fic: california, here we come 3/3 (tsn, r, mark/eduardo, the oc au, 22200 words)

[pidgeoned]

Richard and Kirsten don’t press him for details. They take one look at his face and smile in sympathy, Richard pulling Mark into a tight, encompassing hug and rubbing his back. Kirsten makes him hot chocolate while Dustin slaps a hand on his shoulder and tells him about his potential love affair with Chris Hughes.

After dinner, Mark pulls out his laptop and props his feet up on the coffee table. He stares at the screen for a few seconds before dropping his head against the back of the couch. There’s a knock on the door and he ignores it.

It’s not Dustin. Mark knows because Dustin doesn’t just walk into the pool house without permission or knock incessantly when Mark doesn’t answer. When his eyes open, Mark sees Eduardo standing there in the half-dark, his hair soft where the light shines over it, his hands inside his pockets. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt and jeans that are ripped at the knees. He’s wearing flipflops.

“Mark,” he says.

Mark twists himself up from the cushion, furrowing his brows. “How’d you get in here?”

“Through the door,” Eduardo says, then smiles when Mark rolls his eyes. Eduardo sits down next to him on the couch, their knees and elbows touching.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “Are you doing okay?”

Mark shrugs. It’s kind of easy to tell. His mom has just died. When Mark doesn’t speak for a long moment, Eduardo sighs and curls an arm around his shoulder. His hair brushes the side of Mark’s face, quick, like a sigh of air.

“Hey,” Eduardo says, stroking down his spine. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not crying Eduardo,” Mark tells him. “There’s no need to placate me like you would a child.”

“Sorry,” Eduardo says quickly. Neither them moves for awhile. Eventually, Mark leans back against the warm arc of Eduardo’s arm, slumping his shoulders tiredly. He closes his eyes and breathes through his mouth, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“You smell like the beach,” Mark says distractedly, scrubbing at his hairline with the heel of his hand.

“Thanks,” Eduardo laughs.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Eduardo stays the night. He leaves one minute while Mark is coding then comes back later with an armful of Chinese takeout.

Eduardo eats on the floor, watching Mark type and watch him back discreetly from the corner of his eye. Mark puts his laptop away for a second to dig through the plastic bag of food, pulling out a carton of lemon chicken and rice.

They eat quietly, not talking, the gaps of silence between the crinkle of plastic and the squeaking of unoiled couch springs not entirely uncomfortable. At two in the morning, Mark turns off the light and flops down on the pull-out mattress. He lies there on his side, eyes open in the dark. Moonlight leaks in through the glass windows, casting pale shapes on the wall.

The mattress dips behind Mark and he hears Eduardo sigh. “I’m glad you went back,” Eduardo says. “I thought for a moment you weren’t going to which is why I showed up at the funeral. Plus, Dustin told me what happened, so.” He shrugs and Mark feels the movement ripple across the bedspread.

“Hey,” Eduardo says quietly. He touches Mark’s back gingerly, fingers warm where they close over Mark’s shoulder. The warmth seeps through Mark’s shirt, making his bones shiver, and Eduardo pushes himself even closer, his chest to Mark’s back. His breath is hot against Mark’s neck like torn silk.

Mark doesn’t say anything. When Eduardo turns Mark’s head around to kiss him, his hand curves to cradle the side of Mark’s face, touching him gently. Mark kisses back perfunctorily, his eyes slipping closed, thinking about the static brush of Eduardo’s eyelashes against his cheek and the wet sweetness of his mouth. Then Eduardo sighs against him, sliding his tongue between Mark’s lips and swallowing the hitch in his breathing. He closes his hand around the base of Mark’s skull and touches his hairline with his fingertips, eyes soft and wet in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” Eduardo whispers, and he doesn’t have to elaborate any further because Mark knows what he means. He’s sorry. And it’s okay.

Mark nods against him, turning his face towards Eduardo’s neck. Mark wants to kiss him again. Eduardo smells like Chinese takeout and cologne and sweat and his shirt is gently worn at the hemline. Mark closes his eyes and tangles his fingers in Eduardo’s soft hair, heaving a great sigh.

Dustin walks into the pool house in red velvet wizard robes and a fake white beard. “Dude,” he says. “How do I look?”

Mark hits enter and looks up briefly. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Dude,” Dustin says again, turning so that his robes twirled along with him, swishing against his hairless ankles. “This is my outfit for the Halloween dance! I’m a wizard! I’m Dumbledore.”

“Okay,” Mark says. He takes a tiny sip of Mountain Dew before leaning back against the cushions. His back hurts a little.

“What are you going dressed up as?” Dustin asks, pulling down his beard. “Did you ask Erica out?”

Erica, Mark thinks. “She’s nice,” he decides. “But I’m not going.”

“So you didn’t ask her out,” Dustin says, lips turning down.

“I wasn’t planning on going anyway,” Mark tells him. It’s too much of a chore, he thinks. Besides, there’s almost virtually nothing to do at dances except stand around and subject yourself to the scrutiny of others.

“I have a date,” Dustin says, sidling up to Mark and leaning over his shoulder. “Thank you for asking.”

“Mm,” Mark says.

“It’s Chris,” Dustin continues, grinning from ear to ear, misty-eyed with wistfulness.

Mark looks up at him sharply. “Well, he doesn’t know it yet!” Dustin amends quickly, waving his arms in front of his face. “He’s giving me a ride. So um, it’s not really a date. But maybe I can slip a roofie in his drink or something some time during the night.”

Mark stares at him before restarting his laptop. “Good luck with that,” he says.

Dustin scoffs at him indignantly, sounding simultaneously annoyed and disgusted. “I was kidding! God, Mark.”

The Halloween Dance is a night of orange and black.

Mark ends up going, sort of, after Dustin calls him from the party and tells him to bring his spare robe over because he’d accidentally spilled punch all over himself and no way is he leaving the bathroom with punch on his clothes. No way.

Mark wanders in in flipflops and a hoodie. It’s the lamest party ever, giant paper streamers and Japanese lanterns hanging low and lighting the path to the gym. Cardboard cutouts of pumpkins hang above the stage. All the lights are dimmed down and a local band is unpacking their instruments from sparkling blue cases. Everyone’s dressed up as storybook characters. Most of the girls are dressed in tiny scraps of fabric.

“Mark.”

Mark glances over his shoulder.

It’s Erica. Tonight she’s Glinda, the good witch from The Wizard of Oz. “Hey,” she says, smiling at him when he turns. Her dress shimmers under the lights. Her shiny silver hat is made from an enormous tin can, spraypainted over. She looks good, Mark decides. Better than most people.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Erica asks.

Mark looks down at his toes and shrugs. “Myself?” It’s true enough. He’s not here for the festivities.

Somehow she finds that line particularly funny because she laughs and touches his arm.

Before Mark can excuse himself, a familiar slow song comes on and people start getting up from their seats. The crowd jostles the both of them and somehow they end up on the dance floor, standing in front of each other and a swaying mass of people.

“Do you um," Erica says, blushing. “Do you maybe want to dance or something?”

“I’m really not- shit.” Someone bumps into Mark from behind. It’s Eduardo who’s dressed up as a ... Prince? He’s got a crown on, a red cape and black boots that make his legs look leaner and longer.

“Eduardo?”

“Mark.” He sounds surprised, like someone who’s just killed another person only to have them turn up at their doorstep the very next day. It’s the first time Mark has seen Eduardo - at least up close - after the funeral. He’s with Christy of course who’s dressed as a Disney princess, her hand looped possessively around Eduardo’s shoulders.

“Let me guess,” Mark says, unable to keep the spite from his voice. “Snow White?” He gives Christy a once over before fixing his eyes at Eduardo who looks away guiltily, chewing his bottom lip.

Christy doesn’t even bat an eye when the crowd moves again as another song comes on. Christy pulls Eduardo to a corner where they can dance in peace and Mark watches after them jealously, forgetting for a moment why’s in school in the first place.

“Hey Mark?”

Mark grabs Erica's hand and twirls her. She nearly trips on her dress but catches herself in time. “Mark!”

“Sorry,” he says, but his mind is elsewhere. Erica slides her arms around his neck while he, in turn, slide his around her waist. It’s not exactly romantic but it’s nice and it distracts him. Erica smells good and her hair is soft and her sleeves are puffy and pink. Her dress makes a swishing noise against the floor.

Mark looks up when Eduardo and Christy loom closer, wrapped so tightly around each other it’s anyone’s guess how they manage not to smother each other completely. They’re talking over the steady beat of the music, Christy’s hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, elegant and pale.

“Isn’t that the kid from Chino?” Mark hears Christy say, her voice a watery hiss. “I didn’t know you were friends with him. When did that happen?”

Mark has to strain his ears to hear Eduardo’s response. “He’s just my neighbor,” Eduardo says.

Later, before the song closes, Erica leans in close so that their noses touch. Mark takes one last look at Eduardo over Erica’s shoulder, before kissing her, quick, on the mouth, making sure to keep his eyes closed.

Mark heads home shortly after fulfilling his promise with Dustin and handing him his spare robe. The night air makes his lungs ache a little so he pedals faster and tosses his bike aside as soon he arrives at the pool house. The house is empty which is good, he thinks, because he likes peace and quiet. He likes being alone. He grabs an armful of food from the fridge - chips and soda and twizzlers - and sets it all down on the coffee table, pushing off his unfinished homework. Then he starts coding and only then does the rapid pounding of his heart settle down.

He’s not expecting anyone until late - Dustin called to say he was going to hang out with Chris for awhile at a bonfire party or something similar - so it’s a surprise when, at ten thirty, the doorbell begins to chime. Mark doesn’t answer it until ten minutes later - whoever it is is either extremely patient or annoying - padding barefoot into the living room with a twizzler flapping from the side of his mouth.

“Yes,” Mark says, trying on his best polite voice. There is no need for it apparently because it’s Eduardo who’s still in his prince getup sans the crown and the cape. Mark slams the door in his face and goes back to code again but the doorbell rings in a series of erratically spaced dings so he marches right back to the front door and yanks it open forcefully. It’s still Eduardo, leaning against the doorway, one arm braced against the wall.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Listen,” Eduardo says.

Mark gives him an impatient look. “You have five seconds.” Five, four, three. He shuts the door on him on two but Eduardo holds his foot out. Mark doesn’t have time for this, especially after two hours of straight coding - and still, with so many errors popping up during diagnostics - so he makes for the pool house without sparing Eduardo a second glance. He’s not expecting Eduardo to follow him, but Eduardo does, shoes clicking against the marble floors.

“Mark! Mark!” he yells.

“What?” Mark snaps, whirling around. The pool reflects the light of the stars, a deep blue that ripples under the frantic thump of their footsteps.

Eduardo’s eyes are narrowed now and he’s breathing hard and Mark can smell Christy on him. He can just tell. He doesn’t know why the thought angers him so much or where the anger comes from at all. He moves out of Eduardo’s way but Eduardo yanks him forward by the wrist and kisses him, hard and wet, and without preamble.

“Fuck,” Mark says. Eduardo tastes like bad punch and lipstick. Mark pulls away and shoves at his chest and Eduardo yelps as he trips backwards. Eduardo falls into the pool, one hand curled around Mark’s shirt, taking him with him.

“Fuck,” Mark says again. He swallows a lot of water and his eyes sting from the chlorine. Eduardo surfaces a second later, gasping like a drowning man, eyes dark under the watery moonlight.

“You okay?” he asks Mark, swimming closer, scrubbing at his face.

Mark feels like seaweed, floating gently in the water, inelegant and without purpose. He clears his throat and moves his arms and legs. Eduardo wades towards him.

“Mark,” he says. “Mark. Hey,” he whispers. And then they’re kissing, slowly at first and then angrily, with lots of teeth and tongue. Mark can’t remember who reached for whom first. Eduardo’s hands are around his face and he tastes different now, cleaner, his tongue hot inside Mark’s mouth, his teeth sharp against Mark’s bottom lip. Mark never wants to stop kissing him, even if his lungs burn or his jaw starts to hurt, or even if it means he has to drown.

Somehow they end up on the deck, still kissing. Eduardo leans over Mark, his shirt rucked up his ribs. His skin is pale where the sun doesn’t shine over it, and his breath is coming up fast. Mark swallows too, feels drunk on the smell of Eduardo’s skin which is cool to the touch at first but warms up soon enough after Mark strokes a hand down his stomach.

Eduardo kisses him with an open mouth, swinging a leg around his hip. Mark starts moving, and every part of their body is touching, suddenly, rubbing, and it’s good, so fucking good, a slow burn that makes Mark’s breath hitch as he clutches at Eduardo’s back and kisses his throat. He wonders if this is how Eduardo does it with Christy until Eduardo bears down on him, pupils blown, his mouth half open in a tiny gasp as his thrusts speed up. Then Mark stops thinking altogether because Eduardo’s mouth is on him, on his collarbone, then his throat, and finally, his mouth, moving over Mark’s so gently it’s like they have all the time in the world to do this.

When it’s over, they lie on their backs, staring at the deepening sky, shoulder to shoulder, wondering what the hell just happened. Mark blinks and looks over his shoulder.

Eduardo is getting up and grabbing his boots from the deck. “Sorry,” he says right before he flees. He leaves so suddenly that Mark doesn’t even get to ask him what for.

Mark dates Erica for a few days.

He doesn’t know what dating constitutes exactly, but he thinks he gets the gist. It’s a welcome distraction, with exams looming over on the horizon and Facemash put on hold because it’s not exactly going anywhere at the moment.

And Erica just sort of worms her way into his life because she’s everywhere all of a sudden, in the Chem lab, in the library, in the quad, right where Mark usually gulps down iced coffee and doughnuts for lunch. She invites him to her bedroom one day - to go over Chem notes together - which is small and messy, the walls painted a sky blue. She has pictures of herself as a kid dancing ballet on her desktop. They kiss on her bed that same day. The rest of the afternoon, Mark just lies on her carpet, staring at the ceiling.

It’s not bad but it’s not terrific, either. It’s... safe.

“So. You and Erica,” Dustin says. “I didn’t think you’d. I don’t know.”

Mark clicks around on his computer, moving files around. “Didn’t think I’d what?”

Dustin shrugs. The night of the Halloween Dance, he and Chris headed down the beach to a bonfire party. They had ice cream afterwards and snuck into a bar to see a live band and they aren’t going out, it’s too early to tell, but lately Dustin seems happy.

Dustin folds his hands across his knee, forming a tent with his fingers. “I didn’t think you liked her enough. I’m just surprised, I guess. But if you really like her, then, whatever. It’s cool. I can dig that.”

“She’s nice,” Mark says, feeling defensive. He doesn’t know why though, because he’s being honest, he really thinks she’s nice.

“I know,” Dustin says, laughing at him little. He cradles his chin in his hand, watching as Mark cracks his knuckles right before he starts coding.

“She really is,” he says.

Dustin is wearing a “Kiss The Cook” apron when Mark walks in on him one afternoon, fussing over the Thanksgiving turkey on the kitchen counter.

“Mom,” Dustin says slowly. “Roasting a turkey is an exact art and you have to start by trying not to violate it. Here, watch.” He starts coating the turkey with butter using a spatula.

“Oh, hey there Mark,” Kirsten says when she sees him trudging through the door. Her smile is huge. “Do you want to help out with the turkey?” Mark doesn’t even get to answer before her cell phone rings and of course it’s someone important because she leaves and hands Mark the electric mixer.

“So, Mark,” Dustin says, waggling his eyebrows. “First Thanksgiving here in Newport.” He rubs his hands together, leaning forward. “Any plans?”

Mark just kind of grunts. Back in Chino when his mom had been alive, they would have pizza and chicken fingers and coke while watching the parade on TV. He misses it a little. He misses her too despite all the shitty stuff.

Eduardo shows up an hour before the turkey is ready, helping Richard move some boxes into the upstairs reading room. He’s in a white shirt and jeans that look wellworn. He laughs at something Richard says and when he catches Mark’s eye across the living room, blinks and swallows visibly.

“Hey, guess who I bumped into today,” Richard says, clapping Eduardo on the back.

“Dad!” Dustin groans. “Eduardo lives right next door!”

So Eduardo stays over for Thanksgiving dinner because his parents are away the entire week and there’s no one home and Richard is just really nice like that, inviting people over to sit down and eat his food. He’s so nice that he has Mark call Erica to invite her over too. Erica says she’s not sure yet because she’s working double shifts at the Crab Shack, but then she calls again and confirms and tells Mark how excited she is.

Mark meets her by the door when she arrives. “Mm,” she says and kisses his cheek. She smells like sweat and perfume.

“Erica," Mark says.

Thanksgiving dinner is not quiet. Richard and Kirsten talk over Dustin who regales Erica with stories about his childhood that make her laugh and snort into her iced tea. Mark’s never been able to make her laugh like that before. The food is great, there’s plenty of Turkey to go around, real cranberry sauce and not the canned kind and Erica’s hand is on his knee and she's smiling at him all throughout dinner.

Mark eyes Eduardo surreptitiously over the mashed potatoes.

“So,” Eduardo says, not looking directly at Mark. He's slouched so low in his seat, his eyes are nearly level with the table.

“Tell us about your website, Mark.”

“Well, Eduardo,” Mark says. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Still?” Eduardo says. Mark kicks him under the table. Eduardo kicks back twice as hard and his foot makes a little thumping noise that he covers up by pushing back his chair.

Mark smirks.

“You okay?” Erica asks him.

“Stellar,” he replies.

They do the dishes, Mark, Erica, Dustin and Eduardo. Dustin wipes the plates dry while Eduardo rinses them in the sink, piling them atop each other for Dustin to take. Mark and Erica stand by the kitchen counter and kiss. Erica is the type of person who really enjoys kissing, Mark knows, because she’s not afraid to do it in public and she likes to make happy noises in her throat.

Mark also knows that Eduardo has been watching them the whole time.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Eduardo asks, standing right behind him. Mark closes his eyes and pulls one arm back from around Erica’s waist. Her hair smells like a combination of smoke and sea and sweat.

“I’m busy,” Mark tells him.

“Mark.” Eduardo says his name with a little more insistence this time. Mark stills. “Whatever,” he says and Eduardo leads him by the elbow to a secluded hall and doesn’t let go of him until Mark shrugs off his arm. Eduardo spends a good amount of time staring at him intently, eyebrows tightly drawn together.

“What?” Mark says, “What is it?”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Eduardo leans over to kiss him, mouth opening to deepen the kiss. Mark gasps against him, like a stupid fish, but Eduardo’s grip on the hemline of his shirt is tight and difficult to shake off so he kisses back, carefully at first, and then more wetly, the heated slide of Eduardo’s hand against his back making his skin feel tight.

Eduardo walks him backwards and presses him flush against the wall, one knee shoved between his legs, rucking Mark’s shirt up over his ribs and rubbing a thumb across his nipples. Eduardo seems desperate and the feeling seeps into Mark, who mimes his urgency and grabs at Eduardo’s hair, pulling him closer and kissing him deeper, rutting against his knee. He sucks Eduardo’s lips into his mouth, the skin soft between his teeth, tasting like the lemon iced tea he just had. Fuck, Mark thinks, he wants to take all his clothes off.

“Mark,” Eduardo says, a ragged pant against Mark’s lips, tracing a finger up Mark’s side. Mark shivers and moans, hips twitching. He feels the press of Eduardo’s zipper against the front of his pajama bottoms and the friction is good, a slow steady drag of fabric against his cock.

“What are you trying to do Mark?” Eduardo says into his ear, nosing the skin there, and Mark knows he means with Erica. They’re pressed so close, Mark’s arms curled tightly around Eduardo’s waist, his lips against Eduardo’s cheek, moving.

Mark shudders all the way down to his feet, mind too cloudy with arousal to feel any real anger now. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question? You kiss and run, Wardo.” He says the nickname in spite.

“I have a girlfriend,” Eduardo says, like it’s a good excuse. “You know that.”

“And yet you’re here,” Mark says, resting his forehead against Eduardo’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He can’t summon the good humor to laugh.

“And yet I’m here,” Eduardo agrees a little more quietly. He pulls back abruptly, the atmosphere changing as soon as he steps back, loosening his arms from Mark’s shoulders. Mark doesn’t reach out for him and keeps his own arms hanging limply at his sides. They keep to opposite sides of the hall.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mark,” Eduardo says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.

“Yeah,” Mark says.

Mark is lying on the floor of the pool house when Dustin walks in with a bowl of ice cream, his face unreadable.

“Wasn’t that the most awkward dinner ever or what?” He plops down on the couch, licking his spoon clean, his feet up on the ottoman.

“Erica seems nice by the way,” he says a minute later. “She’s cute.”

Mark blinks at Dustin then at the ceiling before dropping his head back to the floor.

Mark walks in on Dustin and Chris making out on Dustin’s bed.

“The WiFi isn’t on,” he says just as Chris extracts himself from Dustin, rolling onto his back and looking up at him blearily. The room smells damp. The sheets are pushed to one side of the bed, some of it spilling over to the floor.

“Oh hey, Chino,” Chris says, pulling his shirt over his exposed stomach. He’s grinning lazily.

Dustin flushes as red as his hair and sits up, smoothing down his shirt. “Mark.”

Mark doesn’t look at Chris. “The WiFi,” he says again. “I didn’t know where the router was so I went up here to ask you.”

Dustin laughs, looking a little sheepish before sliding off the bed. “I’ll show you,” he says, walking in a strange, wobbly way like he’s managed to injure himself again. “C’mon.”

“Make it quick!" Chris calls after them, voice echoing in the hall. “Nice flipflops Chino!”

“Tell your boyfriend not to call me that," Mark mutters to Dustin. Dustin just looks at him in sympathy, scratching the back of his ear.

But Mark sees more of Chris after that, despite the tiny shred of dislike, mostly at home. Sometimes Chris comes over to “study”, or drops Dustin off from school, or has dinner with the rest of them, his arm thrown surreptitiously over Dustin’s shoulders, their thighs pressed together under the table. He’s civil to Mark, but very nice to Dustin and Mark supposes he can live with that as long as they don’t enter the pool house and Chris doesn’t touch his laptop.

Before the end of November, Mark gets a part time job at the Bait Shop, this place at the pier which is a restaurant by day and bar by night. He needs the money to get his site running and doesn’t want to ask Kirsten or Richard for any more favors. It’s pretty simple stuff anyway, he just has to bus tables and mop food off the floors. The pay is not bad and he only has to work sixteen hours a week so it’s manageable. He’s not built for manual labor but there’s something about the dull monotony of it that makes his mind stall any thoughts of Eduardo.

But then one Saturday afternoon, Eduardo shows up with Christy and a bunch of friends, spilling into the Bait Shop smelling like sand and seawater, Eduardo’s arm around Christy’s shoulders like a vice. Mark turns around so he’s facing the window and not their table, scraping crust off the floor with a breadknife, which is the least efficient thing to use, he knows, but he’s out of ideas.

“Hey Chino can I get a breakfast burrito?” Christy yells at him. Her friends all burst into laughter. Mark ignores them and continues scrubbing at the spot on the floor, wiping the sweat off his forehead against the sleeve of his hoodie. Another thing about the Bait Shop - Mark’s boss Alex doesn’t make him wear a specific uniform.

“Hey, Chino,” someone else says. And then Christy again: “Chino.”

“Christy, stop it.” It’s Eduardo and somehow that makes Mark angry beyond the point of reason. He tosses his rag back inside the cart and chucks off his apron. It’s a good thing his shift is almost up. He comes up to the bar and tells Alex, who’s checking inventory and sipping a margarita, that he isn’t feeling well.

“Aw,” she says, patting him on the head. “All right then curly, go home. You’re of no use here. Off with you! I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t forget, there’s a show tomorrow night. With an actual band living outside of town and everything!”

“I have school,” Mark says, shrugging on his backpack.

She just grins and winks, slapping him on the ass.

Mark has to pass Eduardo and his friends on his way out. He keeps his head up and doesn’t look at them directly but then Christy knocks an ice cream bowl over with her elbow and it shatters on the floor, louder than necessary. Right in Mark’s path, splattering his feet with bits of chocolate fudge.

“You better clean that up, Chino. Or it’s coming out of your pay.” She smiles at him, this annoyingly evenly-spaced teeth smile, batting her eyes. Mark takes one look at her then at Eduardo and immediately feels disgusted. Eduardo looks practically helpless next to Christy. Mark marches back inside, grabbing a mop, and quickly sweeps the mess off the floor, keeping his teeth from grinding together.

Afterwards, he heads straight out the door, unfastening the lock on his bike, his hands unable to stop shaking. Someone taps him on the shoulder and he jerks at the touch, scowling instantly. It’s Eduardo. Who else?

“Mark,” he says gently. Mark turns back to the lock. The key won’t fit. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Don’t talk to me,” he says to Eduardo who touches his shoulder again and then the top of his head.

“But I gave you that bike,” Eduardo says, laughing a little. Why is he laughing? “Listen,” he continues.

Mark ignores him, clambering on the bike. His shoes feel slippery against the pedal, his palm is sweaty against the handlebars. Behind him, Eduardo calls out his name but Mark doesn’t look over his shoulder, not even once, and keeps his eyes trained steadily forward.

“So what’ll it be,” Dustin asks, a few days before Christmas, Santa hat askew on his head. “The menorah,” He lifts it up to eye level. “Or the candycane? Hm?”

“I’m Jewish,” Mark tells him, erasing a file with a few keystrokes.

“Yeah, but, come on, man. Christmas or Hannukah? I know it’s hard to choose sometimes but you don’t have to! Not anymore, no! Let me introduce you to something I’d like to call Chrismukkah.”

Mark doesn’t even look up from his laptop.

Alex had been nice enough to give him his paycheck a week early, but he’s currently torn between wanting to purchase a domain name for the website and buying the Moskovitzes presents. The house is covered in wreathes and Christmas lights that blink red and green and blue and Mark’s got his name stitched on one of the Santa socks hanging from the mantel and it unsettles him. And then there’s Eduardo. Mark hasn’t spoken to him since that incident at the Bait Shop and sometimes he wonders why he even tries so hard with him when he’s got Erica and Eduardo’s got Christy, and isn’t that enough?

Mark runs into him at the mall when Erica takes him Christmas shopping. Surprisingly, Eduardo doesn’t have Christy hanging from his arm or his posse of neanderthals. And Eduardo looks tired, scanning the racks of clothing with disinterest and checking his phone every five seconds. He sees Mark across the room and smiles tightly, waving before putting his hand down quickly. Mark lifts a hand in an uncertain wave before Erica tugs him over to the women’s section.

Mark gets roped in to the Newport Christmas Party. He doesn’t bring a date because it’s last minute and Erica is working that night.

The Winklevii are sponsoring, and there’s Cameron with a Santa hat on by the pool and his brother, Tyler, smiling and shaking everyone’s hand. Divya is there too, wearing a New England sweatshirt, sipping on eggnog and standing next to Cameron. A few times Divya’s bumped his shoulder into Cameron’s ribs, flushing hotly into his drink before shaking his head.

Mark remembers them from last summer, in the dank alleyway at the pier, kissing where no one can see them. He feels a strange mix of guilt and agitation towards himself. Maybe it’s because everyone at the party has a date, even Dustin who sits mooning at Chris by the fountain, laughing at all his stupid jokes.

Mark stands by the pool for a few more minutes, hands in his pockets, watching people and listening to them talk business or commentate on the decorations. He chews on a sugar cookie for a whole minute before deciding to wander off. He doesn’t have his laptop on him. Kirsten confiscated it after asking Richard if he’d gotten it for Mark and Richard said no he thought Kirsten did and they decided to keep it at least until after the party so that Mark could socialize instead of sealing himself off in an empty room to use the WiFi.

So Mark walks with no destination in mind and finds Eduardo sitting alone in a corner, staring into his drink. Mark, against all reason, walks over to him. He stands in front of Eduardo, staring at the top of his head.

Eduardo looks up. “Hey,” he says, looking genuinely surprised, but he’s smiling, if a little tiredly, creases in the corner of his eyes. Mark sits down next to him and feels strangely serene even though he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the sugar cookie. He slumps against the padded seat, chewing his lip as Eduardo turns to look at him.

Eduardo is the first one to blink. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly.

“For which part?” Mark asks. But something in Eduardo’s eyes makes Mark quiet down.

“I know I haven’t been a good friend to you lately,” Eduardo says. “And I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that you confuse me all the time.”

“So essentially you’re blaming me for everything?”

“No,” Eduardo laughs. “No," he says, quieter. He won’t stop looking at Mark like he’s got something on his face. “I like you so much, you know? More than Christy or anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. You’re different. I don’t know. Special. You make me feel things.” Eduardo sighs, rolling his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, blushing faintly.

“I broke up with her,” he says finally, then shrugs his shoulders helplessly, all shy and sheepish. “For you,” he says.

Mark stares at him for a full minute before shrugging back. His ears turn hot all of a sudden. Eduardo looks at him, then away, down to the pool where a bunch of older people are drinking champagne in sparkling glasses.

“Why now?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Because it’s Christmas?” Eduardo answers. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of you spending it alone.”

“I have Dustin,” Mark says, but he’s rambling now. “And Kirsten and Richard. I wouldn’t be completely alone.”

“Yeah, well,” Eduardo says. “I wasn’t sure when the right time to tell you would be but you’re here now, so. I thought. I don’t know. I’d tell you. So I did.”

Mark looks at him, blinks, and Eduardo laughs again, a real laugh that makes Mark feel silly and stupid, like he’s five years old and worn his clothes inside out. He’s looking at him again, earnest, his eyes soft and brown.

“I like you, Mark,” Eduardo says seriously. He looks like he’s about to do something embarrassingly idiotic too, like kiss Mark in front of all these people, so Mark snorts and rolls his eyes, breaking his gaze. But Mark moves his knee so that they’re sitting even closer, their thighs touching, Eduardo’s breath right next to his ear.

“Thanks,” Mark tells him, and he means it. He feels oddly light inside. “That’s always nice to hear.”

Christmas morning, Mark finds Dustin on the living room floor, sorting out presents and shaking boxes near his ear. Kirsten is drinking coffee in her pink bathrobe, her legs crossed as she reads the morning paper. Richard has Dustin’s fake beard on, pulled down to his chin.

“Ah, Mark,” Dustin says, handing him a particularly heavy-looking box. “This is for you, I believe. It has your name on it. And it’s from all of us.” He grins and Mark puts down his hot chocolate, wiping his mouth against the back of his sleeve. He looks at Richard who waggles his eyebrows at him and Kirsten who leans forward expectantly, newspaper unfurled.

Mark turns the box over in his hands and rips out the wrapping paper and it’s a laptop. “It’s a laptop,” he says, completely dumbfounded. He looks at the three of them again, their faces alight and grinning, and swallows at the lump in his throat.

“It’s a laptop,” he repeats. He can hardly believe it.

“Yep,” Dustin confirms, making a weird face. “Now you’re just stating the obvious, Mark.”

“Merry Christmas, Mark,” Richard says to him, clapping Mark on the back and ruffling his hair. He’s smiling and so is Kirsten.

Dustin is aghast. “Dad!” he says, gasping. “It’s Chrismukkah! Geez, get with the program.”

“Right, right. Chrismukkah.”

From her perch on the sofa, Kirsten throws her head back and laughs.

Eduardo comes by after breakfast, surfboard cradled under one arm. He kisses Mark against the doorway, his hand touching Mark’s face, his nose brushing Mark’s cheek.

“Wait,” he says, and then puts his surfboard on the floor, before going to kiss Mark again, a wet, open-mouthed kiss that tastes salty like the sea and makes Mark’s knees buckle underneath him.

“Merry Christmas,” Eduardo says when he pulls away, grinning.

“It’s Chrismukkah,” Mark tells him.

They head to the beach.

The other night after the party they were there too, walking along the shoreline, barefoot, keeping their hands stuffed inside their pockets, with the wind cool and gritty around them. They kissed in the backseat of Eduardo’s car and then later again in the pool house, Eduardo’s fingers twined around Mark’s hair while Mark curled his arms around Eduardo’s waist and stroked the skin of his back experimentally. They fell asleep on the pull-out mattress, facing away from each other, and Eduardo didn’t leave the next day which was always a good sign, and it was nice of him, it really was. He even stayed for breakfast and helped Mark blow up the inflatable lounger.

The beach is nearly empty in the early morning, just a few surfers and seagulls cawing on the sand, looking for food. Eduardo props his surfboard next to him, scanning the waves. He’s wearing boardshorts that hang low against his hips with pictures of white sailboats on them.

“No bikes on the beach,” Eduardo tells Mark, poking him in the ribs and shaking his head. “Jesus. You’re wearing your hoodie too.”

“I don’t wear anything else,” Mark protests, ducking when Eduardo reaches out for him. Eduardo grabs his wrists, holds onto them for a moment before pulling away, remembering where they are.

“Fancy a swim?” he asks, eyebrows raised hopefully. He grins, all teeth and kind eyes.

“Do I look like the type?” Mark asks.

Eduardo laughs and swings an arm around Mark’s shoulders, ruffling his curls. They listen to the roar of the sea for a minute, the tide rising and falling.

“You have to learn how to assimilate some time,” Eduardo says to him. “You’re in Newport now, Chino.” He squeezes Mark gently and Mark slumps against Eduardo’s arm, tilting his head towards his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, watching the sun peek out above the water. “I guess I am.”

end.