “Please, please, just let me -”
Eduardo kisses him before he can finish the sentence. He kisses him and removes his hand and fends off the protests by pressing himself, boxers and all, right over Mark’s crotch. They rub against each other, Eduardo bracing himself with his forearms on each side of Mark’s head, Mark hooking one arm around Eduardo’s neck and wrapping the other around his back. There’s lots of fabric between them, the thick material of Mark’s sweats and the thin material of his own shorts, but Eduardo forces himself to feel through it.
“Wardo, come on,” Mark mutters again, barely discernable this time.
All Eduardo wants to do is say, “I’m trying, I’m trying,” but Mark crushes their mouths together and he forgets everything. He focuses on Mark’s lips and Mark’s dick and it’s enough to push him to the edge, coming only seconds after Mark.
It’s only mildly embarrassing that they both came in their pants.
Eduardo buries his face in Mark’s neck and breathes in his sweat, licks some of it onto his tongue. It’s nothing he hasn’t tasted before, just the customary mixture of perspiration and Ivory soap, but it’s been so long since he’s been allowed this that he wants it, wants Mark - wants it all so bad.
His chest aches with the realization that he can finally have it.
- - -
They go to the new Facebook offices that afternoon. People are milling about, carrying in desks and chairs and computers, setting up in weird arcs that look exactly like what Mark showed him he wanted on paper. Something open, something communal. He doesn’t want anyone to feel more or less deserving than anyone else because it would defeat the whole purpose of Facebook, which is to bring everyone to the same level so that it’s easy to communicate.
Eduardo thinks it’s brilliant. He can imagine all the chairs full of people like Mark and Dustin, coding and occasionally having fun. Like a group of rowdy fraternity brothers. Like a -
“It really is like we’re presidents of a Final Club, Mark,” Eduardo says in awe, smiling, just taking it all in.
Mark grins at him and nudges him in the side with his elbow. “I told you so.”
Later, after he’s signed and initialed dozens of pages in his new contract and caught a celebratory beer from Dustin, Eduardo finds Mark leaning against a wall, his eyes closed, his arms crossed protectively in front of his chest.
“Mark?” he whispers, not wanting to startle him. He takes a drink of his beer, still waiting for him to respond, then tries again, a little louder. “Mark?”
Mark cracks open one eye, then the other, and then he stands up straight and gives Eduardo this weird, tight-lipped smile. “Hey.”
“Hey. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
Eduardo shrugs and drinks some more beer. “You just looked - well, it seemed like you were worried about something.”
Blinking, Mark takes a step closer to Eduardo and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Ok.” A frown tries to pull down the corners of Eduardo’s mouth but he doesn’t let it. He doesn’t want Mark to see it. “I signed the contract, man.”
“Yeah, that’s -” Mark clears his throat, darting his eyes away and stepping back. “That’s good, Wardo. Great.”
Scrunching his brow, Eduardo asks, “Are you sure everything’s ok?”
Mark huffs, “Yes, Wardo, Jesus,” and goes back to lean against the wall. “There’s nothing wrong. You can stop asking now.”
Eduardo sighs and tips his bottle against his lips, not believing a second of anything Mark says. He wishes Mark would stop acting like Eduardo doesn’t know him well enough to notice when he’s lying. There’s this awful, partially hidden look of distraught on Mark’s face that makes Eduardo think his grandma’s died or something and he just doesn’t want to tell him it happened. He wants to hug him and tell him everything’s going to be ok.
Then he thinks of something better. Smirking, he chugs down the rest of his beer, tosses the bottle into the nearest trash can and then approaches Mark again. Mark’s back to resting his eyes or whatever he was doing when Eduardo found him. “Mark.” He opens one eye. “Follow me in two minutes.” His brow furrows but Eduardo doesn’t bother explaining himself.
He walks away, cutting a path through all the set-up desks and movers while in Mark’s line of vision. When he reaches the bathroom door, he briefly looks over his shoulder to make sure Mark is watching then goes inside. The bathroom smells sterile, like it’s never been used. All the surfaces are gleaming, no fingerprints on the faucets or the door handles. Each stall is perfect black, cracked open at that universal angle custodians use after they clean bathrooms.
It hits Eduardo then that this office is theirs. They have an office with stalls in the men’s bathroom and sparkling tiles or plush carpet on the floor.
He gets so caught up looking at the bathroom and thinking about how far they’ve come in just five months that he jumps when the door opens and Mark comes in. “Jesus,” he mutters, clutching his chest through the material of his black waistcoat.
Mark just shrugs at him and shuffles further into the room, backtracking for a second to flip the lock.
Eduardo smirks. “What was that for?”
“What was what for?”
He nods toward the door. “You just locked the door.”
“Oh.” Mark looks sheepish when ducks his head and shrugs at Eduardo again.
“You think you’re about to get lucky, don’t you?” Laughing, Eduardo walks over to Mark and tips his chin up. His cheeks are that really light pink color that rises right before you start full on blushing. Eduardo can’t keep himself from kissing him.
Mark hums and pulls back momentarily to say, “I know I am.”
Eduardo’s lips stretch into a smile against Mark’s mouth.
- - -
“Where’d Sean get this again?” Eduardo takes a slow drag off the makeshift cigarette, feeling like a pro already even though it’s the first time he’s ever smoked weed. His surroundings are getting a little fuzzy but that’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He’s gotten good and smashed various times, after all.
Then again, he never thought the first time he got high would be while sitting on a diving board.
“One of his friends, I don’t know where.” Mark puts his own jay between his lips and inhales slowly.
Eduardo eyes his skeptically, turning it in his fingers every which way, trying his best not to touch the side that’s lit. “I’m not sure I trust it.”
When Mark asks, “Why not?” it sounds husky and nothing like him.
“He could’ve laced it with cocaine or something.”
Mark rolls his eyes dramatically. “He’s got allergies.”
Eduardo gawks at him, cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers. “That’s like saying I don’t drink coffee.”
One of Mark’s eyebrows shoots up really high on his forehead. “How is that relevant?”
“I’m Brazilian, of course I drink coffee,” Eduardo explains after a short pause, going back to his cigarette and taking another hit in spite of everything he’s saying. “He’s Sean Parker, of course he does drugs.”
“We’re not discussing this, Wardo.”
Eduardo sighs and looks over the pool, bare feet dangling just inches above the dark water. If it weren’t for the weed, the wind would make him cold because the shirt he’s wearing - an Exeter Fencing shirt of Mark’s - is so well-worn that it almost feels like he’s not wearing anything over his chest at all.
“Wardo?”
He looks over at Mark. “Hmm?”
“You would do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”
“Not anything,” Eduardo says immediately, not even bothering to consider the consequences of his admission.
“But pretty much everything?”
He sighs, resigned. “Yeah.”
Something glints in Mark’s eyes, a little mischievous glint, and then Mark grins and Eduardo knows he’s fucked. “You should smoke mine and yours at the same time.”
“No,” Eduardo says immediately, drawing his eyebrows together, trying to appear stern.
“Why not?”
“Because if I smoke two I’ll fall off the diving board.”
Mark blinks at him a few silent moments then says, “Well, that’s a non-sequitur if there ever was one.”
“No, Mark,” he insists again, shaking his head vehemently, so vehemently, in fact, that his whole body moves with the action. If he weren’t trying to make a point, he’d laugh at the thought of shaking his head with his whole body.
“It won’t happen, though! You’re not going to fall off the diving board.”
Eduardo’s still shaking his head and he thinks he can feel his brain moving around in there. “Prove it.”
“Only you can do that.”
He stops and looks at Mark. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, his hand outstretched, his burning cigarette proffered. “Fine,” he groans, pouting and holding out his free hand, palm up. “I can’t believe I can’t fucking say no to you.”
Mark snorts and drops it very carefully in Eduardo’s hand. “Yes, you can.”
Eduardo glares, sticks out his tongue, then puts both jays in his mouth at the same time. When he sucks in the smoke, he has to do it extra hard so that he’s sure he doesn’t miss a good pull or something.
Mark looks too amused when Eduardo blows out the smoke into the air above his head, neck tipped back as he exhales. His eyes water a bit watching the stars cloud up under the plume of smoke. He feels a little lightheaded and when he sits up straight again, feels himself lean off to the side. Mark’s quick to grab his elbow, fingers tight around it as he pulls Eduardo closer to him. Their thighs are pressed together now.
Once he’s settled, Eduardo says, “I was just kidding.”
Mark shrugs.
“But thanks for trying to save me.”
“No problem.”
Wistfully, Eduardo smiles and takes another drag, staring down at the illuminated water. He’s entranced by the way it ripples and gets lost in it for a few minutes. Then, noticing his lapse, he jerks his head up and asks the first thing that comes to mind. “How did you start calling me Wardo?”
Mark reddens. If he weren’t stoned, Eduardo would say Mark’s embarrassed. But he is and Mark’s blushing. “I was looking for you one day and I asked Dustin, ‘Where’s Eduardo?’ And he was drunk, so he started laughing. He said, ‘Where’s Wardo? Like Where’s Waldo!’ and it just stuck.”
“You’re the only one who calls me that.”
“You mean besides everyone else?”
Eduardo laughs, shaking his head at himself. “Yeah.”
Silence falls between them for a while, the only sounds that of crickets and faraway music and Eduardo’s puffs. Mark eventually asks, “I’m the only one who counts?” in a whisper that Eduardo has to strain to hear.
But when he deciphers what Mark says, he smiles and says, voice loud, “Yep.”
“That’s touching, Wardo.”
“You sound really normal for being stoned,” he notes, looking pointedly at Mark.
“You’re smoking more than me.”
“What? No, I’m not.”
Mark grabs the second jay, which is still between Eduardo’s fingers, and holds it up as evidence.
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
They smoke in silence some more. The world starts to get a little blurrier for Eduardo and he leans into Mark, silently willing him to wrap his arm around his shoulders. Mark just puts a hand on Eduardo’s thigh and squeezes the fabric of his gym shorts.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” he asks, quiet again. For some reason, Mark likes being quiet when he’s stoned.
“Make what?”
“Make it. Like, through Facebook and the restructuring and everything.”
Eduardo nods emphatically. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“If something went wrong . . .”
“Are you telling me something’s going to go wrong?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I’m just being hypothetical.” Mark’s fingers start tapping on Eduardo’s leg. “If something goes wrong, would you still . . . you know.”
“Support you?” Eduardo offers.
“. . . Yeah.”
“Of course.”
“You promise.” It’s not a question.
Eduardo looks Mark in the eyes, difficult as it is, and nods. He puts his hand on Mark’s upper arm. “Promise. Do you want me to cross my heart?”
Mark smirks and shoves Eduardo in the shoulder. It’s a miracle they don’t fall in the pool.
“You could’ve killed me, Mark!” Eduardo whines, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and kicking him in the shin. “Just this much of an inch -” He demonstrates with his other hand. “And you could’ve impaled me on the diving board or something.”
Mark snorts and gently pries Eduardo’s fingers off his shirt. “You’re too hard-headed for that, Wardo.”
“Oh, ha ha, very funny,” Eduardo grumbles, overly sarcastic. He huffs and puts his cigarette back in his mouth.
“Just because it’s trite doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
He kicks him again.
“Hey! That hurt.” Mark frowns and reaches down to rub his shin. “Quit.”
“Fine.” Eduardo stubs out his cigarette on the diving board and then does the same with Mark’s, because his fingers were too loose to stop him.
“Wardo!”
“I have a better idea?”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Eduardo smirks and leans in, wrapping his left hand around Mark’s neck and using the thumb of his right hand to drag out Mark’s bottom lip. He feels Mark’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows and it makes him feel good to be able to draw that kind of reaction from Mark. He naively thinks no one else has ever been able to do it with as little work as Eduardo.
Mark’s tongue darts out to lick Eduardo’s thumb into his mouth. That’s most definitely the hottest thing Eduardo has ever seen. Mark’s tongue swirling around one of his fingers - that’s just too much for him to handle.
But just as he’s about to pull it away and kiss Mark instead, the patio doors open and everyone comes running out, Dustin in the lead, one of the interns shouting, clear over everybody else’s groaning and shouting, “Moscovitz, you’re supposed to fucking warn us before you let one of those silent-but-deadlies rip!” He and Mark both jerk apart. Eduardo’s burning red, wiping his thumb off on his shirt like he has something to hide.
Part Four