fic: Live every week like this
title: Live every week like this
pairing: Mark/Eduardo
words: 1k
summary: Grungy rock band: Uni-horn.
a/n: present for crazykookie upon completion of her finals, with the advice "live every week like it's Shark Week"
master fic post
Mark met Eduardo outside by the pool. The smell of chlorine was heavy in the air, the day was scorching, and Eduardo had a wetsuit on with a fake gash running along his neck and hair that was apparently styled to look like a surfer's.
"So," Mark said. "You came."
"Well, you know me." This was said with a note of bitterness that should have made Mark flinch. But Mark was high right now, and the waters of apathy ran deep. "I couldn't pass up free booze."
"I didn't even know the frat had a budget to pay for this sort of thing," he said. He had hacked into the accounts just last week to see how much money they could spend on unbootleg software for once, but the number had been devastatingly low. "How did they even fund Shark Week?"
Eduardo shrugged. "My dad might have paid for it."
Mark put his hands in the pockets of his orange swim trunks and looked around the crowd of people, some of whom he knew from the frat and other parties, and some of whom had twizzlers. An unfamiliar feeling was grinding around inside his chest. "Eduardo-"
"No, it's not like that. It's just-I may have let on to my father that I was unsure about staying in the frat, after, you know, after everything. But instead of taking no for an answer, he ordered me to throw a party." Eduardo laughed, like a man trapped in fraternity life. "It's not like I'm trying to buy my way back in if that's what you're thinking. I'm not Sean."
Right then, there was a loud whoop, and the person in question did a backflip into the shallow end. Water lapped over the edge at their feet.
"There goes our lead guitarist," Mark quipped. He reached into the cooler to grab a beer, and then turned back. Eduardo looked wounded. "Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, and put the second beer bottle he'd been inexplicably holding out this whole time on the table.
Mark tried to run fingers through his hair, but his hand flippers got in the way. He waved an arm outward instead but then didn't say anything. He shifted on his flippers and Eduardo met his eye. It was like they were having two conversations, one awkward and one just simple and kind of daring.
Dustin walked up dressed like a hammerhead, then, and slung an arm over Mark's shoulders. Then, he did a double-take and said, "Wardo!"
"Dustin." Eduardo nodded.
"Hey," Dustin said. He glanced worriedly between the two of them. "Sorry about last week."
"Whatever."
Dustin kept on, making this one of those awkward chats by the pool that Mark would rather have avoided. Dust looked unhappy when he said, "Our band just didn't need a drummer any more."
"It was like a Catch-22," Mark explained. He'd poked Eduardo on Facebook after the fact, but it hadn't lessened the blow, apparently. "The only reason I developed the synth beat was because you helped me."
"But that rendered me expendable," Eduardo supplied. "I get it. It's my own fault I didn't see where it was going until it was too late, that you wouldn't need a drummer if you had electronics to do it for you."
"You still made all this possible," Dustin told him.
Mark wanted to drag Eduardo off to hang out like they used to, when they were still all members of Uni-horn and they'd spent late nights scribbling out music on any blank paper lying around: the backs of lab reports and napkins, too cheap to buy real printer paper.
Eduardo was giving him this uncertain look, and Mark had this dramatic thought that today might be it, that they'd remain brothers by pledge but would pass each other on the rickety staircase like strangers if he didn't do something now, make some quick and inspired save.
But what could he do? He was dressed like shark food and was a bassist, often forgotten, playing the low tones on only four strings, useless without the others. This sort of nihilistic musical thinking left him flat and minorly depressed in the sunlight for no reason he could fathom while Dustin tried to draw Eduardo out.
Then, for the first time in their equilateral lives, perhaps, the Twinklevosses saved the day. Mark was thinking dark thoughts, and Eduardo was too, it seemed, but in Portugese. Cameron and Tyler were diving around the pool like a dolphin show, spraying all those by the poolside.
"What are you looking at?" Cameron said. Mark wasn't aware he'd been staring. "Poor man's whale watching?"
"Um," Mark said.
Tyler opened his arms wide. "Wanna fight?"
They were in a rival scream-o band. Tension had always run high.
"Come at me, bro," Tyler was saying. Cameron came up and was whispering in his ear. Tyler turned back and said, "We're playing chicken."
"That's all right." Mark took a step away.
"What, you scared? You are kind of small."
That did it, apparently.
"Defending your honor again," Eduardo would have said, had they been on good terms. Instead, it was implied, when Eduardo slid into the pool without hesitation, wet suit scritching on the edge, and then turned to raise an eyebrow at Mark. He'd always been a bit impulsive. Mark sighed and jumped in so he didn't have to experience the uncomfortable frigidity of gradual temperature change.
He pushed hair out of his face and noted that a circle of swimmers and people beside the pool had formed around them. He saw that Eduardo was giving him a faint smile, so he dove under the water and tried to pick Eduardo up on his shoulders.
He failed. Eduardo flopped backwards and Mark came up gasping for breath.
"Eduardo's taller," Tyler offered like a gentleman. "That's probably a better configuration."
Playing chicken with them was like stacking two Corinthian columns on top of each other, and when Mark tried to grab hold of one of the Vosses to yank him down in the water, it was impossible, they were too cleanly shaved, arms like slippery marble beneath his hands.
It was a hard battle. The crowd was really getting into it. Divya, no fan of Uni-horn, was yelling scathing remarks about surfers and guppies in the heat of the moment. Mark swallowed at least three mouthfuls of pool water and might have kicked Eduardo in the ribs once by mistake. He definitely pulled at his hair trying to hang on.
They only won the battle through mental rigor and teamwork.
In retrospect, this might have been what brought them back together, getting elbows to the chest and nearly knocked into the water but managing to drag Cameron down first by a second. The next day Mark told Eduardo that he needed him, and Eduardo came on as the Uni-horn booking agent, landing them sweet gigs all over New England, even granting them amnesty to make their music on enemy turf one time at a bar in Yale.
One day, a letter would arrive at their apartment, something about filing for a lawsuit-but Mark never finished reading it because Eduardo tore it up. It was the only ominous aspect of their relationship. That, along with the shadow of Eduardo's father on their next record cover, but Mark had never met him.
As far as they both were concerned, he and Eduardo were doing all right.
pairing: Mark/Eduardo
words: 1k
summary: Grungy rock band: Uni-horn.
a/n: present for crazykookie upon completion of her finals, with the advice "live every week like it's Shark Week"
master fic post
Mark met Eduardo outside by the pool. The smell of chlorine was heavy in the air, the day was scorching, and Eduardo had a wetsuit on with a fake gash running along his neck and hair that was apparently styled to look like a surfer's.
"So," Mark said. "You came."
"Well, you know me." This was said with a note of bitterness that should have made Mark flinch. But Mark was high right now, and the waters of apathy ran deep. "I couldn't pass up free booze."
"I didn't even know the frat had a budget to pay for this sort of thing," he said. He had hacked into the accounts just last week to see how much money they could spend on unbootleg software for once, but the number had been devastatingly low. "How did they even fund Shark Week?"
Eduardo shrugged. "My dad might have paid for it."
Mark put his hands in the pockets of his orange swim trunks and looked around the crowd of people, some of whom he knew from the frat and other parties, and some of whom had twizzlers. An unfamiliar feeling was grinding around inside his chest. "Eduardo-"
"No, it's not like that. It's just-I may have let on to my father that I was unsure about staying in the frat, after, you know, after everything. But instead of taking no for an answer, he ordered me to throw a party." Eduardo laughed, like a man trapped in fraternity life. "It's not like I'm trying to buy my way back in if that's what you're thinking. I'm not Sean."
Right then, there was a loud whoop, and the person in question did a backflip into the shallow end. Water lapped over the edge at their feet.
"There goes our lead guitarist," Mark quipped. He reached into the cooler to grab a beer, and then turned back. Eduardo looked wounded. "Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, and put the second beer bottle he'd been inexplicably holding out this whole time on the table.
Mark tried to run fingers through his hair, but his hand flippers got in the way. He waved an arm outward instead but then didn't say anything. He shifted on his flippers and Eduardo met his eye. It was like they were having two conversations, one awkward and one just simple and kind of daring.
Dustin walked up dressed like a hammerhead, then, and slung an arm over Mark's shoulders. Then, he did a double-take and said, "Wardo!"
"Dustin." Eduardo nodded.
"Hey," Dustin said. He glanced worriedly between the two of them. "Sorry about last week."
"Whatever."
Dustin kept on, making this one of those awkward chats by the pool that Mark would rather have avoided. Dust looked unhappy when he said, "Our band just didn't need a drummer any more."
"It was like a Catch-22," Mark explained. He'd poked Eduardo on Facebook after the fact, but it hadn't lessened the blow, apparently. "The only reason I developed the synth beat was because you helped me."
"But that rendered me expendable," Eduardo supplied. "I get it. It's my own fault I didn't see where it was going until it was too late, that you wouldn't need a drummer if you had electronics to do it for you."
"You still made all this possible," Dustin told him.
Mark wanted to drag Eduardo off to hang out like they used to, when they were still all members of Uni-horn and they'd spent late nights scribbling out music on any blank paper lying around: the backs of lab reports and napkins, too cheap to buy real printer paper.
Eduardo was giving him this uncertain look, and Mark had this dramatic thought that today might be it, that they'd remain brothers by pledge but would pass each other on the rickety staircase like strangers if he didn't do something now, make some quick and inspired save.
But what could he do? He was dressed like shark food and was a bassist, often forgotten, playing the low tones on only four strings, useless without the others. This sort of nihilistic musical thinking left him flat and minorly depressed in the sunlight for no reason he could fathom while Dustin tried to draw Eduardo out.
Then, for the first time in their equilateral lives, perhaps, the Twinklevosses saved the day. Mark was thinking dark thoughts, and Eduardo was too, it seemed, but in Portugese. Cameron and Tyler were diving around the pool like a dolphin show, spraying all those by the poolside.
"What are you looking at?" Cameron said. Mark wasn't aware he'd been staring. "Poor man's whale watching?"
"Um," Mark said.
Tyler opened his arms wide. "Wanna fight?"
They were in a rival scream-o band. Tension had always run high.
"Come at me, bro," Tyler was saying. Cameron came up and was whispering in his ear. Tyler turned back and said, "We're playing chicken."
"That's all right." Mark took a step away.
"What, you scared? You are kind of small."
That did it, apparently.
"Defending your honor again," Eduardo would have said, had they been on good terms. Instead, it was implied, when Eduardo slid into the pool without hesitation, wet suit scritching on the edge, and then turned to raise an eyebrow at Mark. He'd always been a bit impulsive. Mark sighed and jumped in so he didn't have to experience the uncomfortable frigidity of gradual temperature change.
He pushed hair out of his face and noted that a circle of swimmers and people beside the pool had formed around them. He saw that Eduardo was giving him a faint smile, so he dove under the water and tried to pick Eduardo up on his shoulders.
He failed. Eduardo flopped backwards and Mark came up gasping for breath.
"Eduardo's taller," Tyler offered like a gentleman. "That's probably a better configuration."
Playing chicken with them was like stacking two Corinthian columns on top of each other, and when Mark tried to grab hold of one of the Vosses to yank him down in the water, it was impossible, they were too cleanly shaved, arms like slippery marble beneath his hands.
It was a hard battle. The crowd was really getting into it. Divya, no fan of Uni-horn, was yelling scathing remarks about surfers and guppies in the heat of the moment. Mark swallowed at least three mouthfuls of pool water and might have kicked Eduardo in the ribs once by mistake. He definitely pulled at his hair trying to hang on.
They only won the battle through mental rigor and teamwork.
In retrospect, this might have been what brought them back together, getting elbows to the chest and nearly knocked into the water but managing to drag Cameron down first by a second. The next day Mark told Eduardo that he needed him, and Eduardo came on as the Uni-horn booking agent, landing them sweet gigs all over New England, even granting them amnesty to make their music on enemy turf one time at a bar in Yale.
One day, a letter would arrive at their apartment, something about filing for a lawsuit-but Mark never finished reading it because Eduardo tore it up. It was the only ominous aspect of their relationship. That, along with the shadow of Eduardo's father on their next record cover, but Mark had never met him.
As far as they both were concerned, he and Eduardo were doing all right.