fic: just forget the world (Mark/Eduardo, Prompt 100)
Mark moves in when he’s six years old.
Eduardo is eight, and Mark frowns at him, eyebrows knitting together.
“I’m Mark,” he says, and his voice is clear, sure, but he’s worried - the boy’s just staring at him.
Eduardo smiles, and it makes Mark feel relaxed.
“Eduardo,” he says.
Mr. Saverin (Mark isn’t to call him Dad, not yet) puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder, squeezing, once. “He’ll be living with us now,” he says, and his voice is calm but Mark feels worried, still. “We’re adopting him. You two are going to be brothers.”
Eduardo’s grin widens and it’s sort of scary; it doesn’t look real and Mark starts to shift under Mr. Saverin’s hand, wanting to get away, to lie down in his bed and go to sleep.
Eventually he’s allowed, and he’s sitting in his bedroom, alone, when Eduardo shows up.
“You can call me Wardo,” he says, and Mark’s eyes widen at the sight of him - he’s older and smarter and nice and he smiles a lot - like now, he’s smiling and it doesn’t look fake anymore. “If you want. Since we’re brothers.”
Mark nods. “I’m still Mark,” he says, because that’s what his mom used to call him and you can’t make Mark shorter without it sounding silly.
Wardo grins and walks forward, wrapping Mark in a hug. “You’re my brother and I’m always going to protect you, okay?” he says, soft in Mark’s ear.
He closes his eyes and nods, holding him (his brother) tight.
That night, he spends the night with Wardo.
They lie in the same bed and Mark reaches his hand out, holds Wardo’s, tight, because he’s afraid to sleep in his own bed, his own bed that’s at a house that he doesn’t know.
Wardo holds his hand back, squeezes, and Mark feels less alone.
//
Wardo is, for lack of a better word, Mark’s protector.
(He puts that label on himself when they’re ten years old and eating peanut butter sandwiches, sitting at the kitchen table.
He nudges Mark’s ankle with his foot and smiles, wide, teeth covered in peanut butter.
“You’re like the princess,” he says, “and I’m the one sent to protect you.”
Mark makes a face. “I’m not a princess,” he protests, because he isn’t, he’s a boy, no matter what the kids at school say. “I can take care of myself.”
Eduardo grins and he shakes his head. “Nope, you can’t.”
Mark glares at him and he’s about to start shouting but Mr. Saverin (Dad, he reminds himself, he’s allowed to call him that now if he so chooses - and he suspects that he’d better as hell choose that) walks in, then, looking livid, and Mark’s back straightens reflexively. “Dad,” he says, and forces a smile.
He barely gets a glance in return but still, Mark feels himself relax the slightest amount,a nd the softest of nudges under the table makes him smile at Wardo.
He feels - something, in the pit of his stomach, something warm and nice and for a moment he freezes, blanching, because he thinks he knows what that means.
No, he says, tells himself, and it’s as though he’s shouting in his mind, no, this isn’t okay.
“Mark,” he hears Mr. Saverin say, brusque, dismissive, and he inclines his head out of reflex.
“Have a good day at work?” he asks.
The stormy gaze turned on him is enough to make him wilt, sit up straighter in his chair. “No,” is all he says.
Mark nods, stiff and prim and proper. “I’m sorry,” he says, and looks back down at his plate, folding his hands together.
He hears a disapproving sniff and then Mr. Saverin leaves.
Mark lets out his breath, shaking his head.
Under the table, Eduardo kicks him, and when Mark looks up he smiles, stands up, holds out a hand. “Let’s go outside.”
They do.
//
“If you don’t like the way I treat you,” Mr. Saverin growls, “you can get out of my house.”
Mark shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I tried that. You called the police.”
“You’re my son.”
“You’ve never been my father,” Mark says, voice low, and he leaves, ignoring the attempts to call him back.
He groans, flopping back against his bed, closing his eyes. Mark hasn’t slept in Wardo’s room since he was - shit, since he was about eleven, since he started having to call Mr. Saverin Dad (which is incredibly fucked up because he’s not Mark’s father and no amount of birthday gifts or stern glances are going to change that fucking fact), and he finally stopped going to Wardo for help, because what sort of kid needs his big brother to take care of him?
(And Mark - he has a problem, a huge fucking problem, because - he wants Eduardo in every way that he shouldn’t, wants to hold him tight and never, ever let him go - and that isn’t right, isn’t healthy, and he’s not going to let that show, and if it takes staying in his bedroom to do it that’s what he’s doing.)
His father has been yelling at him, though, and Mark goes to Wardo’s door, that night, leans himself against the door frame, bites his lip.
“Wardo?” he asks, soft, because he hasn’t been here in a while, but it’s still the same. There’s still pictures of Wardo and his friends (and he’s graduating soon, Mark reminds himself, but he can’t think about that, about the Saverin household without the one good thing there) and there’s a banner of a sports team that Mark’s sure he should know the name of but doesn’t.
Wardo looks up, eyes wide, and he grins, open and easy. “Mark,” he says, and it’s as though they’re best friends again, because Mark has never really stopped loving him, wanting him, and he’s not going to make himself leave now.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and grins at him. Wardo returns to his computer monitor, doing something that Mark can’t figure out, and he lies back against the bed, shutting his eyes.
He doesn’t sleep but almost, and the steady click-clacking of keys lulls him into a sense of softness, an almost dreamlike world.
He wakes out of it to Wardo’s hand on his forehead, on his arm, a light squeeze. “Mark, you have - I have to sleep.”
Mark blinks and smiles, shy. “I - I know it’s weird and you’re older and I’m older, shit, but I was wondering if I could spend the night in here.” He wouldn’t ask, but he needs not to be alone tonight; he needs to be able to lie there and listen to another person breathe, and it isn’t about wanting Wardo so much as not wanting to be alone.
Wardo seems to get it, and he nods, smile stretching across his face. “Yeah,” and he looks down, bites his lip. “I’ll just - change.”
Mark’s already dressed for sleep, in a pair of soft sweatpants that are the cleanest he owns. He crawls under the covers and waits, shaking a bit.
Wardo smiles at him and it’s comfortable, for a minute, and Mark has the almost overwhelming urge to grab him, kiss him, but he won’t. Instead, he lies there, waits for Eduardo to get comfortable.
He smiles at Mark and kisses him on the forehead, just like he used to do, and it’s entirely comfortable and brotherly, Mark reminds himself, they’re brothers, nothing more.
“Are you okay?” Wardo whispers, in the dark, once everything’s settled.
Mark nods, and it rustles, soft. He turns his head; in the dim light coming from the moon, he can almost see him. “Yeah,” and this is whispered, too, softer than he’s used to. “I - just needed to not be alone.”
“I know,” and this isn’t condescending, isn’t anything but a promise. “Good night, Mark.”
Wardo falls asleep fairly quickly and Mark just listens to him for a long while, until sleep overtakes him, too.
//
He wakes up, and his head is pillowed on Wardo’s chest.
He panics, for the briefest of moments, because this is Eduardo and Mark wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone but they’re brothers, practically related, this is terrible and if Wardo knew the thoughts Mark had, biting his cries into the crook of his arm -
And then Wardo snuffles - and this is all very brotherly, Wardo cares about him because they’re brothers, if not by blood than by - well, shit, Mark’s lived here practically his whole fucking life - and shifts closer, mumbles in his sleep.
And Mark doesn’t move, doesn’t want to move - and he’s not one for indulging in fantasies but he lets himself pretend.
(He pretends that it doesn’t matter, that he’s allowed to kiss Eduardo awake when he wants, that he can hold his hand, that Wardo even wants him to hold his hand.
It hurts, but the good kind of hurt - it’s worth it, the pretending, because it’s as close as Mark’s ever going to get to the real thing.)
He sleeps, again.
/
(Wardo smiles at Mark whenever he can because they’re close, they should be close, they should absolutely have a nice relationship - shouldn’t they?
He should be able to smile at Mark without his heart stuttering a tap-tap-tap in his chest, though, too - but he can’t have everything.
And when Mark asks if he can spend the night, Wardo can’t keep the stupid fucking grin off of his face, and he nods; and when he turns around to change he bites his lip, hard. He’s missed being in the same bed as Mark, missed being able to turn to him in the middle of the night and have him still be there.
Mostly, though, mostly Eduardo’s missed being the one that Mark turns to when he needs help. He’s missed being there.
They sleep and Eduardo wakes up, as he always does, earlier than he should. He shifts, presses another quick kiss to Mark’s forehead, and for a second lets the want crash over him, hot and powerful.
He closes his eyes, though, and settles down.
He’s always, always been in love with Mark but that doesn’t have to change anything; this doesn’t have to change anything, this moment, Mark sleeping, finally, his hands curled into fists like he’s a little kid again.
Eduardo smiles and has to shut his eyes, because it’s too much, seeing him like this - like the first promise of summer, the first warm day after too much cold - but not like that at all, he tells himself, because there’s no summer; there’s not going to be a reward like that, not with Mark.
Spring, he decides, and tucks a piece of hair behind Mark’s ear - this can be spring, almost everything but not quite enough.
He swallows, and shifts himself so he’s comfortable, the warm weight of Mark close to him. I’ll leave as soon as I get up, he decides, leave him alone.
He closes his eyes.)
/
When Mark wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty bed.
He tries not to let it affect him, as he stretches, pads back into his room - and he goes downstairs and Wardo is there, at the table, and he smiles at Mark. “Want breakfast?” he asks, “I made pancakes - there are a few left.”
Mark nods, and makes himself smile, because Wardo is too nice for him; because Wardo had only the purest of intentions in - shit - cuddling with Mark, and Mark isn’t going to be bitter about that. He shouldn’t have fallen in love with his stepbrother, then, if he didn’t want it to hurt.
(And it does hurt, so much; it hurts because he wants Wardo in every way that he can’t have him, and he never can, because it’s wrong, immoral, and he doesn’t get why because it doesn’t feel anything like that.)
He eats the pancakes, though, and thanks Wardo with a small grin.
There’s the faintest flicker of awkwardness between them, and it’s confirmed when Wardo stands up, hands shaking the slightest amount.
“I’ve got - to go, you know, things,” he says, and leaves in a hurry.
Mark just sits there for a long moment, and he bites his lip.
Wardo isn’t supposed to do that; Wardo has never, ever been rude to Mark, even when Mark hated everyone and everything. He’s always had a smile for him, at the very least, always tried.
And he closes his eyes, because one other thing has also always been true - Mark has always, always wanted Eduardo, and now - he knows, he has to know.
Fuck. Wardo’s going to hate him - because as nice as he is this is beyond that, this is Mark having feelings for who is essentially his brother, and he closes his eyes, tight, against the wave of pain crashing through him.
He’s never felt like this, before; it’s like heartbreak but something deeper, because there was never anything between them. There’s never been anything real, only what Mark wants and Wardo didn’t know about, and now he does and that’s going to be the end of it, there’s not going to be any more nice days spent together or nights spent curled around each other.
He swallows, and can’t finish his food - he tosses it out, running a hand through his hair.
He goes upstairs to code. That’s all that he can do, all that he wants to do, right now. (That’s a lie - he wants Wardo, too, wants to hold him, You don’t mind do you Wardo you want me too don’t you Wardo, but those are dangerous, dangerous thoughts that Mark won’t let himself think.)
He goes upstairs and loses himself entirely in the code, in the symbols on the page, and blocks out everything else.
/
(Wardo leaves, and he lets out a shuddery breath as soon as he gets in his car.
Mark, he thinks, and Mark had been smiling, a dot of syrup on the corner of his mouth, and Wardo’s hands had shaken, and he had to leave, because he’s not masochistic enough to see what would happen if he had stayed.
He doesn’t have the self-control for that.
I’ll stay away, he thinks, and that should be easy enough - and then he’ll graduate and he won’t have to think about it, won’t have to think about Mark sleeping only a room over, won’t have all of the wanting crashing over him.
It’ll be easier. It’ll have to be.)
/
They avoid each other, now.
Mark stays in his room more often than not and when Wardo drives him to school, he stares out the window, and neither of them try to make conversation.
Mark wants to apologize - he sort of needs to, with the way he’s treated Wardo over the years, with the ulterior motives behind every hug, every smile - but he can’t find the right words.
Sorry, bro, I’m in love with you? That’s not enough, and that’s not the half of it; it’s more than that, and not that at all.
Mark’s never really wanted anyone else - but that’s because there’s always been Wardo, always the constant in Mark’s life, and so he doesn’t know how to deal with this, can’t.
He stays at Dustin’s house more and more, and Dustin gives him knowing smiles and nudges his shoulder but thankfully doesn’t say anything. Dustin gets it, and he doesn’t push Mark into talking.
Chris does. Or, at least, he tries - Chris smiles at him and nods at Wardo and says “I think if -” and Mark hasn’t ever acknowledged it outside of his own mind and he shakes his head, perfectly sharp, because - “Shut up, Chris, I don’t want -” and he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Chris frowns at him, then, and looks sad - but Mark just shakes his head, closes his eyes, because this is his and he knew when the stupid crush started that it would only end badly.
How can it end differently? - because even if Wardo felt the same it isn’t as though anything could happen, should happen, because Mark is Mark, spends his days and nights coding and drinks too much Red Bull. Wardo, though, is brilliant, is handsome and charming and wonderful and he would be perfect for Mark but Mark isn’t perfect for Wardo.
He misses him, but he makes himself push that down, until it’s almost as though he can deal with it.
/
Mark’s sitting on his laptop, typing something for a website someone’s asked him to improve, and -
Wardo walks in, and he looks almost sheepish. “Mark. Have a minute?”
He nods, and turns around, head still swimming with details.
“I’m sorry,” Wardo says, and he looks down at the ground, “sorry to bother you, I just - there’s something going on at school next Wednesday, and I know you don’t like school events but I’d really appreciate if you’d be there.”
His father won’t; Mark can read that in the line of his shoulders, in the way he looks, already, defeated.
(Sometimes, Mark hates Mr. Saverin more than he can fathom. No one, no one should make his Wardo look like that.)
“What is it?” Mark asks, soft, going for soothing.
He looks up, and there’s the barest flicker of hope in his eyes that Mark can see him try to smash down. “I - well, I’m graduating - third in my class.”
Mark smiles, wide, and nods. “Of course I’ll go,” he says, “is your mother going?”
He nods, again, slower, almost shy, and he bites his lip. “I’m really proud of myself, Mark,” he whispers, and looks down at his hands, knotting them together.
“I’m proud of you, too, Wardo,” Mark says, because he needs to hear it, and because he is.
“It isn’t first,” Wardo whispers, and he bites his lip, looking up - he looks happier but it’s false, Mark can tell. “But thank you. I really appreciate you - you going.”
“Of course,” and Mark smiles. It’s almost like old times.
Wardo makes an aborted movement to hug him, and then he runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh - yeah. Thank you. You can go with her, sit together.”
Mark relaxes against the chair as soon as he’s gone. “Fuck,” he says, louder than he probably should, because he’d almost forgotten - they aren’t the same, anymore, and they’re not going to be for a long time.
/
Mark goes to the ceremony.
Wardo gets an award of some sort and Mark claps louder than anyone and his mother puts a hand on his arm, smiles at him.
“I want you to know,” she says, soft, and there’s a smile on the corners of her lips, “that I’ve always considered you my son as much as Eduardo.”
Mark swallows, and nods, looking down.
“And I know his father - my husband - has never treated you as you would like to be treated, but I love you just as much as I love all of my family.”
Mark blinks, and takes the hug that she offers him. “Thank you,” he whispers. They’ve never had that sort of discussion, but for years she’s been there for him, always there to give him a kiss on the cheek or help with his homework or just to hug him when he needed it.
There’s a moment of silence and then she says, “Sometimes, you really need to take a chance, meu fihlo.”
Mark swallows, sharp. “Uh - what do you mean?” because she can’t mean Wardo, no, she doesn’t know.
She smiles at him, and puts her hand over his. “I think you know what I am talking about, Mark.”
He stares at his lap.
“We all love you,” she says. “And that’s all I’ll say on that.”
“Thank you,” he whispers again, and there’s a lump in his throat.
She smiles at him.
/
Mark doesn’t talk to Wardo for a long time after that.
He avoids him more than he was before; because there’s take a chance but Mark won’t, can’t, because this isn’t something that doesn’t matter, this is Wardo, who Mark loves so fiercely he doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have him at all.
Now, they’re at a distance, and Mark prefers it that way because at least this way he doesn’t have to force smiles and pleasantries.
Until -
Wardo spins him around, one day, when he’s walking to his room.
Mark looks at him, frowning. “What -”
“Why the fuck are you avoiding me?” he asks, in a low voice.
Mark shakes his hea.d “I’m not,” and he starts to walk away.
Wardo growls and follows, grabs him, pulls him close - and then they’re kissing, and it’s hard, teeth and tongue and anger, hot and roiling - but lust, too, and Mark doesn’t want it to end -
And then Wardo’s pulling away, looking horrified. “I’m - fuck. I’m sorry,” and he goes into his room, slams the door behind him.
Mark lets out a shaky breath. Fuck.
/
Wardo comes to his room, that night.
Mark frowns at him, bites his lip. “I’m really sorry,” he begins.
“It isn’t your fault.” This comes out weak. Wardo clears his throat, swallows. “I, uh -”
“It’s okay,” Mark says, and he feels sick saying the words, but he has to, “you didn’t mean it, you don’t have to apologize.”
Wardo scoffs at that, and Mark freezes. So does Wardo.
“What,” Mark says, voice entirely flat.
“I’m just going to -“ Wardo starts, but no, that isn’t fair.
“Stay,” Mark says, and then, “please, I want you to stay, I want you,” and it’s everything he shouldn’t be saying but Wardo wanted to kiss him, he thinks, and he’s taking a fucking chance.
There’s a soft whimper of want, a sigh of relief, and then Wardo’s shut the door behind him, walks to Mark, kissing him, hard.
“Wardo,” Mark breathes out, and fumbles behind him for the bed, falling backwards, pulling Wardo on top of him, “Wardo,” and this is brilliant, wonderful, this is quite literally everything Mark has ever wanted and it’s exquisite - it’s Wardo kissing him, his thigh sure next to Mark, it’s Wardo’s cock, Jesus fuck, pressing a hard line against Mark’s pants.
“Mark,” and this is barely audible, and Wardo pulls off Mark’s shirt, almost reverent. “Mark, I don’t - querido, I don’t think you understand -”
“Please,” Mark whispers, and he wants anything, everything, “just - touch me, Wardo, please, I need you to.”
Wardo swallows, audible, and then he nods, fingers hooking in Mark’s pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and he stares at Mark until he squirms, covers himself up.
Wardo kisses the inside of his thigh, a soft, tender gesture, and he gives it a light nip. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, soft, reverent, and Mark doesn’t let himself argue.
/
(Wardo smiles up at Mark, between his legs, and he’s never wanted anything like he wants in this moment - and he’s had boyfriends before but he’s never wanted this, never liked savoring sex like this, drawing it out.
Mark pushes a hand into his hair. “Please,” he whimpers, voice catching.
Wardo gives a long lick up his cock before sucking him in, moving slowly, so slowly.
Mark lets out a shout that he quickly muffles, turning his head away from Wardo. “Oh - oh shit,” he breathes out, and Wardo hums, takes him down further, as far as he can. He wants to make Mark feel so good, needs him to come, wants to swallow it down - this is real and he needs to feel that.
After what seems like forever Mark’s fingers tighten and it’s - “Wardo, I think I’m going to - to come,” and then he is, back arching off of the bed, toes curling, and Wardo swallows him down, pulling off with a grin.
Mark makes a soft noise and reaches for him, pulls their lips together, kissing him hard, hand pushing into Wardo’s shorts, stroking him quick.
Wardo bites into Mark’s shoulder when he comes, and Mark kisses his cheek, wiping his hand off on the sheets.
For a moment, they just lie there, staring at each other, and Mark reaches out, soft, almost reverent.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
Wardo’s heart grows about eight sizes. “I would never,” he promises, and he never will, can’t imagine a world where he gives this up.)
/
He doesn’t.
Eduardo is eight, and Mark frowns at him, eyebrows knitting together.
“I’m Mark,” he says, and his voice is clear, sure, but he’s worried - the boy’s just staring at him.
Eduardo smiles, and it makes Mark feel relaxed.
“Eduardo,” he says.
Mr. Saverin (Mark isn’t to call him Dad, not yet) puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder, squeezing, once. “He’ll be living with us now,” he says, and his voice is calm but Mark feels worried, still. “We’re adopting him. You two are going to be brothers.”
Eduardo’s grin widens and it’s sort of scary; it doesn’t look real and Mark starts to shift under Mr. Saverin’s hand, wanting to get away, to lie down in his bed and go to sleep.
Eventually he’s allowed, and he’s sitting in his bedroom, alone, when Eduardo shows up.
“You can call me Wardo,” he says, and Mark’s eyes widen at the sight of him - he’s older and smarter and nice and he smiles a lot - like now, he’s smiling and it doesn’t look fake anymore. “If you want. Since we’re brothers.”
Mark nods. “I’m still Mark,” he says, because that’s what his mom used to call him and you can’t make Mark shorter without it sounding silly.
Wardo grins and walks forward, wrapping Mark in a hug. “You’re my brother and I’m always going to protect you, okay?” he says, soft in Mark’s ear.
He closes his eyes and nods, holding him (his brother) tight.
That night, he spends the night with Wardo.
They lie in the same bed and Mark reaches his hand out, holds Wardo’s, tight, because he’s afraid to sleep in his own bed, his own bed that’s at a house that he doesn’t know.
Wardo holds his hand back, squeezes, and Mark feels less alone.
//
Wardo is, for lack of a better word, Mark’s protector.
(He puts that label on himself when they’re ten years old and eating peanut butter sandwiches, sitting at the kitchen table.
He nudges Mark’s ankle with his foot and smiles, wide, teeth covered in peanut butter.
“You’re like the princess,” he says, “and I’m the one sent to protect you.”
Mark makes a face. “I’m not a princess,” he protests, because he isn’t, he’s a boy, no matter what the kids at school say. “I can take care of myself.”
Eduardo grins and he shakes his head. “Nope, you can’t.”
Mark glares at him and he’s about to start shouting but Mr. Saverin (Dad, he reminds himself, he’s allowed to call him that now if he so chooses - and he suspects that he’d better as hell choose that) walks in, then, looking livid, and Mark’s back straightens reflexively. “Dad,” he says, and forces a smile.
He barely gets a glance in return but still, Mark feels himself relax the slightest amount,a nd the softest of nudges under the table makes him smile at Wardo.
He feels - something, in the pit of his stomach, something warm and nice and for a moment he freezes, blanching, because he thinks he knows what that means.
No, he says, tells himself, and it’s as though he’s shouting in his mind, no, this isn’t okay.
“Mark,” he hears Mr. Saverin say, brusque, dismissive, and he inclines his head out of reflex.
“Have a good day at work?” he asks.
The stormy gaze turned on him is enough to make him wilt, sit up straighter in his chair. “No,” is all he says.
Mark nods, stiff and prim and proper. “I’m sorry,” he says, and looks back down at his plate, folding his hands together.
He hears a disapproving sniff and then Mr. Saverin leaves.
Mark lets out his breath, shaking his head.
Under the table, Eduardo kicks him, and when Mark looks up he smiles, stands up, holds out a hand. “Let’s go outside.”
They do.
//
“If you don’t like the way I treat you,” Mr. Saverin growls, “you can get out of my house.”
Mark shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I tried that. You called the police.”
“You’re my son.”
“You’ve never been my father,” Mark says, voice low, and he leaves, ignoring the attempts to call him back.
He groans, flopping back against his bed, closing his eyes. Mark hasn’t slept in Wardo’s room since he was - shit, since he was about eleven, since he started having to call Mr. Saverin Dad (which is incredibly fucked up because he’s not Mark’s father and no amount of birthday gifts or stern glances are going to change that fucking fact), and he finally stopped going to Wardo for help, because what sort of kid needs his big brother to take care of him?
(And Mark - he has a problem, a huge fucking problem, because - he wants Eduardo in every way that he shouldn’t, wants to hold him tight and never, ever let him go - and that isn’t right, isn’t healthy, and he’s not going to let that show, and if it takes staying in his bedroom to do it that’s what he’s doing.)
His father has been yelling at him, though, and Mark goes to Wardo’s door, that night, leans himself against the door frame, bites his lip.
“Wardo?” he asks, soft, because he hasn’t been here in a while, but it’s still the same. There’s still pictures of Wardo and his friends (and he’s graduating soon, Mark reminds himself, but he can’t think about that, about the Saverin household without the one good thing there) and there’s a banner of a sports team that Mark’s sure he should know the name of but doesn’t.
Wardo looks up, eyes wide, and he grins, open and easy. “Mark,” he says, and it’s as though they’re best friends again, because Mark has never really stopped loving him, wanting him, and he’s not going to make himself leave now.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and grins at him. Wardo returns to his computer monitor, doing something that Mark can’t figure out, and he lies back against the bed, shutting his eyes.
He doesn’t sleep but almost, and the steady click-clacking of keys lulls him into a sense of softness, an almost dreamlike world.
He wakes out of it to Wardo’s hand on his forehead, on his arm, a light squeeze. “Mark, you have - I have to sleep.”
Mark blinks and smiles, shy. “I - I know it’s weird and you’re older and I’m older, shit, but I was wondering if I could spend the night in here.” He wouldn’t ask, but he needs not to be alone tonight; he needs to be able to lie there and listen to another person breathe, and it isn’t about wanting Wardo so much as not wanting to be alone.
Wardo seems to get it, and he nods, smile stretching across his face. “Yeah,” and he looks down, bites his lip. “I’ll just - change.”
Mark’s already dressed for sleep, in a pair of soft sweatpants that are the cleanest he owns. He crawls under the covers and waits, shaking a bit.
Wardo smiles at him and it’s comfortable, for a minute, and Mark has the almost overwhelming urge to grab him, kiss him, but he won’t. Instead, he lies there, waits for Eduardo to get comfortable.
He smiles at Mark and kisses him on the forehead, just like he used to do, and it’s entirely comfortable and brotherly, Mark reminds himself, they’re brothers, nothing more.
“Are you okay?” Wardo whispers, in the dark, once everything’s settled.
Mark nods, and it rustles, soft. He turns his head; in the dim light coming from the moon, he can almost see him. “Yeah,” and this is whispered, too, softer than he’s used to. “I - just needed to not be alone.”
“I know,” and this isn’t condescending, isn’t anything but a promise. “Good night, Mark.”
Wardo falls asleep fairly quickly and Mark just listens to him for a long while, until sleep overtakes him, too.
//
He wakes up, and his head is pillowed on Wardo’s chest.
He panics, for the briefest of moments, because this is Eduardo and Mark wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone but they’re brothers, practically related, this is terrible and if Wardo knew the thoughts Mark had, biting his cries into the crook of his arm -
And then Wardo snuffles - and this is all very brotherly, Wardo cares about him because they’re brothers, if not by blood than by - well, shit, Mark’s lived here practically his whole fucking life - and shifts closer, mumbles in his sleep.
And Mark doesn’t move, doesn’t want to move - and he’s not one for indulging in fantasies but he lets himself pretend.
(He pretends that it doesn’t matter, that he’s allowed to kiss Eduardo awake when he wants, that he can hold his hand, that Wardo even wants him to hold his hand.
It hurts, but the good kind of hurt - it’s worth it, the pretending, because it’s as close as Mark’s ever going to get to the real thing.)
He sleeps, again.
/
(Wardo smiles at Mark whenever he can because they’re close, they should be close, they should absolutely have a nice relationship - shouldn’t they?
He should be able to smile at Mark without his heart stuttering a tap-tap-tap in his chest, though, too - but he can’t have everything.
And when Mark asks if he can spend the night, Wardo can’t keep the stupid fucking grin off of his face, and he nods; and when he turns around to change he bites his lip, hard. He’s missed being in the same bed as Mark, missed being able to turn to him in the middle of the night and have him still be there.
Mostly, though, mostly Eduardo’s missed being the one that Mark turns to when he needs help. He’s missed being there.
They sleep and Eduardo wakes up, as he always does, earlier than he should. He shifts, presses another quick kiss to Mark’s forehead, and for a second lets the want crash over him, hot and powerful.
He closes his eyes, though, and settles down.
He’s always, always been in love with Mark but that doesn’t have to change anything; this doesn’t have to change anything, this moment, Mark sleeping, finally, his hands curled into fists like he’s a little kid again.
Eduardo smiles and has to shut his eyes, because it’s too much, seeing him like this - like the first promise of summer, the first warm day after too much cold - but not like that at all, he tells himself, because there’s no summer; there’s not going to be a reward like that, not with Mark.
Spring, he decides, and tucks a piece of hair behind Mark’s ear - this can be spring, almost everything but not quite enough.
He swallows, and shifts himself so he’s comfortable, the warm weight of Mark close to him. I’ll leave as soon as I get up, he decides, leave him alone.
He closes his eyes.)
/
When Mark wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty bed.
He tries not to let it affect him, as he stretches, pads back into his room - and he goes downstairs and Wardo is there, at the table, and he smiles at Mark. “Want breakfast?” he asks, “I made pancakes - there are a few left.”
Mark nods, and makes himself smile, because Wardo is too nice for him; because Wardo had only the purest of intentions in - shit - cuddling with Mark, and Mark isn’t going to be bitter about that. He shouldn’t have fallen in love with his stepbrother, then, if he didn’t want it to hurt.
(And it does hurt, so much; it hurts because he wants Wardo in every way that he can’t have him, and he never can, because it’s wrong, immoral, and he doesn’t get why because it doesn’t feel anything like that.)
He eats the pancakes, though, and thanks Wardo with a small grin.
There’s the faintest flicker of awkwardness between them, and it’s confirmed when Wardo stands up, hands shaking the slightest amount.
“I’ve got - to go, you know, things,” he says, and leaves in a hurry.
Mark just sits there for a long moment, and he bites his lip.
Wardo isn’t supposed to do that; Wardo has never, ever been rude to Mark, even when Mark hated everyone and everything. He’s always had a smile for him, at the very least, always tried.
And he closes his eyes, because one other thing has also always been true - Mark has always, always wanted Eduardo, and now - he knows, he has to know.
Fuck. Wardo’s going to hate him - because as nice as he is this is beyond that, this is Mark having feelings for who is essentially his brother, and he closes his eyes, tight, against the wave of pain crashing through him.
He’s never felt like this, before; it’s like heartbreak but something deeper, because there was never anything between them. There’s never been anything real, only what Mark wants and Wardo didn’t know about, and now he does and that’s going to be the end of it, there’s not going to be any more nice days spent together or nights spent curled around each other.
He swallows, and can’t finish his food - he tosses it out, running a hand through his hair.
He goes upstairs to code. That’s all that he can do, all that he wants to do, right now. (That’s a lie - he wants Wardo, too, wants to hold him, You don’t mind do you Wardo you want me too don’t you Wardo, but those are dangerous, dangerous thoughts that Mark won’t let himself think.)
He goes upstairs and loses himself entirely in the code, in the symbols on the page, and blocks out everything else.
/
(Wardo leaves, and he lets out a shuddery breath as soon as he gets in his car.
Mark, he thinks, and Mark had been smiling, a dot of syrup on the corner of his mouth, and Wardo’s hands had shaken, and he had to leave, because he’s not masochistic enough to see what would happen if he had stayed.
He doesn’t have the self-control for that.
I’ll stay away, he thinks, and that should be easy enough - and then he’ll graduate and he won’t have to think about it, won’t have to think about Mark sleeping only a room over, won’t have all of the wanting crashing over him.
It’ll be easier. It’ll have to be.)
/
They avoid each other, now.
Mark stays in his room more often than not and when Wardo drives him to school, he stares out the window, and neither of them try to make conversation.
Mark wants to apologize - he sort of needs to, with the way he’s treated Wardo over the years, with the ulterior motives behind every hug, every smile - but he can’t find the right words.
Sorry, bro, I’m in love with you? That’s not enough, and that’s not the half of it; it’s more than that, and not that at all.
Mark’s never really wanted anyone else - but that’s because there’s always been Wardo, always the constant in Mark’s life, and so he doesn’t know how to deal with this, can’t.
He stays at Dustin’s house more and more, and Dustin gives him knowing smiles and nudges his shoulder but thankfully doesn’t say anything. Dustin gets it, and he doesn’t push Mark into talking.
Chris does. Or, at least, he tries - Chris smiles at him and nods at Wardo and says “I think if -” and Mark hasn’t ever acknowledged it outside of his own mind and he shakes his head, perfectly sharp, because - “Shut up, Chris, I don’t want -” and he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Chris frowns at him, then, and looks sad - but Mark just shakes his head, closes his eyes, because this is his and he knew when the stupid crush started that it would only end badly.
How can it end differently? - because even if Wardo felt the same it isn’t as though anything could happen, should happen, because Mark is Mark, spends his days and nights coding and drinks too much Red Bull. Wardo, though, is brilliant, is handsome and charming and wonderful and he would be perfect for Mark but Mark isn’t perfect for Wardo.
He misses him, but he makes himself push that down, until it’s almost as though he can deal with it.
/
Mark’s sitting on his laptop, typing something for a website someone’s asked him to improve, and -
Wardo walks in, and he looks almost sheepish. “Mark. Have a minute?”
He nods, and turns around, head still swimming with details.
“I’m sorry,” Wardo says, and he looks down at the ground, “sorry to bother you, I just - there’s something going on at school next Wednesday, and I know you don’t like school events but I’d really appreciate if you’d be there.”
His father won’t; Mark can read that in the line of his shoulders, in the way he looks, already, defeated.
(Sometimes, Mark hates Mr. Saverin more than he can fathom. No one, no one should make his Wardo look like that.)
“What is it?” Mark asks, soft, going for soothing.
He looks up, and there’s the barest flicker of hope in his eyes that Mark can see him try to smash down. “I - well, I’m graduating - third in my class.”
Mark smiles, wide, and nods. “Of course I’ll go,” he says, “is your mother going?”
He nods, again, slower, almost shy, and he bites his lip. “I’m really proud of myself, Mark,” he whispers, and looks down at his hands, knotting them together.
“I’m proud of you, too, Wardo,” Mark says, because he needs to hear it, and because he is.
“It isn’t first,” Wardo whispers, and he bites his lip, looking up - he looks happier but it’s false, Mark can tell. “But thank you. I really appreciate you - you going.”
“Of course,” and Mark smiles. It’s almost like old times.
Wardo makes an aborted movement to hug him, and then he runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh - yeah. Thank you. You can go with her, sit together.”
Mark relaxes against the chair as soon as he’s gone. “Fuck,” he says, louder than he probably should, because he’d almost forgotten - they aren’t the same, anymore, and they’re not going to be for a long time.
/
Mark goes to the ceremony.
Wardo gets an award of some sort and Mark claps louder than anyone and his mother puts a hand on his arm, smiles at him.
“I want you to know,” she says, soft, and there’s a smile on the corners of her lips, “that I’ve always considered you my son as much as Eduardo.”
Mark swallows, and nods, looking down.
“And I know his father - my husband - has never treated you as you would like to be treated, but I love you just as much as I love all of my family.”
Mark blinks, and takes the hug that she offers him. “Thank you,” he whispers. They’ve never had that sort of discussion, but for years she’s been there for him, always there to give him a kiss on the cheek or help with his homework or just to hug him when he needed it.
There’s a moment of silence and then she says, “Sometimes, you really need to take a chance, meu fihlo.”
Mark swallows, sharp. “Uh - what do you mean?” because she can’t mean Wardo, no, she doesn’t know.
She smiles at him, and puts her hand over his. “I think you know what I am talking about, Mark.”
He stares at his lap.
“We all love you,” she says. “And that’s all I’ll say on that.”
“Thank you,” he whispers again, and there’s a lump in his throat.
She smiles at him.
/
Mark doesn’t talk to Wardo for a long time after that.
He avoids him more than he was before; because there’s take a chance but Mark won’t, can’t, because this isn’t something that doesn’t matter, this is Wardo, who Mark loves so fiercely he doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have him at all.
Now, they’re at a distance, and Mark prefers it that way because at least this way he doesn’t have to force smiles and pleasantries.
Until -
Wardo spins him around, one day, when he’s walking to his room.
Mark looks at him, frowning. “What -”
“Why the fuck are you avoiding me?” he asks, in a low voice.
Mark shakes his hea.d “I’m not,” and he starts to walk away.
Wardo growls and follows, grabs him, pulls him close - and then they’re kissing, and it’s hard, teeth and tongue and anger, hot and roiling - but lust, too, and Mark doesn’t want it to end -
And then Wardo’s pulling away, looking horrified. “I’m - fuck. I’m sorry,” and he goes into his room, slams the door behind him.
Mark lets out a shaky breath. Fuck.
/
Wardo comes to his room, that night.
Mark frowns at him, bites his lip. “I’m really sorry,” he begins.
“It isn’t your fault.” This comes out weak. Wardo clears his throat, swallows. “I, uh -”
“It’s okay,” Mark says, and he feels sick saying the words, but he has to, “you didn’t mean it, you don’t have to apologize.”
Wardo scoffs at that, and Mark freezes. So does Wardo.
“What,” Mark says, voice entirely flat.
“I’m just going to -“ Wardo starts, but no, that isn’t fair.
“Stay,” Mark says, and then, “please, I want you to stay, I want you,” and it’s everything he shouldn’t be saying but Wardo wanted to kiss him, he thinks, and he’s taking a fucking chance.
There’s a soft whimper of want, a sigh of relief, and then Wardo’s shut the door behind him, walks to Mark, kissing him, hard.
“Wardo,” Mark breathes out, and fumbles behind him for the bed, falling backwards, pulling Wardo on top of him, “Wardo,” and this is brilliant, wonderful, this is quite literally everything Mark has ever wanted and it’s exquisite - it’s Wardo kissing him, his thigh sure next to Mark, it’s Wardo’s cock, Jesus fuck, pressing a hard line against Mark’s pants.
“Mark,” and this is barely audible, and Wardo pulls off Mark’s shirt, almost reverent. “Mark, I don’t - querido, I don’t think you understand -”
“Please,” Mark whispers, and he wants anything, everything, “just - touch me, Wardo, please, I need you to.”
Wardo swallows, audible, and then he nods, fingers hooking in Mark’s pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and he stares at Mark until he squirms, covers himself up.
Wardo kisses the inside of his thigh, a soft, tender gesture, and he gives it a light nip. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, soft, reverent, and Mark doesn’t let himself argue.
/
(Wardo smiles up at Mark, between his legs, and he’s never wanted anything like he wants in this moment - and he’s had boyfriends before but he’s never wanted this, never liked savoring sex like this, drawing it out.
Mark pushes a hand into his hair. “Please,” he whimpers, voice catching.
Wardo gives a long lick up his cock before sucking him in, moving slowly, so slowly.
Mark lets out a shout that he quickly muffles, turning his head away from Wardo. “Oh - oh shit,” he breathes out, and Wardo hums, takes him down further, as far as he can. He wants to make Mark feel so good, needs him to come, wants to swallow it down - this is real and he needs to feel that.
After what seems like forever Mark’s fingers tighten and it’s - “Wardo, I think I’m going to - to come,” and then he is, back arching off of the bed, toes curling, and Wardo swallows him down, pulling off with a grin.
Mark makes a soft noise and reaches for him, pulls their lips together, kissing him hard, hand pushing into Wardo’s shorts, stroking him quick.
Wardo bites into Mark’s shoulder when he comes, and Mark kisses his cheek, wiping his hand off on the sheets.
For a moment, they just lie there, staring at each other, and Mark reaches out, soft, almost reverent.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
Wardo’s heart grows about eight sizes. “I would never,” he promises, and he never will, can’t imagine a world where he gives this up.)
/
He doesn’t.