never let eduardo go 1b/3
//
Mark doesn’t understand Eduardo. And not in his usual way, like when he doesn’t understand why a girl would get upset over being compared to a farm animal, but Eduardo just… doesn’t make any sense. He’s always looking away, looking down, gazing anywhere but Mark’s face; he’s always quiet, silent even, his mind seeming to be elsewhere. Not like he wishes he was somewhere else, but like he’s unsure if it’s safe to be where he is. Eduardo mentions an ailing friend and Mark almost tells him, about the doctors and the medications but he can’t, he can still barely admit that to himself.
“I can’t be with you,” Eduardo had made clear, several times, and each time, he’s had to swallow the heartbreaking regret. Are they really that different? Mark talks to him like he’s a real person, looks at him instead of through him. Mark isn’t anything Eduardo’s heard about originals. He’s kind to Eduardo, when no one else is. He listens to Eduardo even when he doesn’t have much to say. He doesn’t want to complete alone. But Dustin is right, too. An original would never love a donor. As Tyler likes to point out over and over, donors, to originals, are less than nothing. Even though they give their organs, and their lives, they’re not valued, they’re not people. If Mark ever found out, everything would be over, and it isn’t fair.
Mark doesn’t like it. He’s used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is Eduardo. What makes it even more confusing is that he doesn’t know how he wants him or why he wants him, but the longing is there, fluttering in his heart and stirring in his stomach that kind of makes him want to throw up and jump around in a circle tossing rainbow confetti at the same time. But they enjoy these little dates together, for what they’re worth.
//
Chris doesn’t know what could possibly implore Mark to actually pull away from Facebook and mingle with the public. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” he demands, standing against Mark’s chair to block him from returning his computer, after coming back from a date. When Mark only blinks at him, he elaborates; “you left the office. You actually left the office in the middle of the afternoon.”
“I had a doctor’s appointment, Chris.”
“Three of them in one week?”
Mark sighs, stepping to the side to get around him, but Chris blocks him again, tipping his head with a totally asinine smile. “You’ve met someone,” he repeats. “Alright, what’s his name?”
“Chris. Let me do my work.”
“Not until you spill.”
“’Spill’? My God, Chris, please.”
“What’s his name?”
“Chris, I will fire you.”
“What does he look like?”
“Chris.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Chris, for God’ sake! His name’s Eduardo - okay. Now, move, please?”
“Oh, no, you’re not getting off the hook that easy, Mister Zuckerberg. Eduardo who?” Chris is still blocking his way and Mark sighs in defeat.
“I don’t know - I met him when I went next door to use the wifi.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, our wifi’s been working since then, Mark.”
“We’ve gotten coffee together, that’s all.”
“Is this the weird guy you mentioned before?”
Mark shrugs, not wanting to admit that, yes, while Eduardo is weird as fuck, and secretive, he’s also oddly charming, and… generally someone Mark enjoys being around, for once in his life. It’s just really inconvenient that this would happen now.
“Is he cute?”
“Chris, are you fourteen?”
“Well?”
“Yes, he is.” Mark digs his nails into his palms in aggravation. Chris is his friend, but he doesn’t enjoy having information forced out of him. When he returns to the office after his whatever-they-ares with Eduardo, it’s back to business, it has to be.
Chris steps away, satisfied, and Mark plunks right into his chair, pulling the laptop out of sleep mode. Chris turns to leave, but looks back, just before Mark’s about to pull the headphones over his ears. “Mark?”
“What?”
“Just… you know, be careful.”
//
Meanwhile, Eduardo’s friends are catching on.
“You’re hiding something from us, Ed, we know you are,” Cameron pipes up at dinner. Eduardo eats the meals, at least the ones he has at the care center, with the three of them; Cameron, Tyler and poor Dustin. Eduardo looks up from his vegetables and shrugs, not willing to admit to anything; not how fast Mark makes his heart race, how his stomach does a flip whenever he sees Mark’s face, gets that awkward smile and wave directed at him or when their hands accidentally brush - none of that!
“What do you mean?”
Tyler laughs, “You actually look happy for once. Or, you know, not totally angry at the whole world. “You got something up your sleeve, maybe some evil plans?”
There’s a collective chuckle from around the table. Eduardo sets his jaw, looking down at the plate and nudging a broiled carrot around the perimeter with his fork. “I… it’s nothing.”
Dustin is the one that says (of course, because Dustin could never, ever distinguish between what is acceptable to say at what time and what definitely isn’t), “Would this have anything to do with the original you met?”
And the table goes dead silent. Cameron even drops his fork, and Tyler chokes. “An original?” they both gawk, simultaneously, and Dustin seems to have just realized it’s something he shouldn’t have mentioned. “Okay, Eduardo-“ Cameron stares him down, “now you need to explain.”
Eduardo feels like a specimen under a microscope slide. “I…” he begins, but how can he explain? How can he say that the person he thinks he’s in love with is not only a man, but an original? “I met an original - we just talked, we had lunch once, it’s nothing.”
“It better be nothing,” Tyler hisses, as Cameron demands “how did you meet an original?” He says the word with disgust and scorn, and he has every right to. Donors are not meant to mingle with originals. Donors are supposed to be something in the background, something that’s just always there - that you know about, but don’t ever speak of. Donors are the martyrs of society, but they don’t have to be happy about it. And if Eduardo’s befriending one - that makes him an enemy. An outsider. He can feel it already.
“I got lost, once when I was getting coffee, so I wound up going to a different shop… and he was there. And we just… talked.”
“And?”
“And we’ve had lunch once or twice.” Or, you know, four times.
“And… you think he’s your friend?”
Dustin gives him an apologetic glance, like he’s just realized that he’s said the completely wrong thing. “Yeah, I’d say so - I mean, we’ve just been. Talking. And he’s kind to me.”
“He’s nice to you - and you like him?”
“Yes.”
“You have to stop.”
“Why?”
“It’s obvious why, Eduardo-!”
“Neither of you certainly like me - I don’t have any friends here, so why can’t I find some? What difference does it make to you?”
“What difference - because, Eduardo. He, this person, this original, is never going to be your friend or anything more,” it’s Tyler now, glaring daggers at him. “And you know why? Because you’re a donor. They don’t care about us, we’re not people to them, we’re just anonymous suppliers of their organs. You know what you are to him? You’re nothing.”
“No.”
“You’re less than nothing-“
“No!”
“You’re trash. You think an original is going to love you? You’re delusional.”
“No!” Eduardo shoves his tray across the table, pushing himself up to his feet. “No, that’s - no. None of that’s true.” Mark isn’t like that, he can’t be. But the thought that it might be, that Tyler’s right in the sense that they can never be together, really together because Eduardo’s a donor, because even if they become anything Eduardo’s going to complete within a few years, is enough to bring tears to his eyes. “You haven’t met him, you don’t know.”
“I know enough.”
“No - no! No, you don’t know. You couldn’t possibly know. You haven’t seen him, you haven’t met him - you haven’t talked to him. You’ve never even left the care center!”
“And you know why, Eduardo? Because no one wants me to. Let’s be honest - out there? Out there, you’re meaningless. They don’t thank us for what we do. They don’t respect us, they don’t even think we’re people. We’re trash, or we wouldn’t be here, and no one out there wants us out there. They don’t even want to think about us. No one wants to see you, and if this original ever found out the truth, he wouldn’t want you either.”
The table is dead silent. Eduardo can’t bear that thought. The thought that Mark, who he’s more or less fallen in love with might stop loving him if he found out he’s a donor - he can’t even stomach it. He knows it’s weak, he knows it will mean that Tyler has won, but he can’t stay here and let Tyler see him cry. He hurries out of the cafeteria, back to his bedroom, where he can collect himself in peace. He washes his face, takes a shower to rejuvenate himself, and when he comes out, Dustin’s there.
“If you’re here to tell me -“
“I’m not.” Dustin puts a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder; he pulls back, eyeing him distrustfully. He doesn’t know who or what to believe anymore; Tyler, Mark, his heart? “Eduardo… just look. Tyler is right. But if you think your original friend isn’t that kind of person… just. I know you’re lonely, Ed. I was too. But then I had Stephanie- and then I lost her, and it’s the worst hurt I’ve ever felt. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
*
Mark’s apartment is small for someone who’s apparently very rich. It has two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and an office, but by the look of Mark’s bedroom, he does most of his work in there. The desk has both a laptop and a desktop computer and the top of it is littered with old food wrappers and other papers. For the CEO of a huge company, he’s pretty messy.
Mark had to ask him three times to come over. He’s usually not that forward, come to think of it. But he just hasn’t met anyone much like Eduardo. Eduardo’s secretive and mysterious, but that, somehow, turns Mark on. A challenge he has to figure out, like some block of code he has to decipher. He doesn’t know how it is that Eduardo, who he almost knows nothing about, really, is able to get his heart racing and his blood flow hot and thick in his veins. Since theFacebook began and turned into just Facebook, and especially since the doctors’ appointments and everything began, he’s had almost no sex drive; all he’s been able to think about is code, and work. But Eduardo… he won’t even go there. And, well, he’s running out of time.
Tyler’s words have been flowing through Eduardo’s head for the past few days, and while he can’t bring himself to believe them, he can’t totally dismiss them either.
Mark goes to the fridge, coming back to the couch with two cold bottles of beer. Eduardo blinks at it when it’s handed to him, shaking his head.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Mark tips his head; he’s really not supposed to drink either, but at this point, who cares?
“I just… I can’t, Mark. I can’t drink.”
Mark shrugs, resigning himself to the fact that Eduardo’s just an oddball.
Eduardo takes a stroll around Mark’s apartment, wandering idly about the rooms. He’s never had a real space to himself; at Hailsham, he shared a dorm with five other boys, at the Cottages, he had a bedroom, but it was too small to even really be called a room. At the care center, of course, he shares a room with Dustin (that’s probably going to change soon, and when it does, he’ll be given a new roommate. Space is always a little bit short at the centers; Eduardo sometimes suspects that the whitecoats actually want them to complete early, just to free up the space. They surely won’t be disappointed with Dustin).
“Um, I can’t cook, and- I don’t have much to eat,” Mark laughs, a little nervously, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and opening the fridge. Eduardo leans over the counter on his elbows, watching, as Mark digs around in the fridge. He doesn’t really seem like a billionaire here, pushing through boxes of eggs and old cartons of milk. “Chris usually makes my lunch - he’s one of my coworkers - and when I get home I just, I don’t know, usually eat frozen things.”
“Fine with me,” shrugs Eduardo as Mark pulls two boxes from the freezer. Eduardo hops up over the counter, swinging his legs over the front and watching as Mark peels the plastic off the trays and stuffs them in the microwave. He takes another swig of the beer before stuffing his hands in his pockets, tilting his head at Eduardo.
Eduardo doesn’t even realize that they’ve just been kind of staring at eachother until the microwave beeps, making both of them jump. Mark clears his throat, taking the two trays out of the microwave and dropping them down on the table. He grabs another beer, since he’s finished his last one (which was his second, and, Mark doesn’t even know, he’s pretty lightweight).
The food’s not what he’s used to, not the tasteful, healthy stuff they get at the care center which is really the only thing good about the place, but a mess of lumpy mixed vegetables and greasy chicken. Mark starts to wolf it down, though, so Eduardo follows, and Mark drains his beer while helplessly trying to explain to Eduardo that Facebook isn’t an actual book.
Somewhere between the end of that beer and the end of the next one, and he’s really not supposed to be drinking at all but it doesn’t matter anymore, really, does it, they migrate to the couch. Mark puts a movie on, but he can’t watch it, his stomach is swimming and his brain feels fuzzy. He’s not sure what they’re watching, really, but Eduardo’s laughing at words he can’t fully process. Eduardo, Eduardo. He rests his hand on Eduardo’s knee, doesn’t notice the jerk or the tenseness when he leans against his shoulder.
It’s not that Eduardo doesn’t want it. That he doesn’t want Mark’s hands on him, on places other than his knee, Mark’s body against his, but he can’t have it. Mark is - no, no, no. He should have seen this coming.
“Mark,” he says, racking his brain for excuses to use when he says “I have to go.”
But Mark doesn’t even ask, he just pulls Eduardo back down, and when Eduardo gets back up again, follows him, like a drunk puppy. “War-do.”
“Mark.”
Eduardo doesn’t even know how many beers Mark’s had, but Mark stumbles towards him, grinning, mumbling Eduardo’s name. He trips over a beer bottle on the floor and stumbles, falling right into Eduardo’s arms. Eduardo sumbles against the wall and then Mark rights himself, pushing him against it and this is bad, bad, bad, but Eduardo can’t push him off. Partially because Mark is heavy and practically falling against him, and partly because Mark’s mouth is on his neck, licking and sucking a trail along his throat, and shit.
There was a time, when they were children, maybe thirteen, that Christy L. put her mouth around Eduardo’s penis, but that was the farthest he’d ever gotten. And even that can’t compare to Mark’s drunken nibbles on the skin of his throat. “Mark, I - stop.”
Mark’s not fazed by Eduardo’s protests. He pushes him harder against the wall, his lips moving drunkenly up Eduardo’s neck, to his chin. He’s aggressive, and surely persistent. Drunk Mark is dangerous. Eduardo lifts his head, to move away, to stop this, but Mark pulls him back down by the nape of his neck and he’s being kissed. Mark’s lips are even softer than he imagined, and his tongue is in his mouth, and--
Mark’s hands rest on Eduardo’s waist, brushing over his hipbone, warm palms curving around the bones. Eduardo shivers, and he wants more, more of Mark, more of this touching. He can’t deny that he wants more, but there’s that voice, that doubt still lingering in the back of his mind, Tyler’s fucking voice; an original will never love a donor. It just doesn’t happen.
But Mark doesn’t know yet. And Mark’s pulling him in for another kiss; this one’s hungrier, needier. His tongue pushes between Eduardo’s teeth, and Eduardo parts them, moaning into Mark’s mouth. It’s his first kiss, his first real one, and his only in about a decade. This is all or nothing, right? If Mark’s going to push him away eventually he might as well take what he can get.
Mark’s hands are warm as they brush over his hips, thumbs slipping under his shirt, pressing into his ribs. Mark has to lean up on his toes to kiss him and Eduardo thinks it’s the cutest thing. Well, Mark doesn’t know he’s a donor yet, he decides - he may as well take advantage of that time. And he can’t deny that he wants this right now; his cock throbs in his pants in the way that he’s ever gotten relief from with his hand.
Mark moves away from Eduardo’s mouth, yanking open the buttons of the shirt and pressing his lips to Eduardo’s chest. His fingers slip under the hem of Eduardo’s shirt, running across his stomach as his mouth leaves hot, wet trails across his skin. Mark’s lips catch over his nipple; Eduardo’s whole body shudders and Mark smirks, wrapping his mouth around the nub with a gentle pressure from his teeth. Eduardo’s knees quiver and he rests his head back against the wall, speechless and gasping. Mark’s doing all of it, he’s the drunk one, but Eduardo doesn’t mind much; he wouldn’t know what to do anyway.
Mark kisses him again; it’s rough and uncoordinated, he tastes like beer and he’s clearly drunk but Eduardo doesn’t care. He doesn’t recognize the sounds coming out of his own mouth or this feeling of wanting, wanting more. Marks hands are moving further up his shirt until his fingers glide over the messy ridges on Eduardo’s skin.
From his donation, the scar curves from the front of his chest, down around his ribcage. Mark’s not drunk enough that he doesn’t notice, and he blinks twice, lifting the hem of the shirt and getting the full view. “Eduardo, what-“
“Mark-“ Eduardo goes to shove his shirt down but Mark’s already seen it. It’s certainly not a normal scar (at least not for an original) and Mark blinks at him in disbelief. This isn’t - this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He doesn’t know if Mark understands, but he’s not waiting around to find out. Mark blinks questioningly at him but Eduardo pushes him away. This isn’t, at least, a conversation to be had while Mark is drunk.
It’s all over now. Tyler’s words creep back into his mind; you’re trash. Trash. Trash, that’s all he is to any original, including Mark - disposable. He won’t love you, because you’re a donor. Are you delusional? It’s all over, all over… I hope you enjoyed that little taste, because you’re never going to get it again. His own thoughts mock him. Mark won’t want him now, and that scar - that scar is surely unmistakable…
Mark looks at him, with his wide blue-puppy eyes that break Eduardo’s heart to know he’ll never have. “Eduardo, I - what? I don’t understand… what was that-“
Eduardo shakes his head, stumbling towards the doorway and grabbing his shoes. “No, no, I - I should be getting home, anyway. It’s nothing, I’m sorry. If you… maybe I’ll talk to you when you’re sober.”
He snatches on his shoes and races out of the apartment, leaving Mark blinking at the empty doorway.
*
“Mark, you haven’t eaten since - for God’s sake, since yesterday, did you even leave the office last night?”
“I was out the other day - I had to make up for the lost time.”
It’s been two days since Eduardo freaked out on Mark, and Mark’s forcing himself not to think about it. By wiring himself in, coding, making something, until his vision actually narrows to just the screen of his computer and the minutes bleed into hours.
Chris grits his teeth, digs his nails into his palms but he knows how wrong it is of him to argue. How important time is to Mark now, how everything, always, comes down to time. Lost time, making time, time spent, time left. And, really, you can’t blame him. Time. So much fucking time lost with Eduardo. Eduardo, that - Mark doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He vaguely remembers the details of that night, of seeing the long, feathery scar around Eduardo’s side, Eduardo getting all worked up and leaving - but he hasn’t even let himself think, even consider, what he now knows to be true about this guy of his dreams.
“Do you really think you’ll be any use if you pass out on your keyboard? What about the time that will be lost then?”
Mark’s fingers stop, he looks over his shoulder with that ice-cold glare that seems to dig right into your soul. “Chris,” he growls, then coughs roughly into his fist, “it doesn’t matter.”
Chris knows when to back off. “You have an appointment with Dr. Travers on Monday.” He sighs in defeat and drops a paper bag on Mark’s desk; a pre-made lunch he’s brought in sight of these difficulties, and walks away. Mark studies the bag before sighing and taking a peek inside it. Chris has made him some kind of sandwich; from the smell of it, tuna, a bag of granola and a banana. Quick sustenance. He’s past taking the doctor’s advice; it doesn’t matter anymore. If Chris hadn’t brought this, he probably wouldn’t eat all day, and he wouldn’t care. He snatches the sandwich and chomps on it between blocks of code.
He has to get this done. Safe, safe code. It’s the only thing he has control of anymore.
*
“What’s this?”
The question is asked by a nurse dressed in sterile white, in the middle of a completely sterilized room, inside which Eduardo sits on a sterilized table on top of a sterilized sheet, wearing sterilized white garments. The checkups at the care center occur bi-monthly, and it’s not something they’ve ever questioned or complained about, no matter what a hassle or discomfort the full physicals always are. The nurse lifts Eduardo’s chin, tapping with her thumb a tender, purpled spot on the underside of his jaw.
“It’s… nothing.”
“Doctor,” calls the nurse, tapping her pencil on her clipboard and pointing it at the darkened circle on Eduardo’s throat. The whitecoat tips Eduardo’s face, like she did but a bit rougher, like he can’t be bothered, and raises his eyebrows as he comes the correct conclusion, “just a bruise; a hickey, to be precise.” He peeks over at the clipboard, “Eduardo S… have you been engaging in any sort of sexual activity?”
“I-“ The question, though Eduardo knew it would come up sooner or later, takes him a bit by surprise, “N-no doctor - well. I kissed someone recently, but that’s all. It’s. It’s possible in the future.”
Which leads to a very long string of questions, about who Eduardo is engaging with in these activities, exactly what they’re doing or planning on doing. Eduardo doesn’t know how to answer all of them because he doesn’t really know himself where this is going, and they become embarrassing very fast. Especially once Eduardo admits he is with another man. That comes as no surprise, but when he also is forced to reveal that Mark is an original…
The doctor bristles, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. He’s never heard that one before. It’s not forbidden for donors to interact with originals, but it’s unheard of. And when he says that it’s Mark Zuckerberg, who the man seems to know very well of.
“It’s… I see. Well, that’s all for today, Eduardo S.”
Wardo can’t hop off the table fast enough, snatching his clothes back on with a shudder, always happy to be free of those awful paper garments. He’s petrified that the doctor is going to contact Mark somehow and question him, and it will be revealed that he’s a donor, if Mark didn’t figure that out already by the scar (it’s not hard to put two and two together) and everything will be all, all over. If it isn’t already.
*
Mark tries to forget. He tries to forget about Eduardo, and his stupid face and his stupid eyes, his stupid hair and his stupid voice. But it’s harder than he imagined it would be. The sound of his laugh haunts him. The image of his face resides in the corner of Mark’s brain, never quite going away.
Chris notices he’s a little bit off. He figures it’s just stress from work, since Mark’s been on a coding tear almost all day today, and offers to take him out for a drink. Mark figures it might be beneficial, something to get his mind off of Eduardowhateverhisnameis. They didn’t even know eachother that well, he really shouldn’t be acting like this, but the way he ran off was just bizarre.
“So what’s up with you, dude?” Chris asks as they sit down. “Things didn’t work out with Coffee Shop Boy?”
Mark sighs, “I don’t know, to be honest. We, well, he came to my apartment, and we were just sort of hanging out, and he… took off.”
“Oh, God, Mark, what did you do?”
“Nothing! I mean… nothing. I was drunk.”
“You were drunk-“
“Yes, I was drunk, that’s not the point-“
“You’re not supposed to be drinking, Mark.”
“Chris. I was drunk, okay, and, I don’t know. I think I might have made a move and that maybe… scared him? God, it was stupid.” Mark has blurry memories of that night, but not much. He remembers seeing a scar that made Eduardo freak out; maybe he has some viciously abusive past boyfriend or something, Mark doesn’t know what the fuck happened.
“You do have a tendency to be a bit… Mark-ish,” Chris says, “and I guess that has a tendency to freak people out.”
“And you have a tendency to point out the obvious.”
“Hey, okay.” Chris puts his hands up. “Let’s just help you forget about him, alright? Drinks?”
“I’ll get them,” Mark offers, getting up with a sigh. He’s anxious to have his own breathing space again, even if at the bar he really doesn’t. He’s trying to clear his thoughts while he orders the drinks, rubbing his forehead as they’re passed over the counter to him. He slaps the money down and picks up the two cups, but when he turns around, someone’s standing in front of him.
It’s Eduardo. Only it’s not Eduardo. But it is. But it’s not. Mark almost drops his drinks out of pure shock; the guy doesn’t seem to notice and pushes him aside to get to the front of the bar. He’s completely identical - definitely not Eduardo; he’s older, and drunk, which Eduardo would never be, but… but…
Suddenly it makes sense. The weird behavior, the secretiveness, the way he freaked out when Mark saw the scar. This guy being here. Everything clicks into place and Mark stumbles, almost spilling the drinks, the realization coming like a punch in the stomach. The room spins and e feels physically sick. He staggers back to the table and slams the drinks down, flopping down in the seat.
“Mark - Mark. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” Mark gasps.
“Jesus, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost! Is he here or something?”
“No, no,” Mark shakes his head. Well, not him. Not Eduardo, but Jesus Christ… it really isn’t all that hard to put the pieces together, even if he might be jumping to conclusions. “No, just, I’m not feeling very well today, sorry.”
“Well, you’ve gotta get your mind off him.”
“Yeah, you’re…” Mark swallows before taking a long pull of the drink, “You’re right, I do.”
*
It’s another two days before Mark sees Eduardo again. Eduardo’s not planning to run into him, but he’s ambling along the sidewalk, is hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the ground beneath his feet. He doesn’t look where he’s going, and people push past him, muttering under their breaths. He’s trying to forget what happened - trying to forget the past month, Mark, completely.
Mark’s made his daily trip to the café just in hopes that Eduardo would be there, waiting for him, so they can talk all this out, but that’s probably too much to ask for. No, Eduardo’s not there, but when he’s walking out of the café, by some blessing from God, he does see him. His back is to Mark, and he’s about to turn the corner, but Mark would recognize that hair and those shoulders anywhere.
“Eduardo!” he calls, and tears off across the street without even looking. He hears Eduardo scream “Mark!” from the other side of the road - there’s tires screeching as an approaching driver slams on their breaks, narrowly missing a collision with him. But Mark isn’t fazed, and he quickly arrives on the other sidewalk. Those that witnessed the near-accident slowly begin to move on their way, and the traffic flows again. He doubles over, coughing and wheezing in a struggle to get a chestful of air.
“Mark-“ Eduardo frowns, “what are you doing?”
“Why did you run out, before?”
“Mark, do you- what is this?”
“This - what, you mean, us? We’re not… you’ve said we can’t be together. You’ve failed to explain why, but-“
“Do you want to be?”
Mark surprises even himself when he says “Yes.”
A beat passes between them, just staring at eachother, before Eduardo averts his eyes and murmurs “then we’ve got to talk.”
“I have to tell you something, too.”
//
Eduardo sits on Mark’s couch and stares at his feet, flexing his clothes in the plush carpet while Mark fetches drinks from the kitchen; lemonade, for once respecting Eduardo’s denial of alcohol and not asking him again. Eduardo can’t get enough air in (well, he never can, but now he feels as if he might pass out). He feels sick, he…
He can’t think about Tyler’s words. If he does, he’ll chicken out and leave right now. He can’t think about the possibility that Mark might really kick him out upon learning the truth. He can’t think about the possibility of him being a donor changing anything; if he does, he can’t even think. He just has to take it as it comes.
“Thank you,” Eduardo mumbles as he takes the glass from Mark and has a small sip.
“You look like you’re about to throw up,” Mark says, resting a hand lightly on his thigh, “are you about to tell me you’re a felon, or something?”
“No,” Eduardo laughs, shaking his head. “No, I - shit.” He swallows, his stomach jumping up and swimming inside him again. “This - Mark, no. This is serious, please don’t joke.”
“Alright, I’m not. Just - God, Eduardo, I’ve never met someone like you”.
That wasn’t something Eduardo was expecting to hear, from Mark. “What do you mean?”
“You’re just… you’re not like anyone else in this city. You’re real, and you’re honest, and you’re - motherfuck, I don’t even know your name. But you’re… I’m bad at this, but you’re not like anyone else in this city. Everyone here is so… so hung up on looks. On things. They’re so worried about trends and fashions and things and money that they’re not real people.”
“Interesting,” Eduardo murmurs, “coming from someone who apparently founded one of the most successful companies in the world.”
“Eduardo, that-“ Mark flounders for a moment. “that was never about the money. That was me in my dorm room looking for something to do on a Tuesday night after my girlfriend dumped me. People look at me and they see Mark Zuckerberg, they see the founder of, as you said, one of the biggest companies in the world. But that’s all they see; Facebook Founder Mark Zuckerberg. They never just see Mark. And they never will. I’ll never be just Mark to someone.”
“Mark, you…” Eduardo is confused. Why would he be talking this way? “You’re talking like you don’t have your whole ahead of you.”
“Yeah, well…” Mark looks away, grimacing.
“Mark-?”
“I’m sick.”
“…What?”
“I’m sick,” Mark sighs, heavy. He places a hand over his chest, where his heart is, and closes his eyes. “Have been, for a while now.”
When you live around a lot of sick people, when you spend your days wondering if your friend will make it through his next donation, you’re able to tell right away when someone’s not well. Eduardo had seen the symptoms in Mark; the fatigue, the way he’d be winded just by walking up a flight of stairs. He’d tried to ignore them.
“What… what is it?”
“My heart.” Mark shrugs once, studying the shades and texture of the beige carpet under them. “They’re still trying to treat it. Trying different meds, therapies, treatments. Everything. But it’s on its last leg.”
“Oh.” That, come to think of it, explains some things; why Mark gets winded so easily, for one. “What do the doctors say…?”
“They don’t know. Nothing they’ve tried has made me any better, or it’ll work for a while and then it’ll just be worse than it was before. They have a few more tricks up their sleeves, but… I I’m on the list for a transplant. Right now, all they can do is give me things to make me feel better. But I’m getting worse.”
Eduardo doesn’t have anything to say to that. He wonders if any of his friends, anyone he knew at Hailsham or the Cottages, will be the one to supply Mark’s heart if it comes to that. But that’s not really something he can stomach thinking about, and suddenly, Mark laughs. “I’m sorry for dropping such a bombshell on you. I just figured I should let you know. You know, if I die suddenly.”
Eduardo chuckles, too, but there’s a weight in the room now. “Yeah, well… there’s something I need to tell you, too. About… why I ran out the other day.” So, he guesses the doctor didn’t call Mark, or anything, though he certainly could have, and it would have been justified. Mark looks at him expectantly, and Eduardo’s forgotten all the words he’s planned to use. Fuck it. He pulls his arms through the sleeves of his shirt before tugging it over his head. The scar is impossible to miss, dark and jagged and ugly. Mark’s breath catches in his throat as Eduardo lifts an arm for a better view. He knows immediately the explanation for it, but… it can’t be…
“How…?”
“From an operation.”
“What kind of operation-“
“Organ donation.” Eduardo shrugs, and sighs, looking down at the mark on his skin so he doesn’t have to meet Mark’s horrified gaze.
“W-what?”
“Someone else has it now, someone who needed it.” Eduardo shrugs, and he looks away, preparing himself to be kicked out, to be yelled at, to be… he doesn’t know. But as he feels himself trembling, he doesn’t expect to feel Mark’s hand on his shoulder, and then around his neck, as Mark slides over to sit right next to him on the couch.
“You’re… a donor,” he whispers. His conclusion was, for once, correct. He doesn’t need the explanation In his condition, especially, he knows what the donors are. Everybody does, especially these days, but it’s something you don’t talk about. Just one of those things you subconsciously wonder; if that person you passed on the street corner is an original human being, or a copy of one. This also might explain why Eduardo always looked a little familiar…
“Not what you were expecting?”
“I’ve… I’ve never met a donor before.”
“You probably have,” Eduardo shrugs, sighing. “In passing, maybe, but I bet you have.”
Mark shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch. This, he can’t believe this. The puzzle he’d pieced together was correct, so he’s not as shocked as he might be otherwise, but he was just making things up, he liked making things up, he didn’t want it to be true, he hadn’t thought it possibly could be. He thought he was going crazy. He. Eduardo. No.
“This is too much,” he says, shaking his head with his forehead in his palm. “God, no, no, you’re…” How is this possible? How is it possible that the guy he practically falls on his face for is a donor? Call it Mark’s own ignorance, but he’d always thought donors weren’t supposed to mingle with the public. There was no chance of him ever meeting one, and that way he was able to remain impartial, not feel guilty for the organ he would eventually have to steam from someone. How can this… How?!
Tyler was right. Mark’s never going to love him now. Mark’s never going to want to see him again. It’s all over, but the truth had to come out sometime. “If… if you want me to leave-“
“No.” Mark puts his hand up to stop Eduardo from talking, clutching his chest and coughing, “no, I… I just… I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Mark, please!” Eduardo stands up, reaching out to touch Mark’s shoulders, halfway, holding back, not sure if Mark even wants him to touch him. He trembles, pleading, “I’m still the same Eduardo!”
“I know, and that’s - you’re -“ Mark is horror-stricken, rendered speechless. “How is it… possible…”
“Just… sit down. Please, Mark.”
Eduardo tugs Mark back down onto the couch and Mark’s looking everywhere but Eduardo, until Eduardo takes his chin and forces eye contact. Mark winces away, scrunching up his face. “How?”
“It’s a remarkable scientific breakthrough, isn’t it?”
“That’s not what I mean, you-“ Mark swallows, closing his eyes and dipping his head away. He can’t insult Eduardo, as much as he wants to, as much as he easily can anyone else; Chris, for example, on a daily basis. He feels a dull pain starting under his eyes that he knows is sure to escalate into a migraine. “Please tell me you’re fucking with me.”
“Why would I joke about it?”
Mark opens one eye, slowly, peeking up at Eduardo with a shaking jaw “You’re… you’re a donor,” he repeats
Eduardo looks down at his chest, the scar curving around it where his left lung used to be, and shrugs. “We’ve covered that, yes.”
“But… how? I mean, how are you…?”
“We are real people, Mark. They don’t want you to think that, but we are.”
“But you’re not supposed to…”
“Meet you?”
“Be here.”
“Well… I am. And I have been. And I’m not just going away. Mark, please, I… it’s still me. It’s still me. Your Eduardo. Please.”
Mark looks at Eduardo again, slowly, with a shaking jaw, “I’m sorry, I… just… you’re… I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
Eduardo stands up, “I guess I should just go-“
“No.” Mark pulls him back down, Eduardo practically falls into his lap. He blinks at Mark, swallowing, until he’s pulled in for a kiss.
“I’m sorry,” Mark whispers, rubbing the nape of Eduardo’s neck. “I’m sorry, I just… this is a lot right now.”
“I’m still the same person, Mark.” Eduardo is pleading, begging him to understand, to see him the same way.
“Yeah…” Mark whispers, wrapping his arms around Eduardo’s waist, tighter than ever and crumpling down into his body. He can't lose Eduardo, no matter what he is. They can do this. “Yeah, you’re still my Wardo.”
on to 2-a