never let eduardo go 1a/3
title; never let eduardo go
fandom; the social network/never let me go
pairing; mark/Eduardo
total word count: ~33115
warnings for character death and graphic content (both sexual and not).
Are they really that different? Mark talks to him like he’s a real person, looks at him instead of through him. He’s kind to Eduardo, when no one else is. He listens to Eduardo even when he doesn’t have much to say. Eduardo doesn’t want to complete alone. But Dustin is right, too. An original would never love a donor. If Mark ever found out, everything would be over, and it isn’t fair.
Why do I do this to myself? Idek.
Parts of this were inspired by this http://sharpest-rose.livejournal.com/1226067.html beautiful TSN/NLMG fanfic: Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out by sharpest-rose.
secret (see-krit)
1. done, made or conducted without the knowledge of others 2. something that is kept hidden or concealed 3. an explanation or reason is not immediately or generally apparent
He meets Mark pretty much by accident.
Dustin and Cameron have sent him out to get them coffee; a cinnamon dolce latte and an iced coffee respectively, not that Dustin needs the caffeine, or sugar. But Eduardo, being the good soul that he is (or the one that is just never able to say no, which most everyone at the care center knows, and is why Eduardo has pretty much become the unofficially appointed Coffee Boy), agrees. He likes being able to get away from the center anyway, escape the four awful walls he’s trapped inside every day, and he looks for any excuse to go driving around in town.
Eduardo never had friends at Hailsham or the Cottages, either. He never could put his finger on it, but he always felt different, like he never quite fit in in a group of students. He couldn’t relate to the things they talked about, and he always felt like he was on a different page. He didn’t care for participating in the sports that the boys played, listening to music or playing with the dolls of the girls. So at Hailsham, he spent a lot of his time reading, finding more interest in imaginary worlds than his own. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand in the books, and still doesn’t, but they were his only escape.
Dustin, who he shares a room with, is the only one here that he really gets along with. He supposes you could call Cameron and Tyler W. his friends, but he’s only known them for the short time he’s been here since his first donation (which went surprisingly well, and he was up and going again as soon they let him out of bed. The whitecoats at Kingsfield are surprisingly friendly, compassionate, nothing like Eduardo’d heard about how awful some of them could be) and they mostly stick around eachother. Still, though, Dustin is one of those friends that you look to when you need a decent laugh or just some company (even if it’s incredibly annoying company) but that isn’t a true friend, not one you would talk about anything meaningful with. Eduardo’s never had any of those.
(Cameron and Tyler have the same original, while other than their appearances are nothing alike. Tyler’s a bit of an asshole, really, but Cameron’s at least tolerable. Eduardo doesn’t know why they would make two donors from the same original or why, if it’s obviously possible, it might be done more as it saves a lot of hassle).
So Eduardo’s glad for any chance he has to get away. He learned to drive as soon as he could, and it didn’t take long for him to master the rules of the road. He can always get a car somehow and he’ll spend an evening just driving into the sunset, enjoying the solitude, the smell of the leather inside the car and the air outside the open windows. Sometimes it will rain, and he’ll sort of lose himself in the fog to the pattering rhythm of the rain on the roof. Surrounded by students at Hailsham for his whole childhood, and then the cottages, then the whitecoats and his roommates at the care center, it’s a relief to be alone. Eduardo’s best friend from the Cottages, Christy, went on to become a carer. He could have, too, but to be perfectly honest, Eduardo didn’t see much point in prolonging his life.
If he hadn’t gotten himself lost this time, none of it would have happened. Nothing would have happened. But he gets a little too lost in his own thoughts and misses the turn that’s supposed to lead him to the closest coffee shop, the one they always visit.
He hasn’t gotten the town memorized yet; when he goes out, he sticks to the deserted country sides, where he doesn’t have to wait for the traffic and doesn’t even have to worry about possibly running into someone. Eduardo doesn’t even like the people he’s shoved in with at his care center, and they’ve been warned of the dangers of talking too extensively to originals. It’s taboo to speak to them at all really, and in their position, it’s understandable.
Eduardo winds up driving himself very far into the center of town as he’s trying to find the way back out. He’s never been in this area before, and he’s helplessly lost. Just as he turns another corner, banging on the steering wheel with a curse, he spots another shop down the street. It’s not the same one, duh, or even the same chain but fuck it, Dustin and Cameron will just have to live with whatever he can find here.
He mumbles to himself as he hops out of the car and scuttles into the shop, scolding himself for being so absent-minded. It’s empty, except for one single person sitting at a table in the corner. He has a laptop and headphones over his ears, and doesn’t even twitch when Eduardo walks in and the bell dings over the door, so Eduardo guesses he hasn’t been heard. The headphones remind him of the cassette player he had at Hailsham, the one that one of his bullies smashed on the sidewalk in front of him.
He orders a drink for himself; he’ll get Cameron and Dustin’s on his way out, they can wait. But for now, he orders himself an iced coffee. The café is tiny, so it’s not that weird that he chooses the couch right next to Laptop Boy’s table. Still, he is not noticed. He can’t see the screen from here, but the boy is obviously used to using it; his fingers tap away in long bursts without pausing; the taps are so fast that Eduardo can’t imagine he’s typing anything intelligible. His eyes are affixed on the screen, so whatever’s on it must be very interesting.
Always the curious one, Eduardo leans over some, trying to get a glance at the screen, but all he sees is a box with a string of random symbols and numbers. He doesn’t understand, but the boy seems to know what he’s doing, only taking a break from the constant pattering on the keys to sip his drink. He watches the flickering screen, trying to detect some kind of pattern, but he finds none. This is no language he learned about at Hailsham, and he’s confused. He looks at the boy’s face, too, studies the furrow of his brow and the slope of his nose. He’s not really checking him out - Eduardo just likes how his face looks. He’s an artist, it’s an aesthetic thing, really.
Laptop Boy only notices his presence when he leans in far enough that his face is reflected on the screen. Laptop Boy jumps, snatching the phones off of his head and giving Eduardo a glare; “Can I help you?”
Eduardo flinches back, startled, and his mouth goes dry. He curses himself for seeming to have lost any sense of moral boundaries (God, what is up with him today?). He feels like he’s cheated on a test in school and almost expects to be reprimanded or slapped on the arm.
“I’m sorry-! I…” Eduardo looks around, swallowing as he runs his finger around the rim of his cup. “I’m just… curious, as to what you’re doing.” He purses his lips and swallows, offering a grin to lighten the mood. But it probably just looks creepy, because Laptop Boy looks at him like he has three heads, and Eduardo can tell he’s gotten out of line. He guesses he should have heeded the warnings about interacting too much with originals…
“Coding,” the man says deliberately, as if it’s obvious, but to Eduardo that means nothing, and his bewilderment probably shows on his face. “Creating a website?” Laptop Boy elaborates, slowly, and Eduardo blinks owlishly.
“Oh… Cool?”
Laptop boy scoffs and then sighs, glancing back at his screen. “I’m doing work,” he says, fingers flicking over the keyboard again and then stopping, hovering over the buttons. “The wifi at my offices is down. You don’t have the Internet wherever you’re from?”
“We - no. Not really.” Eduardo doesn’t know what wifi is, but he’s guessing he probably should know.
“And where is that, exactly?” asks Laptop Boy.
“Uh-“ Eduardo flounders. He doesn’t know how originals feel about donors, but he’s guessing it’s something that’s best to keep under wraps, especially if he ever wants to talk to this man again. “Just, not around here.”
“Well - alright.” Laptop Boy gives him a look that says he doesn’t understand at all and thinks Eduardo is totally insane. He also looks a little afraid, like he thinks Eduardo could be dangerous, but he shakes his head and goes right back to his screen. “I’m working on my website - Facebook?”
“Your website… ‘Facebook’?” Eduardo parrots. He knows what a website is, in theory at least, but he’s never heard of this… Facebook.
“Yes. It’s - have you ever even used a computer?”
Eduardo decides to be honest, but he feels extremely inferior, as if he didn’t feel small enough already. But they didn’t need them at Hailsham, certainly not at the Cottages and he doesn’t touch the ones they have at the care center. “Not really.”
Mark shakes his head at him, looking both shocked and kind of disgusted. “Seriously, where are you from?”
Eduardo shrugs, and Laptop Boy purses his lips. “Well. Welcome, I guess?”
Eduardo can’t help but smile some; this is the first interaction he’s had with people from outside, unless you count the guardians at Hailsham and the whitecoats at the center, but he never really had much alone time with them, and the whitecoats are people he’d rather evade. “My name’s Eduardo,” he smiles, feeling both excited and nervous at the prospect of having met someone from outside their little group. He holds out his hand and Laptop Boy just stares at it a moment before shaking it. Something is odd about this ‘Eduardo’, something he can’t exactly name.
“Mark. Mark Zuckerberg. And you’re Eduardo…?” He pauses expectantly.
“Huh?”
“What’s your last name?”
“Oh, it’s-“ he smiles, “just Eduardo.”
Mark shrugs; he figures the world already knows his name and Eduardo must not want to give that away to a stranger in a coffee shop. Fair enough. He turns back to his coding, and this time he doesn’t mind Eduardo watching, his face reflected dimly on the laptop screen, as a drizzle begins outside to the rhythmic tapping of the keys.
//
He is two hours late to bring Dustin and Cameron their coffee.
“Dude,” Dustin gawks as he races out to meet Eduardo when he steps out of his car with the little drink tray, “what took so long?”
“I got lost,” Eduardo shrugs, plunking the tray in Dustin’s arms and turning away. He knows it would be mention not to mention the man he met at the café, though he does secretly hope he’ll see him again.
Eduardo slips into bed and falls asleep that night, wondering about the man he met at the café that day, with his laptop and his wifi and his purple hoodie. Maybe it’s just that he’s never really talked to an original before, but he really, really hopes he’ll run into Mark again.
*
Driving to the offices the next morning, when Mark passes the café, he wonders about the man he met the previous afternoon. He wonders where he could possibly be from where he would never have had a computer, if he said it’s ‘not far’ or how he couldn’t even know what the word ‘wifi’ means. He looks and talks like he’s from around here, but… he doesn’t know what it is, but something about Eduardo was just odd. Odd in a good way, almost.
Something creeps into the back of his mind, trying to nudge its way to the front but he pushes the thought away before it can even become complete.
Mark later comments to Chris on the totally bizarre-o guy he met at the café.
“How old was he?”
“My age - I think…?”
“Maybe he just had weird parents,” Chris shrugs, heading back to his own cubicle. He’s not impressed, but Mark can’t shake the thought that there’s something weird about him, something different. Something intriguing, too.
*
It’s impossible to swallow the feelings of loneliness that come from staring at the four walls of the care center on a sleepless night. They’ve done their best to make it as nice and homey as they can, but it’s certainly not a place anyone might wish to finish their life in. Eduardo’s room’s got paintings on the walls, flowers in a vase on a table beneath the window that looks down over the hill, to a field of wildflowers and the road beyond it. When he can’t sleep, he’ll lie awake and count the cars, each blur of headlights that passes by the window.
It’s the nights that are the hardest, when Eduardo’s bed feels too big and too empty and the air conditioning above him feels too cold, and when there’s nothing to occupy him to stop his thoughts from swarming around in his head. Nights when he watches the lights on the road outside and wishes he could be in one of those cars; driving past the care center, and moving on, far, far away, never looking back.
Eduardo always counts things. He counts trees, or pictures on the wall, lines on the road, tiles on the ceiling or the floor. In the fall, he’d count the leaves that fell when a breeze whisked them from the branches. He counts stripes on clothing and almost anything that can be given a numerical value. Sometimes by ones, sometimes by twos, sometimes by nines, or backwards in threes from the number sixty-four. It’s a good distraction, sometimes; in this case, hiding how afraid he really is.
Ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two, sixty-five…
Dustin, his roommate, had a girlfriend back at his home at White Mansion, Stephanie A. They were together in their last years at the Glenmorgam House, right up until they both became donors. Eduardo has never had a relationship with anyone, barely even friendships. He’s never felt the euphoria of someone else’s hands on his body or being pressed up against another person at night, but, seeing Dustin’s now heartbroken state, he wonders if it’s better that way.
Dustin’s first donation didn’t go as swimmingly as was hoped. He’s been sick since, hardly able to get out of bed in the two months that have passed, but he doesn’t really seem to want to. He and Eduardo talk often, sitting with their legs hanging off the beds. They’ll talk about happy times, about their days back at Hailsham and Glenmorgan and they’ll make jokes, tell stories. Dustin will smile when he talks about Stephanie, he’ll get this sparkle in his eye that’s never there otherwise. It’s easy to pretend that everything’s okay until Dustin has to get up, shaking and hunched over a walker to help him get anywhere. Dustin’s health and mental state began to deteriorate when Stephanie began her donations and they were separated, and since they’ve only gotten worse, but somehow, he still manages to pinpoint just where all the sunshine and rainbows in the world lie. Usually, though, they’re outside the walls of the care center. Dustin’s carer is a waste of space, so Eduardo’s sort of taken on that role; helping him walk place to place, bringing him food when he can’t get out of bed, covering him with blankets if he falls asleep without them.
He’s expected to complete on his next - his second - donation. And he remembers hearing something a nurse said once; “when they want to complete, they usually do.”
//
The word for it at Hailsham was umbrella. It was tossed around, and more or less frowned upon, when they were children, but no one really knew what it meant. Eduardo didn’t, either, and he wondered if he was umbrella when, even well into his teenage years, he’d never had a girlfriend, or any sort of desire for sex with a girl. Knowledge of sex in general was limited at Hailsham; with no proper instruction, all the students had to rely on were books, which were very vague and assumed you knew most of the details already, which he didn’t, and the movies only caught oddly angled glimpses. And none of them mentioned anything at all about sex between two men.
He kept it to himself until he moved onto the Cottages, when he just couldn’t contain his curiosity anymore.
He found the magazine in one of the girls’ rooms, the one with dirty pictures of men in it rather than women. When one of the veterans caught him with it, he laughed and told him the proper term, and then took the liberty of spreading it around to everyone at the Cottages. For a while, it only made Eduardo more of an outcast, but people seemed to get over it as they matured. And here, at the care center, it doesn’t matter at all.
But Eduardo is still alone. Painfully, crushingly alone.
*
Mark isn’t usually a charitable person. Well, he gives away most of his money, but that’s only because he’s happy how he is. He doesn’t need the cash. He’s happy with his apartment and doesn’t need any upgrades. If it’s kind and also involves effort, he usually avoids it. Random acts of kindness aren’t his style.
The only reason Mark was driving down an old country road in the first place, about three days later, was because he was coming back from a business meeting across town, and he knew that coming through here was a lot faster than going through the traffic of the city. He’s going slow, so he doesn’t miss the broken down car on the side of the road, or the man walking in circles around it, pulling at his hair and looking quite distressed. A quick glance tells him it’s the guy from the café, the weirdo. He’s not sure what unseen force calls him to pull over, roll down his window and offer assistance, but he does.
Eduardo stops his pacing when Mark gets out of his car, blinks at him with ridiculously big deer eyes, and Mark pauses before raising his arm in an awkward wave. For a moment, he’s a little overwhelmed by the oddness of the situation; what kind of coincidence must this be?
“Your car break down?” he asks, tilting his head.
“I guess so-“ Eduardo sputters, seeming panicked. His hands fist in his hair and he pulls again, flustered. “What the hell do I do?”
Mark scratches his elbow. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It just… died. It won’t start.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re out here and not in the city, then. Have you called anyone to help?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Of course you don’t.”
There’s no way to help the car except to get it taken to the nearest maintenance station, which requires getting it towed, which requires Mark driving Eduardo to the station in his car, which requires Eduardo being in his front seat. As in, the first attractive male to be in his breathing area in God knows how long. Eduardo doesn’t often ride in a car with someone, especially not someone who is essentially a complete stranger. He kept his eyes trained on the scenery outside the window, trying not to look at Mark’s face, not knowing why his palms are suddenly sweaty.
He counts the cars that they pass.
When they arrive at the service station, Mark has been planning to just leave Eduardo here. Get back to the offices. His fingers feel acutely naked, they long for what Mark tells them is a keyboard beneath them, but Mark can’t fool himself; he knows deep down that he doesn’t want anything more right now than to just let his fingers weave with Eduardo’s or to toss an arm over his shoulder or around his waist.
Maybe it’s some deep, deep part of him that makes the connection that Eduardo looks like a lost puppy, and that he really likes puppies, and that anyone who abandons a puppy is just a jerk. Or maybe it’s a part of him that stupidly wants to see Eduardo again, that doesn’t want this to end right here. Because he’s handsome, because he’s nice, because Mark wants to know the answers behind these strange behaviors; maybe he’s committed a crime and Mark can be the one to gather the bounty for turning him in. Not just because he’s kind of sexy and Mark is really, disgustingly bad at flirting. But he can’t hold back the impulse, with Eduardo still pulling at his pretty hair and scratching at his own face.
“I’ll pay - for everything,” he says, “and I’ll take you out to lunch tomorrow.”
//
Eduardo doesn’t mention meeting Mark again to anyone, but he can always count on Dustin to know exactly what’s going on in his head.
“Something happened with you today.” It’s a statement, made by Dustin as he plops down on his bed across from Eduardo’s. Eduardo has a notebook in front of him, which he flips closed the moment his friend enters the room. Dustin’s never questioned what he puts in his journals, even if he interrogates him about just about everything else - like right now.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been smiling. Actually smiling. So what is it? Or do I even want to know?”
Eduardo, stupidly, doesn’t think it would be that big of a deal to tell him. ‘I’ve met someone’ is not far off from saying ‘I’ve met an original’ and when the truth comes out, Dustin gawks at him.
“An original? You - what do you mean, you ‘met’ them, Eduardo? We’re not supposed to speak to them.”
“I just - we met at the café. A few days ago, and then, when the car broke down-“
“The car broke down?”
“-yes, it broke down, and I was on some old road, and he drove by and he helped me. He took me to have it fixed, and he paid.”
Dustin squints at Eduardo. “Then he was a kind soul, but Eduardo, you’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“What do you think I’m thinking?”
“That this -- that this original is going to be anything to you. Or you’re going to be anything to him. It can’t happen.”
“I don’t see why-“
“Because, Eduardo! Originals aren’t like us. I know you’re lonely, and you want someone, but - It’s dangerous and you’re only setting both of you up to get hurt. I’m just… this worries me. You shouldn’t see him again.”
The conversation ends there. Dustin leaves and Eduardo knows deep down that Dustin’s fears aren’t unfounded, but he doesn’t plan to heed his warnings.
//
Eduardo steals away to the café without telling anyone where he’s going, but that’s not unusual for him. He’s always able to borrow a car, one way or another, is rarely without transportation which he finds to be his greatest blessing. All he has to do is tell his carer exactly when he plans to return. Special arrangements must be made for trips longer than one overnight, but Eduardo never takes those, and as long as they don’t interfere with his next checkup, he is pretty much able to go where he pleases. It’s a blessing; he wouldn’t make it past his next donation either if he had to be cooped up in there all day.
Mark’s already there when he arrives, dressed in a pink hoodie today, with the same backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Ah, hi…” Eduardo approaches him a little awkwardly; he really doesn’t know how you do these things. But the little smile that immediately appears on Mark’s face is infectious, and when Eduardo returns it it makes Mark’s stomach do some stupid little acrobatics and he tries to think of dead puppies or, worse, of Facebook crashing just so he can stop himself from puking rainbows, or something.
Eduardo’s heart is pounding in his chest already and he slips his hands inside his coat pockets, not really knowing what to say now, what you’re supposed to say during this kind of thing, and also afraid that his nervousness will show if he opens his mouth. But, he manages to stupidly choke out “How… was work?”
Mark smiles, the way he always does when he’s able to stick Facebook into a conversation (he could talk for hours about his baby) but not today, Eduardo probably wouldn’t know what he’s talking about anyway, and he has other things on his mind. He just nods and grins, “swimmingly. How was your… whatever you do?”
“It was whatever,” Eduardo shrugs, because he’s not going to tell Mark about all the discomforts of the care center. He grins, and Mark grins back before clearing his throat and suggesting they get on to the place where they’ll be eating lunch.
Mark walks them out of the café, leading Eduardo to what he says is a good lunch spot. And it is a cute little place that Mark takes them to, one Eduardo’s never seen before as he hasn’t really explored this corner of town much. They’re lead to a booth by the window, and as soon as Mark sits down he’s getting up again. “I’m going to get a drink,” he announces, “would you like one?”
Eduardo thinks of the bi-monthly checkups and what could possibly happen if traces of alcohol were found in his system. At the least, he’d probably have his travelling privileges revoked. “I… can’t.”
Mark tilts his head at him, but shrugs, and shuffles off to the bar. Eduardo tilts the saltshaker between his fingers until he returns, with a bottle of beer and a glass of water for Eduardo. “Thank you,” Eduardo smiles, peeking at Mark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip, while Mark nods and takes a long slug of the drink.
Eduardo’s done this before, stopped in at a restaurant or two to have dinner after a day of aimless driving, if his stomach really began to cry out. But he remembers the first time, and he looks back on it and laughs, when he went to have a meal with Dustin, and they were both completely, utterly helpless, taking about five minutes just to order a pair of cokes and some pancakes. That was the only time Dustin ever really left the care center; the real world scared him. Eduardo doesn’t know how Dustin can tolerate it, staying in bed all day, but to each his own, he supposes.
Mark orders the chicken, Eduardo the pasta. “You know, I never really… thanked you. For helping me out, you know, with the-“
“It was nothing. Really, it-“ Mark doesn’t even know, honestly, why he stopped to help. It’s a little ridiculous, paying for a car repair for someone who is essentially a total stranger. “I can afford it. It was nothing.”
“It was a pretty big bill.”
“I can afford it,” Mark repeats, because really, he can. “You’re welcome, if that’s what you want to hear. But… you looked like you needed help, is all.”
“Well, you… you’re very kind.” Eduardo grins at him across the table, a stupid, too-wide grin.
“So what do you do?”
“Huh?”
“Your job.”
“I’m, err… unemployed.”
The way he says it, Mark guesses it’s not a subject worth pressing and he lets it drop. Eduardo counts the packets of sugar in the caddy on the edge of the table. Altogether, then how many there are of each color, as they make small talk, trying not to fidget in his seat. He’s never sat down with an original before, and Mark is what Cameron and Tyler would call hot, though they’ve only ever used that word directed at females.
Mark is surprisingly talkative, likes to express his obsession with computers and coding, even though Eduardo can’t understand most of the things he says, and it registers, so they move onto something new. Eduardo pulls back whenever Mark asks anything too personal, like where he lives, which he can’t possibly answer. They talk about their favorite places around town. They talk about books (the ones Eduardo has read are mostly the ones from way back at Hailsham and the ones they have at the library in the care center. Eduardo spends much of his time in there, when he can’t get the car to drive off somewhere. He almost prefers books, sometimes, because while the car can only take him along the same roads, books can take him anywhere. So he has much to talk about).
They laugh, and Eduardo’s surprised at how at ease he feels with Mark, how talking to Mark so is unlike talking to his friends or any other donors. It’s almost too easy, too fast.
“Are you alright?” Eduardo asks, suddenly.
“W-what?” Mark asks in-between sharp coughs, blinking at Eduardo. It sounds like he’s just swallowed his drink the wrong way but he’s been doing this all night. “Oh, yeah, I’m-“ he coughs once more, “fine. Thank you.” He hesitates then to reach his hand across the table, where Eduardo is fiddling with the salt shaker, to rest on top of Eduardo’s. It’s then that Eduardo realizes where this is going, where this has been going and he pulls back, even though it hurts, “Mark, I… I can’t.”
I can’t. So many ‘I can’t’s. Mark moves his hand back, blinking, “you can’t what?”
“I can’t be with you. I can’t be in a relationship.” He doesn’t even know how all of this is supposed to work, for originals.
Mark straightens up, nodding his head and muttering “of course, of course,” like he knew that already, but there’s stiffness to it, the rest of the conversation weighted with an air of tension and regret. Not how he wanted to start this friendship, this whatever, off. Eduardo half hopes that will be the end of it, just so he doesn’t get pulled in to anything before he loses control.
But that’s just the beginning.
//
Dustin’s throwing up in the bathroom when Eduardo returns. He sighs and shrugs his coat off, placing it in the closet and rapping his knuckles in the door.
“Dustin? Dustin… do you need help?”
“No…” the voice from behind the door wavers and Eduardo’s heart breaks at the thought of his best friend in so much misery. His first donation went surprisingly well, but others, especially in Dustin’s state, are not so lucky.
He knows not to insist on help when it’s turned down. From his bedside table, he pulls a journal with a worn leather cover and takes a seat at the desk, the one looking over the field and the road. Hunched over the paper and with a stub of thick black pencil, he sketches in the lines of Mark’s face as clearly as he can remember them. The springs of his curls, the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jawbone and chin. Thick, dark angular lines that don’t do his face justice at all.
It’s a few minutes before Dustin comes out of the bathroom, all smiles again, as always. They don’t mention what just happened, and Dustin doesn’t ask where he’s been, and when Dustin asks if he’d like lunch, Eduardo agrees even though he’s already eaten. It’s the least he can do.
“Will you take me somewhere, tomorrow, Eduardo?” he asks, suddenly, over a plate of steak and vegetables (the care center’s food is remarkable, which is at least one good thing about it. It makes sense, as especially during recovery the donors must stay healthy).
Eduardo doesn’t have to ask why. He agrees, and the next day, they hop into the car together. Dustin never learned to drive, and Eduardo’s never shared the car with anyone, at least not while he was behind the wheel. Dustin keeps quiet, watching the scenery flow past the windows of the car. Eduardo takes them as far away as he can, which is the shore. It’s chilly outside still, but the water is warm enough to at least stick your toes in. Eduardo wraps his arm around Dustin’s waist and they stand, the waves lapping over their feet, looking out into the ocean - both mutually wondering what could lie beyond this seemingly infinite body of water.
When they get too tired to stand, they sit, in the sand. Dustin crumples into Eduardo’s side; Eduardo wraps his arm around him and they stay, watching the colors streak across the sky as the sun is swallowed by the ocean. Only then do they go back home.
//
It starts like that. Little things, having lunch together every now and then, coffee and sandwiches. Since Eduardo somehow doesn’t have any way of communication, no phone and no internet (and no last name, still mysterious), they have to plan their next date while they’re together. They’re usually several days or a week apart, with Mark’s busy schedule but that’s fine with Eduardo; he’s happy to be visiting with anyone at all, and the longer they’re apart from eachother, the more they have to talk about.
Mark isn’t a total recluse as most people like to believe, he’s just had yet to find someone whose company he enjoys, but Eduardo fits under that category. Even if he’s weird as hell. Eduardo is just easy to talk to. Sometimes Mark will mention something about coding or computers, and he’ll helplessly try to explain the reference and Eduardo will just blink at him, and the subject will drop. They’ll talk about books, they’ll talk about movies and music, about their days. Mark thinks Eduardo’s affinity for pineapple on pizza is disgusting, and Eduardo can say the same about pepperoni.
“Have you even tried pineapple pizza?”
“No, but it’s. It’s unnatural. You don’t eat fruit with cheese.”
“Maybe you would, if you gave it a try.”
“It’s weird,” Mark insists, and Eduardo says “you’re right”, but then adds “but it’s good.”
They’re still bickering about pizza toppings when the food arrives; half topped with pepperoni, half with pineapple. Pizza, actually, is a rare treat that they don’t often have at the care center since it’s not really healthy. Mark wolfs down three slices in the time it takes Eduardo to eat one, like he hasn’t eaten in days. Eduardo, at some point, mentions something about a waterfall.
“Waterfall?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a long drive away, but it’s up in some mountains. There’s a long river, a big waterfall - the water’s clean, and warm, and there’s one place where you can jump off of this rocky cliff into the lake, though I haven’t done that in a long time, and it’s just… really peaceful. Where I go to spend a lot of my free time, to think.” And he gets this glazed look, like he has a lot to be thinking about, and Mark wants to know. What it is. What Eduardo worries and dreams and thinks about every day. Not that he cares, you know, he's just curious.
Mark’s not a nature person, Mark will avoid going out in direct sunlight if it’s unnecessary, but that does sound rather nice. He wonders if Eduardo might take him there someday, and then realizes he’s getting ahead of himself.
It’s after that ‘date’, having just exited the restaurant, preparing to part ways for the night. They kind of linger outside on the curb, neither of them really wanting to move away, to end this moment, this little bubble of happiness, but Mark really needs to get back to work, and it’s past time for Eduardo to be returning to the care center.
But they just stand on the sidewalk, watching the tail lights fade into red blurs in the distance, and it’s freezing outside, but when Eduardo’s hand brushes against Mark’s, just the knuckles, he’s warm. Mark could leave his hand there, let them share their body hear and it’s stupid but he wants to, but he won’t, he takes his hands and shoves them back in his pockets and coughs, because this is stupid, he shouldn’t want to hold Eduardo’s hand, or throw his arm around his shoulder and have it be so easy.
They don’t do any of that; Eduardo goes to the care center and Mark goes back home. On the edge of his bed, he doubles over, fingers curled around his cock and he’s thinking of Eduardo, Eduardo who he doesn’t even have a last name for, with those eyes and teeth and hair and Oh, fuck.
And he goes to bed wondering who this man is with his wildly shining doe eyes, his secrets, his ridiculously charming laugh and Mark wants to know who the hell he is. What makes him tick. Where he’s from. And more importantly, why he’s hiding all of these things.
//
on to 1-b