fic: all along, i believed i would find you (Mark/Eduardo, Prompt 7)
Title: all along, i believed i would find you
Recipient: salvadore_hart
Prompt Number: 7
Characters/Pairings: Pre-Mark/Eduardo
Rating/Warnings: T for breif mentions of sexualized dreams, alcohol consumption of a minor, non-explict reincarnation, and general silliness
Word Count: 1858
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts.
Summary (or prompt scenario): I do cartwheels in your honor, my own secret ceremonials -- mark dancing at a party/festival/event, somewhat drunk and this is how he and Eduardo meet...well, remeet because time cannot keep an Eduardo away from Mark. Or, in which reincarnated Mark drunkenly meets Wardo and Wardo is still stuck on the fact that he finally found Mark again.
Notes: I think I variated from the original prompt but I went to go listen to the song and I was like "oh, she wants to meet the ghost, lol, okay" and them boom, reincarnation (ghosts of the past, get it?) happened. I'm sorry. It you don't like it though, I could re-fill it, just say the word.
all along, i believed i would find you
For a few years now, Mark had been having the strangest, most vivid dreams of his life. He forgot other dreams but these stuck to him, woke him up in the middle of the night with gasps and panting.
He had been fourteen when the first one came, full of blood and pristine white columns that would eventually feed into his infatuation with the Greco-Roman culture. There was togas, and an older version of him (he was sure of it, he could recognize his own hair) and another boy, no man, who was tan. They would talk, speaking gibberish for long periods of time, sitting by the ocean, except it was more clear than the ones his mother would take him to.
Sunnier too, now that Mark thought about it.
Mark continued to have dreams set in historical places: the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Pacific during World War II. Places that seemed vague to him at that age, but he was able to have vivid sensory details: the feel of sweat, how the blood cloyed and congealed on his skin, the taste of salt. After a while, Mark figured that the dreams just came from things he had digested in history class or saw on tv, not looking any further into the fact that it was always him and a tan man (who’s face always seemed to be blurry or faced away from where Mark was trying to look) surrounded by a couple side characters that never seemed to change, no matter how old he became.
The only thing that changed really was how…graphic…the dreams had become. How now, instead of simply talking to the tan man, they now touched. Touched in ways that made Mark’s toes curl into his sheets as Tan Man’s mouth trailed down his chest, fingers pushing into skin, leaving phantom touches on Mark’s hips that Mark swore stuck with him for hours afterwards.
-
Mark felt really uncomfortable walking (being dragged by Dustin, but he was trying to ignore his fairly new roommates babble as long as possible) to his own fraternity by Dustin, who said that “it was almost Spring Break and Mark you have to come, since you haven’t in forever”. He was uncomfortable because Mark a) didn’t like Dustin touching him , b) really had wanted to make a few adjustments to Synapse, and c) Dustin looked a little too familiar to Joe, one of his fellow soldiers that was with him in the Pacific, the dream still heavy on his mind.
“Dustin, it’s the Jewish fraternity,” Mark explained, calmly, like he was explaining something to a five year old, “they are probably so desperate people that they accost people in the middle of the street for members.”
“You’re the worst Jew that ever Jewed, your opinion doesn’t matter,” Dustin explained cheekily. “Come on Mark, just have some fun. With other people, in human. Communicate. You’re already in the fraternity; you might as well enjoy your fellow brothers of Abraham. ”
“I know how to have fun Dustin. I also know how to have a conversation with people,” Mark said with a frown, ignoring the implications hinted at him about Dustin’s on-going, diagnostic theory about him being high-functioning Asperser’s. “I just choose not to have conversations with idiots; you’re just the exception.”
Mark’s tone held no real bite; he knew Dustin was intelligent, not to mention he actually understood most of Mark’s obscure movie references when he made them. That, however, did not stop Dustin from being messy, running all over the grocery store the one time Mark had gone with him (pointing at things), and doing all of those things that involved touching Mark for no apparent reason.
“Suuuuure you do Mark,” Dustin said before tugging on Mark’s hoodie sleeve again to get his attention. They had arrived. “Sure you do.”
Mark rolled his eyes and followed Dustin into the front door of the Jewish fraternity building, looking around at all of the yellow and blue that adorned people (although he wasn’t able to tell if that was from the color blindness or from the Jewish bit). There was guys talking by a table, sheathed in white while a lot of people seemed to be swaying to some hyped-up, bass heavy song, none of them having any real beat of rhythm as they flailed.
There were some girls but most of them disliked Mark or Mark didn’t know them well enough to attempt to talk to them. Besides that, there were more important things than girls: like the alcohol that he would probably need to get through the evening if Dustin was so insistent about being by his side the whole evening.
He managed to break away by pointing out Chris (who had originally told Dustin he wasn’t coming, probably to escape the clinging), making Dustin bounce over and begin to harass Chris, the guy he had been talking to inching slowly away.
Mark approached the table holding the alcohol, trying not to touch the couple that was making out in front of the table (because if he was able to see the tongue action, then they were doing it wrong). He grabbed randomly at one of the bottles of beer, not having a preference of beer, seeing as he only drank when he was at these parties. He popped open the tab, the can surprisingly not fizzing and shooting all over his face like the first time he opened a canned beer. He drank a sip, making a face before taking a bigger gulp of the light yellow colored liquid.
-
It was later in the night and Mark was a little over the line of tipsy, slowly progressing to the side of drunk. Then Dustin found where he was leaning against the wall to keep the walls from spinning so fast. He pulled Mark on to the dance floor laughing all the while. Mark joined him before pressing himself against Dustin’s shoulder to stop the slight spinning. Dustin instead grabbed his hand and started jumping up in down. It looked like an awesome idea so Mark joined in.
Then Dustin started waving wildly.
“Wardo! Wardo,” he shouted and all of a sudden there was someone behind Mark, his warmth a bit infectious. He leaned back, lolling his head on to the shoulder, not being as discriminatory as he usually was. It wasn't that he didn't like guys, he had just never found a guy to like enough in public.
“Mark,” Dustin screamed into his ear, over the sounds of the bass. “This is Wardo, you should daaaaaaaaaaance. Dance with him Wardo; you keep staring at h-.”
“I’ll dance with him, now shoo Dustin,” the voice behind him said, a slight accent to his words that sounded Hispanic. “Go find Chris. I think he was vomiting upstairs.”
Dustin beamed at Mark (and probably Wardo too, his mind helpfully added), like a proud mother might, before taking off, a slight lean in his walk.
Mark turned around and pressed closer against the warmth, before moving his feet, his hands hanging limp by his side. ‘Wardo’ laughed before pulling his hands around his neck and slowly swaying them. It felt familiar to Mark, except instead of the bass he started thinking about secluded starlit fields and the slight echo of a jazz song that Mark started humming against Wardo’s shirt.
He felt Wardo’s body shudder, so he looked up to ask what was wrong. He inhaled sharply.
“ ‘s you,” Mark mumbled, his words slurring together in a way that had to be attractive. Very attractive. Wardo had to be swoon, that was why he was tilting forward. “ ‘ou’re the guy ‘m my dreams. I 'member you. 'ou keep trying to screw me.”
Wardo stared at Mark, unblinking and a bit unnerving, before laughing loudly, throwing his head backwards. He helped Mark stand up, keeping him upright for a moment, just keeping him standing.
"Hi Mark," Wardo said after a moment, beaming brightly at Mark, making him confused. Why was he smiling so bright? Nobody should be smiling that bright at Mark, he insulted people too much to earn a smile like that. "It's nice to meet you finally. Dustin told me so much about you in our eco class."
"And...and...and you're Wardo," Mark said slowly, "and I haven't 'eard of you. But...but I've seen you. I swear I have."
"I believe you Mark," Eduardo murmured as he led them across the floor, to the door , and the blessed cool air instead of the hot, pulsing beat of inside. Mark squirmed away from Eduardo before going to the middle of the grass and raised his arms above his head, wobbling slightly before letting instinct come and carry him to the side, doing a cartwheel. He landed a little wobbly (okay, a lot wobbly) but threw his head back with a laugh.
He looked over at Eduardo, who was watching his with that same, agitating smile.
Just to spite him, Mark vomited, as the alcohol finally hit him full force.
-
The night blurred slightly after that point. He remembered getting back to his dorm, clinging to Wardo, telling him about one or two of him dreams in broken snatches. After that, Mark remembers falling into bed, grasping on to a warm hand, and someone saying his name with such infinite tenderness, Mark couldn't tell if it was real or him dropping off into his latest dream about the tan man who looked like Wardo.
The dream was...nice. It wasn't as sexed up or urgent as usual, more soft traces against his face than usual, except this time he did see a face. It made Mark shiver and turn into the phantom hand that left his face as soon as he turned into it. Then it was a blissful darkness with no deep or mediocre thinking required.
Now it was one the next afternoon, and Mark was rolling over with a groan to face outwards instead of curled right near the wall. Mark pushed his alarm clock off of his nightstand, hoping that he could pop off the back and make the ringing noise stop. It worked and he was in blissful silence until he was interrupted by a happy voice.
"Here, I grabbed you a Red Bull," said the voice, making Mark crack open an eye and half-heartedly glare at the kind person who brought him the can. It was the tan faced boy....Wardo.
"Is your real name Wardo or is that short for something," Mark grumbled, snatching the can away from him with greedy fingers.
"Short for Eduardo Saverin actually," Wardo, Eduardo, remarked, grabbing the chair behind him and sitting in it. "And is Mark short for Markus?"
"No, just Mark," he replied shortly when the stupid tab wouldn't open on the can. "Mark Zuckerberg."
Eduardo grabbed the can from his hand, opening the can easily before handing it back to Mark who drank it down with grateful, appreciative noises.
"Nice to meet you Mark Zuckerberg," he remarked absently, the corners of his mouth twitching like he had his own inside joke.
"Nice to meet you."
Recipient: salvadore_hart
Prompt Number: 7
Characters/Pairings: Pre-Mark/Eduardo
Rating/Warnings: T for breif mentions of sexualized dreams, alcohol consumption of a minor, non-explict reincarnation, and general silliness
Word Count: 1858
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts.
Summary (or prompt scenario): I do cartwheels in your honor, my own secret ceremonials -- mark dancing at a party/festival/event, somewhat drunk and this is how he and Eduardo meet...well, remeet because time cannot keep an Eduardo away from Mark. Or, in which reincarnated Mark drunkenly meets Wardo and Wardo is still stuck on the fact that he finally found Mark again.
Notes: I think I variated from the original prompt but I went to go listen to the song and I was like "oh, she wants to meet the ghost, lol, okay" and them boom, reincarnation (ghosts of the past, get it?) happened. I'm sorry. It you don't like it though, I could re-fill it, just say the word.
all along, i believed i would find you
For a few years now, Mark had been having the strangest, most vivid dreams of his life. He forgot other dreams but these stuck to him, woke him up in the middle of the night with gasps and panting.
He had been fourteen when the first one came, full of blood and pristine white columns that would eventually feed into his infatuation with the Greco-Roman culture. There was togas, and an older version of him (he was sure of it, he could recognize his own hair) and another boy, no man, who was tan. They would talk, speaking gibberish for long periods of time, sitting by the ocean, except it was more clear than the ones his mother would take him to.
Sunnier too, now that Mark thought about it.
Mark continued to have dreams set in historical places: the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Pacific during World War II. Places that seemed vague to him at that age, but he was able to have vivid sensory details: the feel of sweat, how the blood cloyed and congealed on his skin, the taste of salt. After a while, Mark figured that the dreams just came from things he had digested in history class or saw on tv, not looking any further into the fact that it was always him and a tan man (who’s face always seemed to be blurry or faced away from where Mark was trying to look) surrounded by a couple side characters that never seemed to change, no matter how old he became.
The only thing that changed really was how…graphic…the dreams had become. How now, instead of simply talking to the tan man, they now touched. Touched in ways that made Mark’s toes curl into his sheets as Tan Man’s mouth trailed down his chest, fingers pushing into skin, leaving phantom touches on Mark’s hips that Mark swore stuck with him for hours afterwards.
-
Mark felt really uncomfortable walking (being dragged by Dustin, but he was trying to ignore his fairly new roommates babble as long as possible) to his own fraternity by Dustin, who said that “it was almost Spring Break and Mark you have to come, since you haven’t in forever”. He was uncomfortable because Mark a) didn’t like Dustin touching him , b) really had wanted to make a few adjustments to Synapse, and c) Dustin looked a little too familiar to Joe, one of his fellow soldiers that was with him in the Pacific, the dream still heavy on his mind.
“Dustin, it’s the Jewish fraternity,” Mark explained, calmly, like he was explaining something to a five year old, “they are probably so desperate people that they accost people in the middle of the street for members.”
“You’re the worst Jew that ever Jewed, your opinion doesn’t matter,” Dustin explained cheekily. “Come on Mark, just have some fun. With other people, in human. Communicate. You’re already in the fraternity; you might as well enjoy your fellow brothers of Abraham. ”
“I know how to have fun Dustin. I also know how to have a conversation with people,” Mark said with a frown, ignoring the implications hinted at him about Dustin’s on-going, diagnostic theory about him being high-functioning Asperser’s. “I just choose not to have conversations with idiots; you’re just the exception.”
Mark’s tone held no real bite; he knew Dustin was intelligent, not to mention he actually understood most of Mark’s obscure movie references when he made them. That, however, did not stop Dustin from being messy, running all over the grocery store the one time Mark had gone with him (pointing at things), and doing all of those things that involved touching Mark for no apparent reason.
“Suuuuure you do Mark,” Dustin said before tugging on Mark’s hoodie sleeve again to get his attention. They had arrived. “Sure you do.”
Mark rolled his eyes and followed Dustin into the front door of the Jewish fraternity building, looking around at all of the yellow and blue that adorned people (although he wasn’t able to tell if that was from the color blindness or from the Jewish bit). There was guys talking by a table, sheathed in white while a lot of people seemed to be swaying to some hyped-up, bass heavy song, none of them having any real beat of rhythm as they flailed.
There were some girls but most of them disliked Mark or Mark didn’t know them well enough to attempt to talk to them. Besides that, there were more important things than girls: like the alcohol that he would probably need to get through the evening if Dustin was so insistent about being by his side the whole evening.
He managed to break away by pointing out Chris (who had originally told Dustin he wasn’t coming, probably to escape the clinging), making Dustin bounce over and begin to harass Chris, the guy he had been talking to inching slowly away.
Mark approached the table holding the alcohol, trying not to touch the couple that was making out in front of the table (because if he was able to see the tongue action, then they were doing it wrong). He grabbed randomly at one of the bottles of beer, not having a preference of beer, seeing as he only drank when he was at these parties. He popped open the tab, the can surprisingly not fizzing and shooting all over his face like the first time he opened a canned beer. He drank a sip, making a face before taking a bigger gulp of the light yellow colored liquid.
-
It was later in the night and Mark was a little over the line of tipsy, slowly progressing to the side of drunk. Then Dustin found where he was leaning against the wall to keep the walls from spinning so fast. He pulled Mark on to the dance floor laughing all the while. Mark joined him before pressing himself against Dustin’s shoulder to stop the slight spinning. Dustin instead grabbed his hand and started jumping up in down. It looked like an awesome idea so Mark joined in.
Then Dustin started waving wildly.
“Wardo! Wardo,” he shouted and all of a sudden there was someone behind Mark, his warmth a bit infectious. He leaned back, lolling his head on to the shoulder, not being as discriminatory as he usually was. It wasn't that he didn't like guys, he had just never found a guy to like enough in public.
“Mark,” Dustin screamed into his ear, over the sounds of the bass. “This is Wardo, you should daaaaaaaaaaance. Dance with him Wardo; you keep staring at h-.”
“I’ll dance with him, now shoo Dustin,” the voice behind him said, a slight accent to his words that sounded Hispanic. “Go find Chris. I think he was vomiting upstairs.”
Dustin beamed at Mark (and probably Wardo too, his mind helpfully added), like a proud mother might, before taking off, a slight lean in his walk.
Mark turned around and pressed closer against the warmth, before moving his feet, his hands hanging limp by his side. ‘Wardo’ laughed before pulling his hands around his neck and slowly swaying them. It felt familiar to Mark, except instead of the bass he started thinking about secluded starlit fields and the slight echo of a jazz song that Mark started humming against Wardo’s shirt.
He felt Wardo’s body shudder, so he looked up to ask what was wrong. He inhaled sharply.
“ ‘s you,” Mark mumbled, his words slurring together in a way that had to be attractive. Very attractive. Wardo had to be swoon, that was why he was tilting forward. “ ‘ou’re the guy ‘m my dreams. I 'member you. 'ou keep trying to screw me.”
Wardo stared at Mark, unblinking and a bit unnerving, before laughing loudly, throwing his head backwards. He helped Mark stand up, keeping him upright for a moment, just keeping him standing.
"Hi Mark," Wardo said after a moment, beaming brightly at Mark, making him confused. Why was he smiling so bright? Nobody should be smiling that bright at Mark, he insulted people too much to earn a smile like that. "It's nice to meet you finally. Dustin told me so much about you in our eco class."
"And...and...and you're Wardo," Mark said slowly, "and I haven't 'eard of you. But...but I've seen you. I swear I have."
"I believe you Mark," Eduardo murmured as he led them across the floor, to the door , and the blessed cool air instead of the hot, pulsing beat of inside. Mark squirmed away from Eduardo before going to the middle of the grass and raised his arms above his head, wobbling slightly before letting instinct come and carry him to the side, doing a cartwheel. He landed a little wobbly (okay, a lot wobbly) but threw his head back with a laugh.
He looked over at Eduardo, who was watching his with that same, agitating smile.
Just to spite him, Mark vomited, as the alcohol finally hit him full force.
-
The night blurred slightly after that point. He remembered getting back to his dorm, clinging to Wardo, telling him about one or two of him dreams in broken snatches. After that, Mark remembers falling into bed, grasping on to a warm hand, and someone saying his name with such infinite tenderness, Mark couldn't tell if it was real or him dropping off into his latest dream about the tan man who looked like Wardo.
The dream was...nice. It wasn't as sexed up or urgent as usual, more soft traces against his face than usual, except this time he did see a face. It made Mark shiver and turn into the phantom hand that left his face as soon as he turned into it. Then it was a blissful darkness with no deep or mediocre thinking required.
Now it was one the next afternoon, and Mark was rolling over with a groan to face outwards instead of curled right near the wall. Mark pushed his alarm clock off of his nightstand, hoping that he could pop off the back and make the ringing noise stop. It worked and he was in blissful silence until he was interrupted by a happy voice.
"Here, I grabbed you a Red Bull," said the voice, making Mark crack open an eye and half-heartedly glare at the kind person who brought him the can. It was the tan faced boy....Wardo.
"Is your real name Wardo or is that short for something," Mark grumbled, snatching the can away from him with greedy fingers.
"Short for Eduardo Saverin actually," Wardo, Eduardo, remarked, grabbing the chair behind him and sitting in it. "And is Mark short for Markus?"
"No, just Mark," he replied shortly when the stupid tab wouldn't open on the can. "Mark Zuckerberg."
Eduardo grabbed the can from his hand, opening the can easily before handing it back to Mark who drank it down with grateful, appreciative noises.
"Nice to meet you Mark Zuckerberg," he remarked absently, the corners of his mouth twitching like he had his own inside joke.
"Nice to meet you."