hepburn had it easy, 2/2

[wakeyourheart]

Read Part 1 here.

The number of Porcellian pledges dwindles - from sixty-two to forty-four to thirty-one by the second-last event. It’s date night, the one where each pledge shows up with a pretty girl on his arm and she flirts and drinks and flashes her legs around, and thirty-one is brought down to twenty.

Eduardo knows he doesn’t have to worry - the twins have promised him a spot at the final dinner, so long as he has Mark by his side - but he doesn’t want to give the other Porc members a reason to try and give away his spot. He’s lucky, really, that Christy agrees to go with him. She’s pretty and Asian and completely not Jewish - and completely not interested in Eduardo. She only said yes when he mentioned the club by name. She spends the first ten minutes awkwardly moving around the room with Eduardo and gratefully downs the vodka cranberry he passes her, staying long enough to shake hands with several boys in crimson blazers. Then Eduardo loses track of her.

She turns up fifteen minutes later, laughing and swatting the shoulder of some senior. Evan something. Eduardo’s met him before, once, but all the crimson blazers blend together after awhile. Eduardo doesn’t suppose it matters much - he got her here, and she’s gorgeous. That’s the whole point of the evening.

Besides, Eduardo has his own test. And it’s soon.

He’s reminded just how soon when he spots the Winklevoss twins heading his way.

“Eduardo,” Cameron says - or is it Tyler? Is it possible to tell? The other twin passes Eduardo a beer and he takes a long swallow gratefully.

“Great party,” Eduardo tells them, trying not to grip his beer too tightly. Nothing to give away his nerves.

“She seems nice,” Tyler says, nodding his head in Christy’s direction. She practically has her tits pressed against that Evan guy.

“Not at all into you, but nice.”

Eduardo tries not to flush pink. “Well. We aren’t very close.”

A smirk crosses Tyler’s face, but he takes a pull of his beer and says nothing.

“Is your project ready?” Cameron asks, and of course. Eduardo knew the second they headed his way that the conversation would wind up here. He has to fight the urge to squirm as his stomach dips.

“Mark is ready, yes,” Eduardo says, placing careful emphasis on Mark’s name. He hates the word project. This is the first time it’s felt like one in a long time.

“And he’s going to fit in?” Tyler looks as if he has his doubts, and Eduardo wants to shake him. If anyone’s a hard worker, it’s Mark.

Eduardo sets his jaw. He started this, and soon it’s all going to be over and he’s going to be in. He has to be. And who knows? Maybe they’ll all be so impressed with Mark’s hard work that they’ll pledge him too, and he’ll never have to know that Eduardo lied in the first place. It could happen, maybe. Possibly. “He’s going to fit in.”

Cameron gives him a broad smile and claps him on the shoulder. “Good. We’ll see you in a week.”

The twins are almost out of earshot when Eduardo calls, “You aren’t going to make fun of him, are you? When I bring him here?”

Tyler turns, and Eduardo feels his stomach churn at the grin on his face. “That depends.”

“On?” Eduardo knows his sounds desperate, but he has to know. He has to know.

“Whether you pull this off.”

The rest of Eduardo’s beer tastes like guilt.

***

Eduardo doesn’t stay at the party long - the conversation with the Winklevoss twins has him anxious, agitated. He has nowhere else to be, no more plans, but he has to leave. There’s no one to meet up with for drinks because he hadn’t made the plans. There’s nothing else scheduled for that night. It’s the Porc party and then bed - or so Eduardo thinks until he finds himself in front of Kirkland.

Mark’s talking the second Eduardo gets the door open. “I swear, Wardo, I don’t feel like a lesson today. My Systems class is trying to bury me alive and I -”

But Eduardo’s already crossed the suite and he grasps Mark by the collar, hauling him up into a kiss.

“I’m not here for a lesson,” Eduardo says quietly, and Mark’s eyes flick to his once quickly before kissing him again.

Mark’s shirt is the first to go, up over his head and forgotten the second it’s tossed off the bed. Eduardo’s got one knee on either side of Mark’s thighs and he leans him down, pressing Mark’s back into his bed as he kisses him. Mark is pale and thin, just as Eduardo would have guessed, but there’s no shyness, no self-conscious moves to cover himself up. Mark is who he is, Eduardo thinks, the rest of the world be damned.

He can feel Mark’s fingers grapple with his own buttons and he sits up, giving Mark a little smile as he helps. Mark pushes Eduardo’s shirt down his shoulders and leans forward to suck at a small patch of skin by his collarbone.

Neither of them say a word, but Eduardo doesn’t think they have to. He knows, and Mark knows. That’s enough.

Eduardo leans down again for a kiss, his back curving, and he moves one of his hands lower. It grazes the front of Mark’s pants and he can hear Mark breathe in sharply.

“Can I?” Eduardo asks quietly, pulling back for a second to check. Mark meets his eyes and nods. Eduardo can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Mark meet someone’s eyes.

Then a nearby door slams.

“Shit!” Mark hisses, tensing up beneath him. Eduardo can hear Chris and Dustin out in the living room, arguing about something involving cheese dip. He can hear shoes thunking on the floor and the TV being turned on. The two are home and settling in again, and Eduardo’s hard and Mark’s still in his hand, and fuck if Mark’s roommates could have had worse timing. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“We should…” Mark hesitates, eyes on his closed bedroom door. Eduardo knows the end of that sentence, knows it involves the word stop, and that’s the last thing he wants. They’re both still hard. There’s no way Eduardo’s stopping this now.

He leans down again, tugging on Mark’s lip gently with his teeth. “You need to stay quiet,” Eduardo urges. He pulls his hand out of Mark’s shorts and presses his own hips down, letting himself rub down against Mark. Mark gasps and Eduardo swallows it with a kiss.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers against Mark’s lips, and he rocks his hips forward.

Eduardo has no idea how long they stay like this, two minutes or five or ten, hips rocking desperately back and forth. The material of their pants is scratchy, restrictive, and Eduardo wishes to god he could take them off and just blow Mark right then and there, roommates be damned. But Mark’s got his damp forehead pressed against Eduardo’s neck and he’s panting warm against Eduardo’s skin, and he knows it won’t last much longer.

“Shit,” Mark hisses, quiet as he can, and he reaches a hand between the two of them to rub. When he comes, his teeth sink into Eduardo’s shoulder.

Afterwards, the two lie together on the bed. Dustin and Chris argue loudly in the other room, and Eduardo doesn’t want Mark to have to face them if the two of them leave his room with damp spots on their jeans. So he lays on his side, arm draped casually over Mark’s stomach, and tries to talk himself out of saying all the stupid words that are buzzing around in his brain.

The room is silent, their breathing rising and falling in sync, when Mark speaks again.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“What, getting you off?” Eduardo tries to laugh softly, but he knows that isn’t what Mark meant.

“Wardo.”

Eduardo feels his chest tighten. He can remember, all those days ago when he first showed up at Kirkland. He can remember the way Mark stared down at him from up on the landing, arms crossed over his chest. It’s the first time Mark’s ever asked him outright, instead of relying on looks and raised eyebrows, and Eduardo’s always dreaded this moment. But the question Eduardo’s always been afraid to answer is, “Why are you doing this?” The two-word difference prevents a lie, but doesn’t stop Eduardo’s stomach from churning.

“To see you happy.”

Mark tugs Eduardo’s arm across his chest, pulling the two even closer together. Eduardo presses a kiss to Mark’s bare shoulder and neither of them says anything more.

***

The reveal is the high point of any movie - things come together and everything falls neatly into place. That’s like life, Eduardo thinks - there are moments you build up to, moments of anticipation where everything hangs in the balance. The problem with the high point of the movie - the high point of life - is that from here, there’s nowhere to go but down.

The evening of the final Porcellian dinner is cool and crisp as October prepares to give way to another new month. The wind tugs at Eduardo’s suit jacket as he and Mark make their way to the Club, leaves crunching under their dress shoes. Mark’s hands are jammed in his pockets, imitating Eduardo’s. Eduardo wonders if Mark’s hands are shaking, too.

The Porc comes into view as they start down Mount Auburn Street, and Eduardo feels his stomach clench.

“You ready?”

“Of course,” Mark nods, self-assured as always. But there’s a little wobble in his voice, a slight tremor that tells Eduardo that first impressions can be deceiving. He remembers that first night, all the way back to the party at AEPi - remembers the jittery kid skittering around the room and avoiding eye contact. Isn’t that the truth.

“Mark,” Eduardo says desperately, each step making him feel more sick than the last.

“Yeah?”

I’m sorry. “If anything weird happens in there - if things don’t go the way we planned -”

“I studied. I worked hard. And the lessons weren’t all that bad. You’re a good teacher, Wardo,” Mark says, turning to look at him. There’s a smile on Mark’s face, an actual genuine smile, and Eduardo could hurl right there in front of the Phoenix.

“Thanks,” he says weakly. “Just… not all of these guys are nice.”

“Such is life,” Mark says, and he stops. “We’re here.”

Eduardo instinctively reaches out and straightens Mark’s tie, biting back the urge to turn and run. “There.”

“How do I look? I’ve never asked that question in my life, so don’t you dare be a jackass about this.”

Eduardo smiles at Mark. “You look perfect.” There’s no one outside - no members, no pledges, not even a security guard. They’re all alone, and without thinking too much about it, Eduardo leans in and presses a quick kiss to Mark’s lips. There’s another smile on Mark’s face when Eduardo pulls back, and Mark briefly reaches out to squeeze his hand.

He’s having a hard time remembering why he wanted this whole thing in the first place.

Until they step inside. Among the crimson blazers and the dark suits, now just twenty, Eduardo remembers.

There are hundreds of successful Harvard graduates. Eduardo can still hear his voice from behind the Sunday paper, just days after Eduardo’s acceptance letter arrived in the mail and his mother hung it on their refrigerator like a painting from kindergarten. But you can count the number of successful Harvard graduates who weren’t Final Club members on your fingers.

Eduardo’s going to wait until Thanksgiving to tell his father, he thinks. Better to do it in person. That way, for once, he can see the man put down the goddamn newspaper.

“Stand straight,” Eduardo murmurs, “and act as if you belong.”

But Mark offers him a little smirk - and it’s definitely a smirk this time, not a smile - and steps into the crowd on his own. Eduardo watches him go, watches him accept a flute of champagne from a pretty girl before shaking hands with a tall, beefy junior in a crimson blazer. The junior smiles and Eduardo can feel himself relax a little.

From across the room, Cameron Winklevoss catches his eye and gives him a nod.

Mark and Eduardo spend most of the cocktail party apart. Eduardo stays nearby, just in case Mark needs him - but he never seems to. Eduardo catches snippets of conversation, talk about classes and girls and jeez, even politics - and every single one goes smoothly. Mark makes eye contact and compliments the girls, and not once does anyone look offended.

Mark’s fitting in perfectly, Eduardo realizes, and he feels a small swell of pride in his chest. Holy shit.

They’re doing this. They’re actually pulling this off.

They’ve been at the party for just shy of two hours when a large, muscled arm is thrown over Eduardo’s shoulders.

“Saverin!” Tyler Winklevoss booms, and is it just Eduardo’s imagination, or is everyone nearby watching them?

“Tyler,” Eduardo says with a nod and a smile.

“Having a good time?”

Eduardo takes a sip of his beer, trying to calm his nerves. It’s time, Eduardo knows, and he braces himself for the news. The entire month has been building to this moment. “Great time. Yourself?”

And then Cameron’s there, appearing out of nowhere over Eduardo’s left shoulder. And he’s pressing a gold pin into Eduardo’s hand. The Porcellian logo winks up at him, reflecting the light, and Eduardo can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

“Welcome, Saverin.” Cameron’s voice is warmer than Eduardo remembers.

“Really?” Eduardo’s sure he sounds breathless and a little in awe, because he is breathless and a little in awe, and he can’t even find it in himself to be a little more nonchalant about the whole thing. They did it.

When he finally looks up from the pin, both twins are smiling.

“We’ve had six members stop us and ask why we didn’t think to punch the Zuckerberg kid,” Cameron says. “I don’t know what you did, but he’s a far cry from the self-important asshole my brother and I met last month. Congratulations.”

A little crease appears between Eduardo’s eyebrows. “You met Mark? Before tonight?”

“Asked him to work on a business venture at the beginning of the year, after Facemash,” Tyler says, and his smile drops. His face is steely and full of resentment, and Eduardo feels his stomach go with it. “He’s a condescending little shit. Been giving us the run-around ever since.”

Eduardo’s voice is much smaller when he finally says, “Really.”

“Well, you know the guy,” Cameron says with a shrug. “But he looks like a freaking member of the King’s court tonight. Everyone loves him. He’s the star of the show. And you were kind enough to bring him right to our feet.”

The sinking feeling in Eduardo’s stomach is not good.

“Thanks a bunch for that, man,” Tyler says, giving Eduardo a little shake. And then he’s stepping away from them, towards the center of the room, a finger tapping on his glass.

“Excuse me everyone!” he calls into the chatter of the room, and it dies off immediately. “Just let me have a moment of your time, and then I’ll let you get back to your conversations.”

No.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” Tyler begins. “It’s been a great year for the Porcellian, and we’re very happy with our newest recruits. You’re all going to go on to make Harvard proud.”

There’s applause. Eduardo looks up at Cameron, tries to catch his eye because whatever’s going to happen is not good, he can feel it. But Cameron claps along with the rest and doesn’t even look his way.

“And I just wanted to take a second to thank our guest of honor this evening - Mark Zuckerberg. Where are you, Mark?” Tyler scans the room as the crowd turns to look.

Finally, Mark’s spotted halfway across the room. The smile on Tyler’s face changes.

“Come on over here, Mark. Everyone, you know Mark, don’t you? You all read his interview in the Crimson after he created Facemash, right? Wasn’t that some of the best goddamn bullshit you’ve ever heard?”

Eduardo hears people chuckle. Oh, god, no. Mark’s closer to them now, hovering just to Tyler’s left. He looks from Tyler to Eduardo and back again. A crease has formed between his eyebrows.

“And I’m sure most of you got the chance to meet him tonight. He was just a little social butterfly, wasn’t he? Perfect manners. And he cleans up real well too! He’s almost like a whole new guy. No more self-important asshole. It’s a miracle!”

Mark’s cheeks flush pink. Eduardo wants to go to him, wants to grab his arm and pull him away and yell loudly until they’re out of earshot so Mark doesn’t have to hear any more of this, doesn’t have to be humiliated like he knows he’s going to be. But Eduardo feels rooted to the spot. Is shame heavier than other emotions?

“Now I’d like you all to give a big round of applause for the man responsible for Zuckerberg’s astonishing transformation. None of this would have been possible if he hadn’t taken on the project! He’s one of the Porc’s newest members - give it up for Eduardo Saverin!”

The cheers are loud and obnoxious. Everyone’s looking at him - everyone, that is, except for Mark. Mark’s stepped forward, right up to Tyler, and his arms are crossed.

“So there’s no chance of me punching?” It’s quiet, especially among all the other noise, but Eduardo hears anyway. He also hears Tyler’s laugh of disbelief.

“Is that how he did it? That’s what he told you? Looks like it paid off - he’s in.” Tyler’s grin is a sneer. He leans down close to Mark, right on his level. “Don’t fuck with the Winklevosses.”

It’s then that Mark looks over and meets Eduardo’s gaze.

That cold look in Mark's eyes is back, the one Eduardo hates. The one that feels dangerous. Mark brushes right past Eduardo, his thin shoulder knocking roughly against Eduardo’s as he goes. Eduardo turns and watches him head for the door.

“Mark!”

A large hand claps down on his shoulder, and he looks up into the face of Cameron Winklevoss. “Let him go.”

“He’ll be fine,” Tyler assures him, stepping up to his other side. “You did a great job. Really helped the guy out.”

“Your blazer’ll be ordered at the end of the week. What size do you wear? Thirty tall?”

“He could be a twenty-eight.”

"You think?"

“I don’t want it.”

Cameron’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want it,” Eduardo repeats. He wasn’t planning it - he wasn’t planning any of this - but it’s true. He wants no part of anything that brings that look into Mark’s eyes.

Tyler snorts, amused. “After all this, you’re just… quitting?”

Eduardo balls his hands into fists. He can feel the Porcellian pin cutting into the skin of his palm. “Yep.”

And then he’s moving. Eduardo’s shrugging the twins off roughly, breaking out into a run as he heads towards the door. If he doesn’t move fast, he’s going to lose him.

Eduardo clatters out onto the sidewalk. The night’s gotten even cooler in the hour they’ve been inside, and a thick fog has started to roll in over the sidewalk. A large moon, almost full, hangs heavy over Eduardo’s head. Mount Auburn Street is deserted.

“Mark!”

Total silence. Eduardo is alone.

***

It’s never pleasant to watch the hero fall - and it’s even worse to watch the one he knocked down in his wake.

Eduardo spends most of the next morning on the phone. He jabs Redial over and over until the markings on the button start to wear off. He isn’t sure what he’s planning to say - I’m sorry I used you, I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry - but it doesn’t matter. Every single call goes straight to voicemail. Eduardo pleads Mark to call him back until he fills his inbox.

After four frustrating hours of being very determinedly ignored, Eduardo has to get the fuck out of his room.

He isn’t sure where he’s going when he steps out onto the campus. The first of November dawned grey and chilly, and a light drizzle mists around him as he walks. The campus is quiet, and he only passes a few students hurrying to class. He’s fairly sure he’s the only one outside who doesn’t have to be.

When he looks up and finds himself outside the Kirkland dorm, he isn’t surprised. He is surprised, however, that the door opens and Mark hurries out, huddled down under a hoodie. He’s wearing shorts even though it can’t be more than fifty degrees out, and his flip-flops - those goddamn flip-flops, Eduardo should have burned them - slap loudly against the wet pavement. He draws up short when he raises his eyes and finds Eduardo standing in front of him.

The look on Mark’s face makes a lump rise in Eduardo’s throat.

“Mark,” Eduardo says, taking a step forward.

Mark drops his head, veers left, and keeps going.

“Mark!”

Eduardo’s hurrying after him almost immediately. Mark keeps up a brisk pace and Eduardo almost has to jog to keep up. “Mark, please just talk to me for a second.”

The hood blocks Mark’s face and Eduardo can’t see what he’s thinking - when has he ever been able to see what Mark’s thinking? He doesn’t slow down, and neither does Eduardo.

“Mark, just - Mark!”

He tries to grab Mark’s arm, tries to pull him in so they can talk, so they can connect and fix this. Mark wrenches his arm away almost immediately and wheels around to face Eduardo. There’s a coldness to his eyes, one Eduardo’s only seen once before, and it makes him take a step back.

“You can’t touch me like that,” Mark says, and even though he says can’t, Eduardo knows he means not allowed. It breaks his heart a little.

“I screwed up,” Eduardo says, “I know that. Would you just - please? Please, can we talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” Mark’s hands are buried deep into his pockets, and it’s somehow more intimidating than if he’d had his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“About - the club,” Eduardo says a little hopelessly, because is Mark really going to make him spell it out? “What the twins said to you.”

“The Winklevii are a pair of spoiled rich kids who like to use their power any way they can because they can,” Mark says. “What’s your excuse?”

Eduardo opens his mouth but can't quite manage to make a sound. He can’t remember ever feeling this helpless.

“I have to go to class.”

This time, when Mark turns to go, Eduardo doesn’t follow.

***

They don’t speak for two weeks.

Eduardo thinks of calling Mark a hundred times - one for every could have, would have, should have - and tells himself not to every time. Every time he thinks to pick up the phone or stand outside Mark’s door, he sees that cold look in Mark’s eyes, the rain dripping from his curls. There’s a quiet, burning anger inside of Mark, Eduardo knows. And he knows he isn’t going to get anywhere until it simmers down.

He mopes. He doesn’t mean to - tries to stay busy with classes and his dorm mates and AEPi activities, lame as they are - but he does. He can’t even focus a lot of the time. He’ll have his laptop open and think he’s hard at work on a data analysis project until he realizes that it’s been two hours, the cursor is blinking blankly at him, and all he’s done is revisit, over and over, the times that Mark walked away.

After the first week, he gets a call from Dustin.

“Dude,” Dustin says, because Dustin never starts a conversation with Hello or How are you or It’s Dustin calling like a normal person would. “What did you do to my roommate?”

“What?” Eduardo sits up straight at his desk. It’s the most focused he’s felt in days. “What’s wrong?”

“You start hanging out here, and Mark cleans up. He sleeps and he eats like a normal person and showers on a daily basis. Then you vanish and Mark splurges on a four-for-a-dollar sale of canned tuna and spends so much time coding that I’m pretty sure he’s turned into an insomniac. The fuck, dude?”

“Oh,” Eduardo says, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t think he’s showered since you guys went to that stupid party,” Dustin complains. “It was so good! I could bring girls over without them wanting to run from my crazy roommate who sits in the living room and talks C++ at them until there’s less than a zero percent chance of them letting me into their pants! He’s worn the same ugly-ass sweatpants with the hole in the knee to four classes this week!”

Eduardo remembers those sweatpants, remembers threatening to rip them into shreds if Mark didn’t bury them at the back of his chest of drawers. Eduardo remembers the way Mark’s bony knee poked out of the hole, the way they barely stayed up on his hips and the way the left leg was stained with something brown and disturbing. Eduardo misses those sweatpants.

“Wardo, he’s gotten gross again.” Dustin’s voice is definitely a whine now. “Come back here and fix him.”

Dustin doesn’t say Wardo the way Mark does.

“I don’t…” Eduardo sighs. “I don’t think I can.”

He can practically hear Dustin roll his eyes through the phone. “You suck.”

The phone disconnects, and he winces at the loud click.

Towards the end of the second week, Eduardo sees him.

Mark’s all the way at the other end of the hall, head ducked down as he makes his way to class or a professor’s office or wherever it is that he’s going. His eyes are trained on the floor and he’s slouching as he goes, hands jammed deep into his pockets. He walks just as he did when Eduardo first met him - as if he’s invisible. Except now, Eduardo sees him.

Part of him wants to run after Mark, push past the students having conversations outside classrooms until he can catch Mark’s hand. Part of him - a big part of him - wants to lay himself on the ground under Mark’s feet so that he’ll stop, so that he’ll listen. Eduardo’s never had a particular flair for the dramatic, and he thinks the whole thing’s making him a little loopy. Especially that the way Mark looked at him outside Kirkland has been playing on repeat in his head, over and over and over.

Eduardo’s starting to think he could lie down in a million hallways, and Mark would step right over him every time.

Mark’s almost gone, right at the end of the hall now, and Eduardo feels his own shoulders slump. If only, if only, if only. Mark pushes through the double doors to the stairwell, practically out of sight… and holds the door for the boy behind him.

The boy goes up the stairs and Mark goes down the stairs, and it’s just a momentary thing, something no one would bat an eye at. Except it’s Mark, and Mark is still holding doors.

If he weren’t in the middle of a crowded hallway, surrounded by a hundred people, Eduardo would laugh. He’d shake his head and grin and laugh, because Mark cares. Not the lessons - Eduardo couldn’t give a damn about standing up straight and speaking to girls and tying a full Windsor, not now, and clearly, neither could Mark. But the rest of it. The rest of it, Mark cares about. It’s only been a week, but it’s been a truly messed up one. Eduardo messed up in a big way and Mark seems to hate his guts, but he’s still out there, caring that he and Eduardo were. They were.

If Mark truly hated Eduardo, would he bother at all?

Eduardo stares down the hall again, past dozens of people he’ll never bother getting to know, into that empty stairwell. This is his mess, he knows. This is his fault. And the more time he spends away from Mark, the longer he goes without ragging on him or losing to him at Halo or hearing Wardo in that weirdly throaty way of his, the more Eduardo realizes it’s up to him to put it right.

***

If this were a movie, Eduardo knows, this would be the part where the music swells dramatically. He, the hero, would pull out his phone and make a few calls, ambiguously making promises and threats while the camera continually cuts back to the girl looking lonely to build the tension. It’s the final showdown, the climax of the movie. The part where the hero gets the girl.

Except Eduardo doesn’t want the girl. Eduardo wants Mark. And he and Mark are a lot of things, but they are certainly no romantic comedy.

In the end, the hero’s always wearing a suit. He always looks perfect, looks completely handsome and worthy of the person he loves. How else is the audience going to know that everything’s going to be all right?

Eduardo shows up at Kirkland in sweatpants.

“You look like a bum,” Chris comments from the couch. He barely takes a second to look up at Eduardo standing in the doorway, focusing almost all his attention on the video game in front of him.

“Is Mark here?”

“Bam! Suck it, sea monkey!” Dustin crows, a loud explosion coming from the television screen. “What?”

“I -” Eduardo pauses, words drowned out by sudden electronic gunfire. “I said, is Mark here?”

“Probably,” Chris says, one hand fumbling over the coffee table in search of his beer bottle.

Dustin waves in the general direction of Mark’s closed door, eyes glued to the screen. Good enough.

Eduardo crosses the room, taking a second as he stands outside Mark’s door to compose himself. You fucked up. Fix this. Then he raps at the door with his knuckles.

Silence. “Mark?” He knocks again.

“Go away.” The voice is flat, matter-of-fact, and he knows Mark knows who it is. He knows this won’t be easy.

“Mark? Can I come in?”

“I don’t want -”

Eduardo pushes the door open anyway.

Mark’s sitting at his desk in front of his laptop, because Mark is always at his desk in front of his laptop. He’s wearing a ratty t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve and three empty tins of tuna are littered next to his desk lamp. The blinds are drawn, the bed is unmade, and the smell of unwashed socks hangs in the air.

Eduardo is so happy to be there, he could cry.

“You look like hell,” Mark says, leaning back in his chair. It’s the longest sentence he’s spoken to Eduardo in two weeks.

“So do you.”

Mark briefly drops his head, taking in his clothing as if he only just then realized what he had on. “I look like I always do.”

“I like it.”

Mark rolls his eyes. His fingers move back to the keyboard and he taps out a line of code. To Mark, this conversation is over.

It can’t end like this.

“I quit the Porc.”

Mark’s fingers still. “What?”

“The Club. I quit.”

Very slowly, Mark turns in his chair. His eyes move over Eduardo’s face, scanning every muscle for something - a fib, a lie, a deception. “You quit.”

“I did.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I don’t care.”

Finally, Mark’s eyes stop searching and they settle on Eduardo’s. He presses his lips together. “Why?”

Eduardo reaches behind him, quietly easing the door shut. If they’re going to talk, he doesn’t want their soundtrack to be virtual machine guns and death cries.

“I screwed up. I know that, believe me. I used you and I lead you on, and you didn’t deserve any of it. And once I was in…” He shrugged. “I just really wished you were there with me.”

Mark doesn’t say it, but Eduardo’s pretty sure his eyes are saying, Me too.

“I’m sorry,” Eduardo presses on. “I’m so sorry. I thought it’s what I had to do. I thought it was going to be something easy, and then it wasn’t. I wasn’t expecting you to make me laugh and impress me and be this completely fascinating guy that I couldn’t wait to spend time with. I didn’t know that you were all these good things that you are. I thought it was just going to be some project for the month -”

“Project,” Mark says, and his tone is scathing. “Nice.”

“But I was a moron,” Eduardo insists quickly, “because you’re a person. Suits and table manners and social skills be damned. You’re this smart person with this dry sense of humor that most people don’t get, and they’re missing out. Everyone, all those people at the Porc who laughed - they’re missing out.”

“I thought the Porc mattered to you,” Mark says finally, and Eduardo’s fairly sure he’s never told Mark all about it, never talked about his father and the way his eyes always said not good enough, but he thinks Mark knows anyway. And that, really, is why Eduardo needs to fix this. Fix them.

“It did,” Eduardo says, shrugging again. “But then I realized that you matter more.”

There’s surprise in Mark’s eyes now, and Eduardo feels like an idiot. Mark should have known before now. Eduardo should have told him. Could have, would have, should have.

“And now…” Mark says the words slowly, as if there’s a lag, as if he’s still processing.

“And now it’s up to you,” Eduardo says with a little sigh. “I went and fell for the boy I was trying to change - the boy he was before I got my hands on him. He’s stubborn and frustrating and perfect, and I hate myself for trying to hide all that under fancy clothes and table manners.

“And now… it’s your choice. You know how I feel, and you just need to decide… whether you feel that way, too.”

The room is quiet when Eduardo finishes. (As quiet as it can be with Dustin yelling ”Die, bastard, die!” on the other side of the door, that is.) He watches Mark, tries to interpret his stoic expression and figure out what’s going on in that mind of his. He’s never done this before, come out and proclaimed his feelings this openly, and it’s terrifying.

Finally, finally, Mark stands. He moves slowly, purposefully, until there’s almost no room between the two of them at all.

“This is the part of the movie where the music swells and the happy couple rides off into happily ever after together until the credits roll, right?”

He’s smiling - Mark is smiling, the first one Eduardo has seen since the party, and he’s barely able to control the grin that spreads across his own face.

“I don’t know,” Eduardo says quietly. “That’s up to you.”

Mark’s hands slowly grasp his hips, pulling Eduardo against him. “I’ve never put much stock in movies.”

Eduardo doesn’t think he’s ever smiled this big in his life. He tilts his head down, lips just inches from Mark’s, and it doesn’t matter that there’s no romantic song playing in the background. The one playing in his mind works perfectly for him.

“Me neither.”

end.