Mark is careful 1
It’s not that Mark’s careless, not at all. He’s one of the most careful people he knows. He saves constantly, has a one hundred percent accuracy rating when it comes to typing code and he’s never spilt a single can of red bull anywhere near to a computer; it’s just that he has a tendency towards using up his whole “care quota” (a term coined by Dustin when attempting to explain how much he cares about work as compared to food) on one thing. This means that everything else gets left by the wayside - forgetting to eat, sleep and wash, though, Mark thinks, is a small price to pay for a smooth running company like Facebook.
Of course, he had preferred it when Wardo was around, even though there had been less work and Facebook had just been a name and an idea and a threat, Wardo looked after Mark in a way that everybody else was too afraid to. He’d been the one standing over Mark’s hunched shoulders, prodding him in the head incessantly until Mark snapped and stood up, shooting half slurred and half bitter words in Eduardo’s direction before collapsing into bed. Eduardo had always been the one who took action, whilst Dustin and Chris looked a little worried and scornful, Eduardo had been the one throwing packets of instant noodles at Mark’s face every chance he got and shoving him into the bathroom with a new bar of soap. But there’s no Wardo anymore, and, Mark thinks with a sharp pang of regret, he’s the reason for it, the one who fucked it all up. Now there’s no one to look after Mark when all his care is being used up elsewhere, no one to force him into the shower or snatch his laptop away from him, no one brave enough or close enough to step over and inside the line.
Mark doesn’t mind not being looked after anymore though, not really, because he thinks, deep down, that he deserves it. It is for these reasons that when he wakes up halfway down a flight of stairs with a ring of panicked employees forming around him, Mark is neither surprised nor particularly upset. He gets up, swaying slightly and feeling a little dizzy and aching with fast forming bruises,
“I’m fine.”
“Are you su-“
“I’m fine.”
“You’re face is bleeding a bit, sir,”
Mark frowns and pats the side of his head, long fingers meeting the odd stickiness of blood just at the edge of his left cheekbone,
“Fuck,”
He continues to make his way up the stairs, cursing under his breath as he considers what to do and wordlessly snatches a tissue offered to him by an anxious looking young woman; he had been hoping to be able not to tell Chris and Dustin - who after Eduardo’s departure have been fussing around him like hyperactive and inept mother hens - but with a bashed up face and a tendency towards easy bruising he doesn’t stand a chance.
He stands in front of the mirror in the well lit bathroom and takes stock of the damage. A heavy, plum tinted flush is spreading across his cheekbone, accented by blood in the centre that oozes from a graze that Mark surmises came from his face making contact with the rough lines that are set into the stone steps. One side of his bottom lip is swelling and his nose has a cut too, neat and thin and even a little rakish, not that Mark cares about that, though, he’s never cared about that. Well, maybe a little bit back in Harvard, when Wardo was getting all the girls and Mark was getting all the dirty looks and it made him wonder whether he was ugly or whether he really was just that bad at holding a conversation. He remembers standing in Dustin’s room, his didn’t have a mirror, and pulling his face around until Eduardo had poked his head around the door and started laughing,
“Your face is fine, handsome even, it’s just your manners that put people off.”
Mark had pulled a face and muttered something about “Then I should get at least some girls,” before trailing after Eduardo, apologising, hurriedly, to an anxious looking Dustin, and being forced to go to bar where he ended up getting a little too drunk and bumping into a girl by the name of Erica Albright.
Mark carefully presses a wad of folded up tissue to the tiny wounds on his face, cleaning them up as much as he can before opening the first aid kit that hangs on the wall and taking out a packet of antiseptic wipes. As he cleans his face up Mark tries to remember when he last ate, two days ago, and when he last slept, also two days ago, he concedes that he probably should be looking after himself a little better, if only to make his adopted parents, Chris and Dustin, feel better. He fishes a suitably sized plaster out of the box and places it carefully over his cheekbone, as soon as he presses it down he thinks that he may have made a mistake,
“Oh Christ, I look like Nelly”, he tries to pull the plaster back off but it’s stuck hard against the delicate ache of a bruise and pulling it it makes Marks eyes tear up; he leaves the plaster where it is and begins to pray for strength.
“OH MY GOD BABY MARK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??”
“I’m fi-“
“Shit, Mark what have you done now?”
Chris is frowning and muttering something about “when Wardo was around” as Mark’s protestations of health and innocence are knocked out of him when Dustin, still shouting loudly and incoherently, runs and hugs Mark to him,
“COME TO MAMA SHARK MARK, IT’S OKAY, POOR THING”
Whilst wondering how Dustin ever managed to get into Harvard, and how he ever managed to infiltrate Mark’s potentially exclusive - undeniably small - group of friends, Mark bats at the auburn haired lunatic until he relinquishes his grip around Mark’s middle.
“I’m fine, I just fell down the stairs,”
Chris frowns,
“How did you do that?”
“I slipped.”
“It looked like you passed out, sir,”
Mark spins round and meets the eye of the anxious young woman with the tissues,
“Shit it’s like you wear camouflage,”
“Sorry?”
“You blend in to your surroundings very well.”
The woman looks a little annoyed, when your surroundings are monochrome office buildings then blending into them may not be the best quality.
“It looked like you passed out, sir,”
“Well I didn’t”
“But your eyes were closed and you didn’t try to catch yourself, sir”
“New spor-“
“YOU PASSED OUT? BABY MARK YOU HAVE TO START EATING AND SLEEPING DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WORRY MAMA SHARK??”
“I am eating and slee-“
“Not often enough. I hate to say this but Dustin is right.”
“No he’s not. I eat and sleep plenty, even if I don’t it’s none of your business, I know you guys like to overlook this detail but you’re my employees not my minders and I can handle myself.”
Dustin pouts and shuffles closer to Chris like he always does when Mark is angry and Chris does his “judgement frown” as Eduardo so aptly named it, Mark walks strides towards the door. He stops when he draws close to the woman, standing in the corner like some sort of ghost,
“Just a tip, the camouflage technique won’t get you anywhere and neither will contradicting the founder of the company that you’re working for. If there’s a next time you won’t keep your job.”
Of course, he had preferred it when Wardo was around, even though there had been less work and Facebook had just been a name and an idea and a threat, Wardo looked after Mark in a way that everybody else was too afraid to. He’d been the one standing over Mark’s hunched shoulders, prodding him in the head incessantly until Mark snapped and stood up, shooting half slurred and half bitter words in Eduardo’s direction before collapsing into bed. Eduardo had always been the one who took action, whilst Dustin and Chris looked a little worried and scornful, Eduardo had been the one throwing packets of instant noodles at Mark’s face every chance he got and shoving him into the bathroom with a new bar of soap. But there’s no Wardo anymore, and, Mark thinks with a sharp pang of regret, he’s the reason for it, the one who fucked it all up. Now there’s no one to look after Mark when all his care is being used up elsewhere, no one to force him into the shower or snatch his laptop away from him, no one brave enough or close enough to step over and inside the line.
Mark doesn’t mind not being looked after anymore though, not really, because he thinks, deep down, that he deserves it. It is for these reasons that when he wakes up halfway down a flight of stairs with a ring of panicked employees forming around him, Mark is neither surprised nor particularly upset. He gets up, swaying slightly and feeling a little dizzy and aching with fast forming bruises,
“I’m fine.”
“Are you su-“
“I’m fine.”
“You’re face is bleeding a bit, sir,”
Mark frowns and pats the side of his head, long fingers meeting the odd stickiness of blood just at the edge of his left cheekbone,
“Fuck,”
He continues to make his way up the stairs, cursing under his breath as he considers what to do and wordlessly snatches a tissue offered to him by an anxious looking young woman; he had been hoping to be able not to tell Chris and Dustin - who after Eduardo’s departure have been fussing around him like hyperactive and inept mother hens - but with a bashed up face and a tendency towards easy bruising he doesn’t stand a chance.
He stands in front of the mirror in the well lit bathroom and takes stock of the damage. A heavy, plum tinted flush is spreading across his cheekbone, accented by blood in the centre that oozes from a graze that Mark surmises came from his face making contact with the rough lines that are set into the stone steps. One side of his bottom lip is swelling and his nose has a cut too, neat and thin and even a little rakish, not that Mark cares about that, though, he’s never cared about that. Well, maybe a little bit back in Harvard, when Wardo was getting all the girls and Mark was getting all the dirty looks and it made him wonder whether he was ugly or whether he really was just that bad at holding a conversation. He remembers standing in Dustin’s room, his didn’t have a mirror, and pulling his face around until Eduardo had poked his head around the door and started laughing,
“Your face is fine, handsome even, it’s just your manners that put people off.”
Mark had pulled a face and muttered something about “Then I should get at least some girls,” before trailing after Eduardo, apologising, hurriedly, to an anxious looking Dustin, and being forced to go to bar where he ended up getting a little too drunk and bumping into a girl by the name of Erica Albright.
Mark carefully presses a wad of folded up tissue to the tiny wounds on his face, cleaning them up as much as he can before opening the first aid kit that hangs on the wall and taking out a packet of antiseptic wipes. As he cleans his face up Mark tries to remember when he last ate, two days ago, and when he last slept, also two days ago, he concedes that he probably should be looking after himself a little better, if only to make his adopted parents, Chris and Dustin, feel better. He fishes a suitably sized plaster out of the box and places it carefully over his cheekbone, as soon as he presses it down he thinks that he may have made a mistake,
“Oh Christ, I look like Nelly”, he tries to pull the plaster back off but it’s stuck hard against the delicate ache of a bruise and pulling it it makes Marks eyes tear up; he leaves the plaster where it is and begins to pray for strength.
“OH MY GOD BABY MARK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??”
“I’m fi-“
“Shit, Mark what have you done now?”
Chris is frowning and muttering something about “when Wardo was around” as Mark’s protestations of health and innocence are knocked out of him when Dustin, still shouting loudly and incoherently, runs and hugs Mark to him,
“COME TO MAMA SHARK MARK, IT’S OKAY, POOR THING”
Whilst wondering how Dustin ever managed to get into Harvard, and how he ever managed to infiltrate Mark’s potentially exclusive - undeniably small - group of friends, Mark bats at the auburn haired lunatic until he relinquishes his grip around Mark’s middle.
“I’m fine, I just fell down the stairs,”
Chris frowns,
“How did you do that?”
“I slipped.”
“It looked like you passed out, sir,”
Mark spins round and meets the eye of the anxious young woman with the tissues,
“Shit it’s like you wear camouflage,”
“Sorry?”
“You blend in to your surroundings very well.”
The woman looks a little annoyed, when your surroundings are monochrome office buildings then blending into them may not be the best quality.
“It looked like you passed out, sir,”
“Well I didn’t”
“But your eyes were closed and you didn’t try to catch yourself, sir”
“New spor-“
“YOU PASSED OUT? BABY MARK YOU HAVE TO START EATING AND SLEEPING DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WORRY MAMA SHARK??”
“I am eating and slee-“
“Not often enough. I hate to say this but Dustin is right.”
“No he’s not. I eat and sleep plenty, even if I don’t it’s none of your business, I know you guys like to overlook this detail but you’re my employees not my minders and I can handle myself.”
Dustin pouts and shuffles closer to Chris like he always does when Mark is angry and Chris does his “judgement frown” as Eduardo so aptly named it, Mark walks strides towards the door. He stops when he draws close to the woman, standing in the corner like some sort of ghost,
“Just a tip, the camouflage technique won’t get you anywhere and neither will contradicting the founder of the company that you’re working for. If there’s a next time you won’t keep your job.”