never let eduardo go 2b/3
*
So the days pass easily. At the Facebook offices with Mark, Eduardo entertains himself by wandering around the offices while Mark codes. There’s always something to do, maybe someone that needs a favor, something to read, something to poke his nose into. He meets almost everyone, even people Mark hasn’t met, and he feels more accepted here than he ever has at Hailsham, the Cottages or Kingsfield. Oftentimes, when Mark steps back from his laptop, Eduardo’s chatting everyone up at the water cooler, and they’re all laughing. Mark will feel a twinge of jealousy, but all he has to do is wave, or call and Eduardo will come running back, even mid-sentence. It doesn’t make much sense to him, why Eduardo actually, well, likes him, and he’s still trying to figure out this love thing if that’s what it is, but it’s okay.
Eduardo spends the evenings and sometimes the nights in Mark’s apartment, in his room, in his bed. It’s a small bed, barely big enough for one but they squeeze, Eduardo against the wall, Mark in his arms.
“Mark, have some more water before you go to bed,” he’ll say. Or “Mark, you really ought to eat just a little bit more”. Or “Mark, close the laptop and come to bed” or “Mark, it’s time to take your medications.” Mark hates that kind of thing coming from anyone else, but when Eduardo says it he’ll sigh and comply, even though he wants to say that it really doesn’t matter anymore since the medications aren’t working anyway and. Well. He doesn’t think about that.
“Mark, it’s lunchtime,” Eduardo says, standing beside Mark’s chair and pressing the button on Mark’s computer that will flick the monitor off. No work will be lost, just the picture, but even so, Mark would have… murdered Chris or anyone if they ever tried that. Chris is expecting the worst, but Mark’s hand just tightens around the mouse and he smacks two more keys anyway before he gets up, just like that.
“You actually listen to him,” Chris notes to Mark later, and Mark scoffs, like he has no idea what he’s talking about. “How do you do it?” Chris asks Eduardo, when he catches him at the cafeteria, but Eduardo just grins and shrugs.
Eduardo tags along to some of Mark’s doctor’s appointments. He’s really only at Kingsfield when he has to be, when he needs an exam or they’re just not up for sleeping together but he doesn’t miss it, because he has a home now, and it’s not the care center.
//
Eduardo draws on anything he can get his hands on. Sticky notes, old sheets of paper he finds in the trash, newspapers, printer paper. Mark finds his little sketches everywhere of fantastic animals. Thick and thin lines, laid on with an almost hurried looking precision. Birds, elephants, dragons and ones that must come from Eduardo’s own imagination.
He keeps all of them. His first gift to Eduardo is a sketchbook, leather-bound with thick, clean white pages. Eduardo looks overjoyed ad nearly hugs the life out of him and he says it’s the first gift he’s ever gotten.
//
Mark begins to teach Eduardo the basics of using a computer, because after all, he can’t have a boyfriend that’s completely technologically inept. Eduardo noses around the Facebook offices, resting his head in his arms on Mark’s desk as he watches him code, chatting up Mark’s colleagues and sneaking snacks from the break room. He’s become a popular around the office, a fixture, a face that just sparks good feelings in everyone.
No one knows the truth except for Chris, who continues to study Eduardo like he’s some sort of specimen, when he doesn’t think he’s looking. But Eduardo notices, and so does Mark.
“I don’t think Chris likes me,” he says, leaning against Mark’s desk as Mark chows down on a tuna sandwich. “He’s always… staring at me like I don’t belong.”
“Chris is a bitch,” Mark says behind a mouthful of sandwich.
“I don’t like it. Maybe I should…” Eduardo hops off the desk, but Mark catches his hand.
“Eduardo, no. What I meant by that was… was I don’t care what Chris thinks of you.”
Eduardo looks down at their hands and his eyes twinkle. He hops up onto the desk, sitting down and watching Mark as he tosses the tin foil wrapper into the trash can.
It’s true, though, the next time Eduardo’s talking to some interns at the water cooler and Chris is staring at him. Not even trying to be discreet about it.
“What is your problem with Eduardo?”
“I think you know my problem with him.”
“Oh my God, Chris. Is it really that big of a deal? I thought we were past this.”
“It’s creepy, Mark.”
“How is it creepy? He has feelings, Chris, he has feelings and emotions and he’s the sweetest person I have ever met. He feels enough to know that you dislike him and it hurts him - you don’t have to like him, but can you at least not make your discomfort so obvious?”
Chris stares at him. “You really like this guy - this…?”
“Yes, Chris. Yes, I do, and you’ve got to accept that. You don’t need to understand, but you need to at least make him feel welcome.”
“I just don’t… I don’t know why him, Mark. Why a donor?”
“Because he’s the most human person I know,” Mark growls. “Again, Chris, don’t try to understand because you can’t and you won’t and you don’t have to, but Eduardo is special to me and I want you to make him feel like he’s welcome here.”
Chris puts his hands up, shaking his head and sighing. His ignorance infuriates Mark, even though it’s normal. But damn it, Eduardo is beautiful, Eduardo is spectacular in every way and just because he’s a… a donor (Mark can’t bring himself to use the C word) doesn’t mean he’s not worth loving.
Chris doesn’t make it obvious anymore, but Mark knows he still doesn’t like Eduardo. That’s fine, though - Mark loves him and his love, and Eduardo’s love is all that matters.
Eduardo makes sure Mark actually eats the lunches that Chris makes for him, he organizes Mark’s papers, stands behind his chair to rub his shoulders as he works, and even gets him to get up out of his chair. But the effects of Mark’s sickness are beginning to show even more vividly. Even just taking a lap or two around the offices leaves him winded, and he always takes the elevator rather than the stairs. Eduardo doesn’t complain at this, he has trouble with stairs, too, but it’s awful to see Mark like this.
Wardo accompanies Mark to his next doctor’s appointment; just a routine checkup, one of way too many that Mark’s gotten use to going to.
“What’s the care center like?” Mark asks offhandedly. “You… live there, don’t you?”
Eduardo shrugs, leaning back and pushing his hands in his coat pockets. “Yeah, unless they transfer me for my next donation (Mark’s still surprised that Eduardo can speak of this so casually, considering what it really is). But, it’s very nice, you know, they do a good job of trying taking care of us. It’s… I guess it could be compared to a senior center, for you. Kingsfield is one of the nicest ones, so I’ve been lucky. The food is excellent, and of course all free for the taking, we have game fields for those that are up for it, movies, all kinds of things to do.” He leans back, resting a foot on the table in front of them, strewn with health magazines. “I share a room, with Dustin. The privacy at the Cottages was nice, that’s where we used to live, but the rest of it isn’t so bad. It’s funny, you know, one of the things I remember the most about the Cottages was the smell. It smelled like dust, like old things. Everything was old, handed down, used, made the most of. Loved. And there was always something cooking. It was the first place that felt like home.”
“You didn’t… have parents?”
Eduardo shakes his head. “Just the Guardians at Hailsham. But they… I don’t know. Some of them were scared of us, and steered as clear of us as they could. Some of us just seemed to be too pained about our futures to bear interacting with us much. But some of them cared a great deal - some made sure to take good care of us. Especially Miss Emily and Madame.” He looks away, out the window on the other side of the room and is suddenly very quiet when he says “Hailsham’s gone now, though.”
Mark can’t even imagine it, living like that, but he doesn’t say so. He knows of the Hailsham campaign to improve the donors’ lives, everybody does, and how it went under. He can’t imagine how the poor children are being treated now.
“You said… unless they transfer you?”
“Well…” Eduardo sighs. “Sometimes they do that. It’s done by demand, you know. It’s unexpected.” Mark looks worried, and Eduardo rests a hand gently on his thigh, “it won’t be for a while. And it’s never far away. I’ve only done one donation. I shouldn’t have mentioned that, Mark, just don’t worry.”
Mark sighs, slumping back in the chair, half wondering what Wardo’s next donation will be, but he can’t possibly bring himself to ask that question. One donation is one too much. He feels like he might be sick, just, picturing…
Eduardo leans over, kisses Mark’s cheek, tucking his nose behind his ear. Mark shivers. “I said don’t worry. It’ll be okay, okay?”
“…Okay.”
“Zuckerberg, Mark,” calls the doctor. Wardo stands up first, holding his hand out like a gentlemen and Mark blushes as he takes his hand and they walk back.
*
“Fucking hell,” Mark hisses under his breath, staring dumbfounded at the length of code on the screen in front of him. The next update is scheduled for a week from today, and this stuff is usually extremely easy, but today… Mark’s not sure what it is, he’s just so totally off his game.
“What is it?” Eduardo’s been sitting behind him, just watching him. He hasn’t been himself at all today, that’s true, but there is any number of reasons that could be why. He leans up, rolling in the chair closer to Mark’s desk and Mark shakes his head.
“I don’t know, it’s--it’s-- it’s on the tip of my… fingers. It’s there, I know, it’s in there, I just can’t call it up and this isn’t working and it’s-“
“Mark. You just need to relax.”
“I can’t relax. This has to get done, this has to be perfect, and I know it, God damn it, I just-“
Eduardo leans over Mark’s shoulder, nipping at his neck and dragging his tongue across his throat with a smirk. Mark jerks in his chair, shuddering and slumping forward as he lolls his head to the side, “Wardo, not… not here,” his voice is stressed, body battling the desire for more and the instinct to move away. He still isn’t used to being close to anyone in this way, and his fingertips inch. They feel too naked, too in space, he needs buttons under them but when he goes to code, nothing comes out. Usually, the lines are flying through his brain but there’s nothing there.
“Whyever not, Mark?” Eduardo asks innocently, pressing his nose under Mark’s ear, delighting in the shiver that shoots through his body; a very unMark-like shiver, but Eduardo brings it out of him easily.
“We’re… fuck, Eduardo, I’m at work, you can’t…”
“Shh,” Eduardo’s hands creep to the front of Mark’s shoulders, caressing them in a totally less-than-platonic way, and Mark looks around frantically, “Eduardo, people might be watching-“
“Shh, you’re tense.” Eduardo purrs against his neck and shit. This is not funny. He kisses Mark behind the ear before slinking back, stooping and ducking back under Mark’s desk. He kneels on the floor and looks right up at Mark between his legs, smirking, and it sends a hot jolt through Mark’s body.
“W-what are you doing…”
“I think you’ll work much more efficiently if you relax,” Eduardo says simply, resting his hand on the crotch of Mark’s baggy, faded jeans, “and what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you work to your full potential?”
“You’re distracting me, Wardo…” Mark means for it to come out as a hiss, but it sounds more like a whimper, and Eduardo won’t hear of it. He swallows, glancing around as Eduardo tugs at the zipper. Wardo’s only sucked him off two or three times, he’s still sloppy but God.
“People are going to-“
“No one can see me under here. If you don’t give us away, no one has to know… Eduardo nuzzles Mark’s crotch and at tugs the waistband of his underwear. “Act natural, Mark, I don’t hear typing up there,” he snaps, and Mark attacks the keyboard with his fingers. But he can’t even form a line of code - dammit, even while he’s having conversations with other people, there’s always code running through the back of his mind, but with Eduardo… he brings up nothing. Eduardo steals all of his coherency and productivity. So he’s just typing gibberish, useless text that he’ll have to delete later.
Eduardo pulls Mark’s cock free from his pants, leaning in and taking a breath. Mark’s scent is strong, especially in the closed space underneath the desk. He ran his mouth loosely over Mark’s prick, with just the tip of his tongue out, getting him wet. It’s not the best blowjob Mark’s ever had or even a particularly good one, but Eduardo is trying, and just the fact that it’s Eduardo… “I don’t hear typing up there,” he smirks, looking up at Mark who’s just kind of staring at him dumbly. Mark’s eyes snap back to the screen and his fingers patter uselessly over the keyboard. He still gasps as Eduardo takes the tip into his mouth, giving a full-body twitch before Eduardo lets his cock slide deep into his mouth.
“Wardo-“
He’s cut off by a slap on the shin, which obviously means shut up, and curses under his breath. Wardo sucks him hard and fast, Marks knees quiver but he manages, somehow, to keep a straight face focused on his laptop screen, and tries to type something semi-intelligible, but the only thing he can manage is tapping out eduardoeduardoeduardoeduardo over and over.
Eduardo swallows the jets of cum that shoot against his throat; by the grace of God Mark manages to keep his mouth shut. Eduardo checks to make sure the coast is clear before he quickly pops out from under the desk again, kissing Mark on the cheek and sauntering off again, no doubt heading for the cafeteria.
He was right, though; this afternoon of the day is more productive than the rest of the week has been, put together.
*
Cameron confronts Eduardo the moment he climbs out of the car, back on the care center’s grounds, and he’s not happy. “Where have you been, Eduardo?” he wants to know, scowling and demanding “have you been seeing that original?”
“Yes, Cameron, yes, I have, and you know what? He doesn’t care. He adores me, and I love him.” Eduardo is not in the mood for this, not going to let Cameron ruin his day and he pushes him aside, moving for the entrance, but he’s pulled back, pushed up against the car. He holds his breath - let’s be honest; he’s no match for Cameron.
Eduardo’s been expecting this, spending less and less time at the care center than he used to. He only really comes back, now, for his checkups or to bring Dustin back a little gift, a box of his favorite chocolate snacks or a book to read. And he likes it that way; frankly, why would he want to be cooped up here? The care center isn’t exactly the favorite place of any donor, no matter how comfortable they try to make it. And he has no friends here, no one but Dustin, really, but to be perfectly honest, he prefers Mark’s company. Mark’s words and kisses, Mark’s office, Mark’s bed.
“Yeah, well, Eduardo, you know what’s been going on here? While you’ve been consorting with originals, Eduardo, do you know what you’ve been missing?” Cameron leans back, crossing his arms, but he’s still inches from Eduardo, sneering at him in disgust. Since Eduardo’s begun his relationship with Mark, Tyler and Cameron have liked him even less, and he’s become even more of an outcast at the center.
“There’s nothing to miss here, Cameron, I don’t understand how you-“
“Dustin. Dustin, Eduardo.”
Eduardo freezes, the cold chill running through his body. “What about Dustin?”
“His second donation’s been scheduled.” Cameron leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, but he looks more solemn now, not angry, “and I think we all know what that means.”
It’s always hard. Eduardo’s had several of his acquaintances complete early, and he’s used to it, but he can’t say he’s immune to it. You never get immune to something like that, and that’s only yet another reason why Eduardo keeps his distance from everyone. Making friends might make the experience better for a while, but it’s only devastating in the end. And Dustin… Dustin who, despite everything he’s been through, just pukes rainbows and sunshine, but Eduardo knows Dustin wants to complete, and when they want to complete, they usually do.
Cameron lets him go, and Eduardo races back into the care center, up to their room. He’s expecting to see Dustin looking solemn, or sick, or something, just not leaping up off his bed and hobbling over to Eduardo as fast as he can, shouting something unintelligible as he throws his arms around his neck.
“What - Dustin?”
“I found her! I found her, Eduardo!”
It takes a minute for Eduardo to process, shocked, what that means. “What… Stephanie?”
Dustin is ecstatic. Happier than Eduardo’s ever seen him, he’s practically bouncing, his face is glowing and his eyes are sparkling with utter exuberance. “Yes, yes, yes, Eduardo, I found her! Or well, my carer found her and he told me where she is, she’s at a center just a few miles north; she’s just done her first donation, and she’s come through fine, and oh, Eduardo it’s just so good to know she’s well... Oh, Eduardo, this is wonderful, she’s okay…” Eduardo steps away again, his hands going up to his chest and he
squeals.
Eduardo doesn’t even have to think about it, before he asks “Do you want to go see her?”
//
Eduardo gets the address of the care center Stephanie is at from Dustin’s carer; surprisingly, the guy actually did something right for once. He’d had Dustin’s carer tell Stephanie’s that they would be coming today, and had gotten the reply that Stephanie would be happily waiting for them.
Dustin’s literally bouncing in his seat for the whole car ride; it takes about two hours to get to the center, but the distance is no problem. They play music in the car, stop for a quick lunch on the way. The roads are empty, long and curving, and neither of them says much on the way there, but Dustin’s happiness is just plastered all over his face, and it’s such a beautiful thing to see. At least, before he completes, he can have one special moment again with Stephanie.
“Her carer said she’d be waiting outside,” Eduardo says, pulling up by the center. It doesn’t look so different from their own; several people are congregating outside, mostly in pairs or groups of threes, enjoying the relatively sunny day. Some, if they’re up to it, play games of horseshoes on a grassy field, others just watch, or sit and talk.
There’s only one girl that’s standing alone, her eyes scanning the driveway; seconds after Eduardo notices her, Dustin’s shoving the car door open and racing across the grass, without his walker, hobbling. Eduardo leaps out, to help him, but he and the girl who he guesses is Stephanie are already crashing into eachother, embracing eachother like there’s nothing left in the world, and nothing that could tear them apart.
Eduardo stays in the car, giving them their privacy, watching the two long-lost lovers kiss and hug and laugh. Stephanie looks to be in good shape, but eventually Dustin has to sit down, clutching his side, and they just talk, and laugh, and reminisce on good times. Eduardo can feel their connection from here. Eduardo has never seen Dustin smile so wide, and it seems as if they’ve forgotten about him, but it’s the best thing he could do for Dustin before he completes (because it’s still obvious that he will), and he’s glad to have brought him this happiness.
He pulls out a book from the glove box, leans back in the chair and flips open a page. After a few minutes, Dustin’s knocking at the window.
“Ed, I hate to ask you this, but-“
“You want me to give you guys some time alone?”
Dustin looks remorseful, but hopeful, too, so desperate to have a little more time with his loved one, and what else can Eduardo do? “Of course, Dustin. I’ll be back sometime around seven?”
“Thank you, Eduardo!” Dustin leans in through the window to hug Eduardo, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him as tight as he can (which, actually, isn’t that tight) and starts to turn back.
“Dustin, wait!”
Dustin turns back around, and Eduardo grins as he passes him his folded walker through the window. “You forgot this, I think you’ll need it.”
Dustin smiles again as he opens it up, leaning forward against it with a sigh, “You’re a true friend, Eduardo.”
Dustin’s operation is scheduled for the following day. Eduardo wishes him well before he goes under, and then gets the hell out of there.
*
“You’ve been quiet today,” Mark notes, walking his fingers up Eduardo’s side. It’s late, probably too late to be up, but they’re both awake. They went ‘to sleep’ together two hours or so ago, but Eduardo hasn’t been able to get to sleep. He knows Mark’s not, either; he’s memorized Mark’s breathing patterns by now. It’s true, he hasn’t spoken much. Hasn’t been in the mood for it today, he’s just wanted Mark’s comfort. Getting it just from being with him.
“Mm,” Wardo sighs, shifting closer to Mark. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“What happened, Wardo?”
Eduardo doesn’t answer right away. He closes his eyes, silent, for several moments until Mark thinks he’s not going to answer at all. He’s just ready to roll back over when Eduardo whispers “Dustin completed.”
“…Oh,” Mark whispers. “Eduardo, I-“
“We all expected it. Dustin used to have a girlfriend, back at the White Mansion, Stephanie A. They were inseparable, I suppose, but they went to different care centers when they started their donations. Dustin was - it was awful. He was so torn, he loved her more than anything. He wanted to complete. And when they want to, they usually do. But he got to see her, one last time. It was short, but it was all they had, and he was happy. He was ready to complete then.”
Mark can’t say anything to that. But he lifts his head, rests it on Eduardo’s chest and closes his eyes. He listens to the soft beat-beat beat-beating of Eduardo’s heart, tries to imagine it not being there anymore. He can’t bear it.
“How do you live with that, Eduardo?” he whispers.
“It’s the usual,” Eduardo inhales deeply, lets it out as a sigh; Mark’s head rises and falls gently with his chest. “It’s what happens. We expect it. You know…” he pauses. “Some of us speculate about things. If the person that received Dustin’s heart will be able to feel that pain. There’re rumors of people inheriting their donors traits. They wonder if somehow, some part of their friends will live on. Some people say, that after you’ve done your donations, you’re still conscious, in some strange kind of way. Or-“ he smiles tightly, “maybe they’re just not willing to expect that everything has an end.”
Eduardo falls asleep then, in a few minutes, under Mark’s head. But Mark doesn’t sleep. He’s thinking of what Eduardo just said. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that they have so little time together. It’s not fair that Eduardo has to give everything to people that will never thank him. It’s not fair that Eduardo was even created just to die in this way. But maybe it’s better than nothing.
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t like to think about things like that. He doesn’t like questions that don’t have clear definite answers. Mark is not spiritual or religious and he avoids that kind of thinking. It’s why he likes code, and mathematics, because in the end, you will always get an answer that makes sense. In a world of so much confusion, that’s where Mark finds comfort.
So when the hairs of morning light seep in through Mark’s window, reds and yellows from the east, he lifts his head from Eduardo’s stomach and slips back over to his desk. It’ll be time for work soon, anyway. But now he can’t stop wondering, who will have Eduardo’s heart after he completes.
He thinks of himself, the transplant he’ll eventually need. The one that will come from someone just like Eduardo. He’d avoided thinking about it before; after all, it had been common practice for the past twenty years. Several generations of donors had been created, grown, and, essentially, harvested. It was kept on the down-low at first, but now everyone knew where they came from. You knew that the organs came from young, living, feeling, people. You were expected not to think about it, and Mark wasn’t going to think about it, who his lifesaving heart came from, what they could have been.
But now he won’t be able to ignore it, not when it’s right in front of his eyes. Eduardo is the most human person he’s ever met. Mark remembers the rhythm of the beat-beat beat-beating inside his chest. How is he supposed to take that from someone, donor or not? And how does Eduardo live with it - even seem to take pride in it?
The more thoughts and questions begin to bombard him, the more he furiously types, wishing them away, forcing them into a box in the back of his mind and locking it. He works until Eduardo’s head appears as a blurry reflection on his screen, sitting up in bed, hair all over the place, watching Mark with sleepily blinking eyes.
“G’mornin, Z,” he says, with a yawn, and Mark’s fingers still. Eduardo just called him ‘Z’. Mark has never, ever liked nicknames; Wardo is the closest he’ll get, and that’s just chopping off one syllable, because he’s lazy. Nicknames are trite and useless. But.
Eduardo’s probably extremely tired, probably not realizing what he’s saying, but.
‘Z’. He likes it.
*
“Don’t call me that,” Mark snaps the second time, “I hate nicknames.” But it’s half-hearted, just trying to hide how fuzzy inside it makes him and Eduardo can sense it; he grins and lets it drop for the time being but he doesn’t follow Mark’s instruction.
So Wardo takes to calling Mark ‘Z’. It makes Mark feel oddly warm inside whenever he hears it, the single syllable. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he got it; Z for Zuckerberg, not something ridiculous like honeybunchsugarplum. It’s short, it’s sweet, it’s him and both of them and it’s perfect.
//
Eduardo loves the burn; the searing of Mark’s nails on his back, the sting of the bruises on his neck. He loves the weight of Mark’s body, pressing him into the bed sheets while his heels dig into Mark’s shoulders. He loves Mark’s hands, Mark’s lips, Mark all teeth and tongue and eyes and hair right in his face, and for once in his life he feels valued, he feels alive, he feels indispoable and he wonders if this is how it feels to be human.
//
Mark is not a cuddler, okay. Mark doesn’t cuddle. He’s just… tired, okay, who knew Eduardo would be so good in bed. And Eduado’s warm, and damn it he’s holding Mark too tight for him to run away. Mark is not a cuddler, usually. And if you ask him, he’ll deny it.
But.
//
Mark tells Eduardo the story of theFacebook, how it turned into what now is just Facebook, about he and his roommates working together in their dorm room, building something, just the few of them. Something tangible, something Mark could feel growing in his hands, the first time he felt like he had something. The first time Mark felt like he could take on the world. They were just a bunch of guys that had made something together and he knew they could do anything.
Eduardo still feels like there’s an “unlike I am now” attached to that whole story that Mark doesn’t verbalize.
//
Eduardo loves the way Mark’s bed sheets smell as he snuggles into them; they smell like Mark, like beer, like the cans of tuna fish he eats for quick energy while curled around his laptop in the middle of a coding tear, they smell like laundry detergent and drugstore shampoo that Mark buys in the three-dollar blue bottles; fresh and soapy. They smell like Mark does when he comes home from the offices, like his leather desk chair and new paint.
Mark loves the way his bed sheets smell because soon one of the pillows smells like Eduardo, too. It smells like his shampoo and his deodorant and chocolate cookies. It smells like toothpaste and soap and cologne and cleanliness. It smells like sweat, both of their sweat, mingled together into something that’s theirs.
Mark loves how after they sleep together, they sleep together. They don’t have to talk, they don’t have to do anything but just be; Eduardo’s arm draped over his chest, Mark’s around his body, until they fall asleep, and for just a little while, everything, everything, is going to be alright.
But that period of blissful delirium is broken pretty fast.
Mark is getting worse. Much worse, very quickly. The first morning that Eduardo shows up at the office and Chris says ‘he didn’t come in today’ is when Eduardo knows that this is serious. Mark does not just not come in to work. Facebook is Mark’s everything; even when he’s on his death bed (which doesn’t seem very far off) he’ll probably still have his laptop.
“What do you mean he didn’t come in?”
“He’s not feeling well,” Chris says, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to keep an air of nonchalance about it, although they both know it’s much more than not feeling well.
“He had to have called in, right? What did he say?”
“That he just couldn’t get out of bed. He sounded drained.”
Eduardo knows that if there’s one thing Mark doesn’t like, it’s being weak, vulnerable. Mark has to be in control of everything, Mark has to make his own choices. He gets angry if he doesn’t. He goes crazy. So Eduardo knows how awful this must be for him, being confined to his bed, but it’s a relief that he hasn’t tried to force himself into work, jeopardizing his health.
By the end of that day Mark is checked into the hospital, and that’s where everything begins to go downhill.
“We’ve all been expecting this,” Chris tells Eduardo with a sigh. “It started when we were back at Harvard, and - well, it’s only gotten worse since then. At first, he just had to take some medication and watch what he ate. Now… well, you’ve seen him. The doctors are doing everything they can, but. Well, we’ve already arranged everything, everything that we would need, if he…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
//
Mark fucking hates the hospital. He’s hated it since he was a child and always getting injured, winding up in the emergency room at least twice a year. He’s always hated the antiseptic smell, the sticky feeling of the seats in the waiting room, the feeling of being too clean, unnaturally clean. He’s hated waiting, and getting undressed in the tiny, tiny rooms and waiting to be poked and prodded by a doctor.
But when he was little, it was a cast, or stitches, or a splint and he would be on his merry way, maybe with some pain killers in a generic white bottle. He doesn’t have that luxury anymore. He’s been admitted a few times, in the past two years, since his diagnosis, for whatever reasons.
Mark’s checked in right away, and he doesn’t look good. The medication isn’t working anymore. All that’s left for the doctors to do is to give him everything they can to make him feel better, and slow the effects, if possible.
Mark’s health has been deteriorating rapidly for the past two years. Usually, he’s blocked it out by coding, forgetting that more of the world even exists when he’s wired in, deafened, cut off from anything but his screen. He’s tried to ignore it, as stupid and obviously futile as that is. Chris and Eduardo have probably kept this from happening a lot sooner by forcing him to eat and exercise, as difficult as it quickly became. This isn’t the first time he’s been hospitalized.
But there’s no other choice.
The list is long; he’s already been on it for a long time. He’s expected this, prepared for this, and should worst come to worst, he’s already put in place the preparations that are needed at the Facebook offices, should his position become... vacant.
All that is left now is waiting.
//
Eduardo’s nose rests in the crook behind Mark’s ear; his arms are wrapped around his waist as he codes, as they sit together on the couch in his apartment. His hands have memorized Mark’s body, so when his fingertips slip under his shirt, he notices the tension. He doesn’t ask, just tries to relieve some of it by rubbing his palms in circles over Mark’s stomach, until Mark finally lifts his hands from the keys and snaps the laptop shut.
“Done?” Eduardo lifts his head from Mark’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Mark sighs.
“Z…” Eduardo whispers. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Eduardo.” It’s a blatant lie and Eduardo knows it.
“Mark.”
Mark closes his eyes, gripping the underside of the deck and letting out a slow breath. He’s not let the thought enter his mind, not since the first day. How are you supposed to come to terms with the fact that you’re (probably) going to die shortly before age thirty? Then there’s Eduardo, who’s lived with that all his life… “I went to the hospital the other day,” he forces out.
“Oh.”
“If I don’t-“ he shakes his head, trying to swallow down the rock in his throat. “I don’t have much time left.”
“You can’t… find a donor?”
“Not soon enough.”
Eduardo doesn’t say anything; what can you say to that? He just wraps Mark closer, and Mark turns into him, pushing, but not pushing away, pushing towards, down onto the bed. “I need - something,” he whispers into Eduardo’s neck. He’ll never ask for sex, but Eduardo’s always more than happy to satisfy him. Eduardo’s dealt with the fact that all of his friends, everyone he knows, will complete. He’s learned it, and accepted it, and he’ll cope. Tyler is long gone, and while Cameron remains distraught, Eduardo’s managed to almost never think of him again. But not Mark, no. Mark’s an original - he’s supposed to be the one that’s saved. He’s supposed to live forever. If he isn’t saved, then all of his friends have completed for nothing. Eduardo’s been watching him deteriorate for too long and it’s not fair.
“I need you,” Mark whispers, and it’s the only time he’ll ever say it. But Eduardo knows it; Mark does need him. He makes a promise in his head and leans down to kiss him, sealing it with himself.
“You have me, Mark,” he whispers, arms wrapping under Mark’s body; even more thin than it naturally is. The sickness is taking its toll and Eduardo can feel bumps of Mark’s ribs under tight skin. Mark’s arms wrap around his neck in a desperate lock, an attempt to hold onto something, the only thing he’s got left. He selfishly thinks, in the back of his mind, that if the disease kills him then at least he won’t have to be around to see Eduardo complete.
Eduardo nips softly at Mark’s neck, his teeth graze over the skin and Mark trembles, but pulls away.
“Mark?”
“I, I just… Wardo, I, fuck. Believe it or not, I haven’t been with many people this way. I mean, I scare most people off, you’re the first person to ever… to ever take an interest in me, to actually, you know, like me. I mean, I can be sort of an asshole, you must have noticed.”
“I’ve noticed, Mark.”
“And you, I don’t understand how… you like me.”
Eduardo smiles, going back to Mark’s neck but just nuzzling it this time, kissing it sweetly. “You’re not a total dick, I guess.” He says it jokingly, but Mark grimaces. “Mark,” Eduardo sighs, “listen. I would give anything for you. I love you.”
“I…” but Mark can’t say it back. He’s just not built that way, he’s not built for love. He’s not built for it and it happened anyway, and it’s short-circuiting his brain like he actually is a robot. “I want you to make love to me, Eduardo.”
He never thought he’d say the words. Mark’s never been one for making love, or just relationships even, but maybe he’s just never met someone to make love to. Eduardo looks a little shocked, like he never expected to hear those words, but he whispers “I want to, too.”
And they move to the bedroom. They’ve had sex before, plenty of times, but he’s never bottomed and Eduardo’s never topped. It’ll be new for both of them. But isn’t all of this new? That’s what this is about, right?
He’ll never be like this with anyone else, so why not go all out? Eduardo whispers “I love you, I love you, Mark Zuckerberg” over and over and Mark doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say it back, but he hopes what he’s giving him now is enough.
*
“We’ve never had a request like this, Eduardo,” says Kathy H., Eduardo’s carer, giving him a slow, strange look. Eduardo had expected strange reactions; it’s not really a normal request, is it? But what choice does he have, what would anyone else do?
“I know, I thought you might not have, but it’s. It can be done, can’t it? I mean, I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“Eduardo…” Kathy sighs heavily. “There are ways of doing things. There are protocols, lists, systems, specific ways of doing things, you can’t just-“
“Please,” Eduardo chokes. He’ll get on his knees if he has to. “He… I’m going to complete at some point, anyway. I want to complete, and you know that if I want to, I will. My second donation is coming up, but he can’t get a donor in time, and he’s going to die if he doesn’t get one. He can’t die - he’s important, and he’s important to me. Please, please, Kathy, at least talk to someone for me. He - tell them, tell them he’s important, tell them he’s Mark Zuckerberg - he runs a company, he’s important, he can’t die, tell them that, if that will help, just please, I don’t care what happens, he has to live.”
His hands are actually clasped together, tears filling his eyes, threatening to spill. Mark can’t die, Mark can’t die. He doesn’t care what happens to him, he’s never cared, he’s always known what will happen to him, but Mark. Mark has to live, or what is all of this for? What have all of his friends sacrificed for if people like Mark still have to die?
Mark wouldn’t like it, Eduardo knows that. Mark will protest, he’ll probably completely freak out, but Eduardo doesn’t care. He doesn’t even have to second-guess it. Mark has to live, and Eduardo is going to complete anyway. If he can save him…
Kathy looks at him solemnly, reaching out with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You love his man, don’t you, Eduardo?”
“Yes,” Eduardo croaks. “Yes, I do, and he needs a heart.”
She looks at him for a long time.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she whispers.
*
Eduardo doesn’t mention to Mark what he discussed with Kathy. Mark works frantically at his computer, working with Chris to get the newest update up and running. Eduardo watches from behind, leaning against the wall, watching the lines of code flicker across Mark’s screen. When Mark’s busy, wired in, and when Eduardo gets bored of just watching him, he wanders through the offices, nosing around hallways, peeking into cubicles, riding the elevator up and down. Making jewellrey out of paperclips and rubber bands he finds lying around. Scribbling on sticky notes, just to keep himself busy, to keep himself from thinking about the inevitable. He sticks to his diet, takes his medication, but it’s half-heartedly; he’s given up, there are no donor hearts available and he is going downhill rapidly.
When the office is finally emptied (Chris stands over Mark’s shoulder, trying to physically tug him up from his desk, telling him to go home, get some rest, but Mark refuses and swats him away, insisting he’s fine, he needs to get this done), Eduardo goes and pulls up a chair beside his desk. Mark is visibly swaying, face creased with the effort of keeping his eyes open.
“Mark,” he whispers, reaching and resting his hand on top of Mark’s, “shut it down.”
Mark does. Doesn’t even finish the line he’s on, just sighs and smacks two buttons before shutting the laptop. He turns his chair to Eduardo and slumps against him, mumbling something incoherent.
“Need… to finish… Wardo…”
“No, you don’t,” Wardo says, running his hand up and down the line of Mark’s back. “Come on, you need to get home, you need to eat, take your medicine and sleep.”
“Fuck the medicine, Wardo, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yes, it does, Mark. Come on, everything’s going to be okay, I promise, let’s just get you home.”
Mark sighs in defeat and pushes away from Wardo, climbing up from the chair. His legs wobble stiffly, and Wardo wraps his arm around Mark’s waist to hold him up. His eyes close and he falls against Eduardo’s side, needing to be practically carried to the car. He curls up in the passenger seat as Eduardo drives him home; he looks broken, crumpled, not like the Mark Zuckerberg Eduardo met a few months ago at all.
The next few days pass by in a blur. Mark working away, downing 5 Hour Energy to keep himself awake in the early hours of the morning. He’s checked into the hospital once, released with the same devastating news. If Mark can’t get to the office, he works at home, his laptop resting on his knees in bed, a dying man’s last-ditch attempt to leave behind some kind of legacy.
Eduardo’s notification comes for his next donation. A heart. To Mark Elliot Zuckerberg.
They’ve got two more weeks together.
on to part 3