Fic: 5 calls Eduardo missed, (and one he didn't)
Fandom: The Social Network
Title: 5 calls Eduardo missed, (and one he didn't)
Character/Pairing(s): Mark/Eduardo
Rating: PG
Summary: 5 times Eduardo missed a phonecall from Mark.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictional representations of these people, and I do not own them.
A/N - And suddenly I was filled with the unstoppable urge to write crappy tsn fanfiction is the story behind this. Idk.
-one-
Eduardo's head feels too heavy, and his room too bright when he wakes up. He's aware of the ringing coming from somewhere beside his bed, but he's too tired to find the source, so he just hides his head under a pillow until it stops.
It's after three more rings that he realizes it might be something important like his father. He emerges from his pillow cocoon and lunges for the phone, but whoever it was gives up just as he pulls the phone towards himself. He silently curses, and listens to the voicemail left behind.
“Hi, it's me. Mark. Whatever. Um, you haven't been around in a couple of days, and Chris says your sick so … There's no food here. Um. I'm- I could come over if … y'know. You always come over with soup, when I'm sick. Dustin's attempting to make you soup right now, but there's no ingredients because there's food. And it's Dustin. Anyway, I'll see you whenever.”
There's a long silence where all he can hear is Mark's breathing.
Then, “I'm coming over.”
Eduardo smiles, and waits for the shuffling sound of Mark's feet outside his door.
---
-two-
Eduardo wishes his family were the kind that all grouped together during the holidays, in houses filled with embarrassing aunts and uncles, and annoying cousins, and really anyone else in their family. But the Saverin's spent their holidays just the three of them in a big, empty, Miami house.
He's only been there a couple of days, and he already wants to leave. As much as he loves, and misses his family, he thinks he'd love them a little more if he spent less time around them.
He sits through yet another tense dinner, filled with stilted conversation, where his father subtly undermines everything Eduardo has ever done in his life.
By the time he gets to his room, he just wants to lock himself in there for the rest of the week.
He has a voicemail waiting for him, when he checks his phone.
“Hey, it's Mark. My mom says I should've thanked you for the Hanukkah present, and I never did. So thanks. Hope your holidays are good.”
Eduardo can hear noises in the background of other people talking. The Zuckerberg residence is probably one of those houses that has embarrassing aunts and annoying cousins, this time of year. He feels a slight hint of jealousy that he swallows away once he hear Mark's voice again.
“Mine are okay. I had to give my room up for my grandmother, so I'm sleeping on the couch, and I can't code because everyone's always barging into the living room and attempting to talk to me.”
Eduardo almost laughs at the frustration in Mark's voice. He can just picture the ridiculous glare the rest of Mark's family must be getting. He suspects the only reason Mark bothered telling him was so he'd have an excuse to hide from his family a little longer.
“Mark! Come back in here, tell us about school!” A voice calls out, faintly.
“I'm on the phone!” Mark calls back. “Yeah.” He says, like Eduardo was actually there to answer him. “Yeah, I know. That sounds great, you should totally do that.”
He continues as if he's having a conversation, and Eduardo actually laughs this time.
“That asshole,” He mutters as he listens to Mark's one-sided conversation. He feels a sudden pang in his heart. He really misses Mark. They haven't seen each other in days. Hearing Mark's voice again just makes that a glaring fact.
The voice calls on Mark again. “Ugh, they won't stop. I have to go,” Mark mumbles before hanging up.
---
-three-
Eduardo has had a long day. He's went to eight different meetings with potential investors, who all shot him down. Not only that, but he has a sneaking suspicious that everyone in New York is part of a secret club called Let's Think of Creative Ways to Make Eduardo Feel Like Shit.
Christy has called him more times than he can count, today, as if she's making up for all the calls Mark hasn't picked up in the last week. Eduardo's patience is slowly fading away. He's so frustrated with everything, and everyone around him that he actually might cry.
And a homeless man sat beside him on the subway, so now his suit smells like pee.
By the time he gets home, he's seriously considering mass murder.
He stands in the shower for an extra 40 minutes just to feel the water run down his back. He eats leftover Chinese for dinner, and it tastes disgusting. He falls asleep at 8:47pm, because he's just that tired.
He's woken up seven hours later by the sound of his phone ringing. He mentally curses Christy and turns his phone off.
The next morning when he switches it on again, there's 39 texts from Christy, and a voicemail from Mark.
He pretends the texts aren't there and listens to Mark's message as he waits for the coffee machine to start working.
“Wardo!”
There's music blaring in the background. Eduardo can barely hear him.
“It's looking so good, Wardo! It's amazing! It's better than- it's- we wer working on the wall earlier and it's-”
He's drunk. The only reason Eduardo can tell is because he's not finishing any of his thoughts. When he's sober he usually just picks out the best one, or says them all really quickly. Now Mark's words are jumbled, and slightly less sharp than usual. If he didn't know Mark so well, he probably would have missed it.
“Wardo, it's going to be so great, and you should- you should be here to see it! It's- you should be here.”
There's a beat, and the music in the background pulses in Eduardo's ear.
“Why aren't you here?”
Eduardo gasps. He feels like he's been punched. He wishes he'd picked up the phone; wishes he could have answered, and spoken to Mark, and told him …
“It's just. The water under the bridge is cold, Wardo. And you're Brazilian, you're not accustomed to such low climates. But it's sunny in Palo Alto. Always. And I'm here.”
Eduardo swallows a lump in his throat.
Some one shouts “shots!” at Mark.
“Bye. I, um … never mind. Bye.” And then he hangs up.
Eduardo keeps the phone pressed to his ear, and tries to catch his breath again.
---
-four-
“You have one new message voice-message,” The polite British lady on his answering machine says.
“Eduardo,” Mark's voice starts. Eduardo slams his hand on several buttons to make it stop.
It does, but the flashing red light tells him it hasn't been deleted. He should delete it. Mark's not even supposed to be talking to him. It's over now. They signed all the necessary papers. There's nothing left to say. (He ignores the part of him that reminds him there's still everything left to say.)
He stares at the flashing light, as if it'll give him all the answers. It doesn't. It just keeps going like any other light that doesn't actually have a mind of it's own.
Eduardo ignores it. He ignores it in the morning when he eats breakfast. He ignores it when he comes home from work. He ignores it for two weeks, like it's some annoying extension of his crappy answering machine.
Meanwhile, the light keeps taunting him from afar. No matter what he's doing, it's always in the back of his mind. It's when he realizes he's starting to avoid his living room completely just so he doesn't have to see it, that he admits to himself he's being immature.
He gets up one Sunday morning and walks straight to the machine. He stares it down with his hands on his hips, glaring at it.
It flashes back in response.
Eduardo sighs. “This is stupid,” He mutters as he reaches for the delete button. His finger hovers above it for several minutes, before redirecting to the play button.
“Eduardo,” Mark's voice starts again.
Eduardo drops to the couch with a sigh, and buries his face in his hands.
“I …”
“Don't say you're sorry,” Eduardo whispers. “Not now. Please don't say you're sorry.”
“Can you pick up, if you're there? I just want to … you're probably not there.”
Mark sounds tentative. He's speaking slowly, like for once in his life he's actually thinking about his words.
He hears a sigh on the other end. “I didn't- it wasn't meant to be the way it was. You were-” Mark bites back his words, like he knows Eduardo will fight back to whatever he says, even if Eduardo's not there.
“You were never supposed to hate me,” Mark says in a small voice.
“Then why did you do it?” Eduardo shouts at his answering machine, finally pulling his face from his hands. He's on the verge of tears, he can feel them prickling in his eyes. Neither the machine, nor Mark answer him.
“I probably shouldn't have called,” Mark says quietly. “I'm sorry. I should- Bye.”
Eduardo stares at the machine, like maybe there's more. Maybe Mark didn't hang up. Maybe he said-
“You have no new messages,” The British lady tells him.
Eduardo swallows. He wipes at his watery eyes, and picks up the phone, dialing the number he learned by heart. Mark doesn't answer. He's probably wired in, or sleeping.
“Please don't call me again,” Eduardo says, in as steady a voice as he can muster.
---
-five-
By the time Eduardo gets home, it's already more early morning than late night. He's still a little drunk from the earlier birthday party his friends threw for him, and his eyes are half-lidded with sleep. His mouth tastes awful, and his body feels stiff, but he's in a great mood nonetheless.
There's several messages waiting for him when he gets home. Probably people calling to wish him a happy birthday while he was out. He presses play and walks from the machine without really listening.
His cousin wishes him a feliz aniversario as he unbuttons his beer-stained shirt. When he pours himself a glass of water, Chris's voice says “I hope you have a great birthday, man. I sent you something, but it probably won't get there in time. Anyway, you should come visit soon; I haven't seen you in so long. Talk to you later.”
He nearly chokes when the next message starts and he hears Mark's voice.
“Hi. It's Mark. Dustin gave me your number.”
He hasn't spoken to Mark in years. Not since … They haven't even seen each other since that. The last thing he said to him was …
Eduardo puts the water down, and walks over to the machine as if this is some practical joke, and any minute now somebody else's voice is gonna start speaking instead.
“I saw it was your birthday. On Facebook, no less.” He huffs out a nervous laugh. “And Dustin's was sending you a present. Which I probably just ruined the surprise for. I'm pretty sure it was just a toy deer with a beard sowed onto it anyway, because you're getting old, or something.”
Mark took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look, I know we haven't seen each other since … it doesn't matter. You were my best friend, and birthdays are important, and- I don't know. I just want to wish you a happy birthday. So, have a good birthday, and I hope you're happy.”
Mark pauses for a long time. Eduardo closes his eyes. He thinks about how long it's been. Thinks about all the pain and anger he had once felt. All of that seems like it's fading away. He still thinks about it sometimes, and wishes he could scream at Mark, but the truth is, he's grown up. There's a deer with a beard on it's way here to prove it. He could be angry at Mark, but what good will that do? And he's tired of it all.
Mark still hasn't hung up, and Eduardo wonders if maybe, he just forgot to, but then Mark speaks again. “I miss you, Wardo.” It's small and quiet, like he hoped Eduardo wouldn't listen long enough to hear it. But he does.
And really, that's exactly it. That's the feeling he gets whenever he thinks about Mark, or hears Mark's voice. That's what he always feels when he hears Mark's voice. Eduardo just misses him.
The next message starts to play, but Eduardo ignores it, and reaches for his laptop, so he can finally RSVP to one of those shareholder's meetings.
---
- and one-
His phone is ringing as he walks into his apartment. He knows it's been ringing for long, because the outgoing message starts to play, for whoever it is to leave a message. He would rush to answer it, but he's jet-lagged, and he'd rather sleep right now than talk to anyone.
“You came to the shareholder's meeting,” Mark says.
Make that almost anyone. Eduardo drops his bags and speeds towards his phone.
“And you didn't even- ”
“Mark,” Eduardo says hurriedly, picking up the phone.
Mark stops talking.
“I'm here. I just got home,” Eduardo says.
“You left before I could talk to you.”
“I know,” Eduardo says. “I'm sorry. Emergency work thing; they needed me to fly back as soon as possible.”
“Oh,” Mark says.
“I really wanted to stay,” Eduardo admits.
Mark doesn't say anything.
“So?” Eduardo says after the silence stretches on for too long, just toeing the line of awkwardness.
“You haven't changed your voicemail message in like six years,” Mark says.
Eduardo laughs. “Most people don't notice.”
“Well I've left a lot of messages.”
“I know.”
“You should really pick up your phone more often. People might want to talk to you.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah.”
They don't speak for a few seconds, just keep the phone pressed to their ears with the knowledge that the other is there.
“What do you want to talk about?” Eduardo finally asks.
Mark doesn't answer.
“You know I can't see you shrug over the phone, right?”
“But you know I'm doing it,” Mark counters.
Eduardo smiles. “How about we start with something easy?”
“Like what?”
“Like hello, Mark.”
“Hello, Wardo."
Title: 5 calls Eduardo missed, (and one he didn't)
Character/Pairing(s): Mark/Eduardo
Rating: PG
Summary: 5 times Eduardo missed a phonecall from Mark.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictional representations of these people, and I do not own them.
A/N - And suddenly I was filled with the unstoppable urge to write crappy tsn fanfiction is the story behind this. Idk.
-one-
Eduardo's head feels too heavy, and his room too bright when he wakes up. He's aware of the ringing coming from somewhere beside his bed, but he's too tired to find the source, so he just hides his head under a pillow until it stops.
It's after three more rings that he realizes it might be something important like his father. He emerges from his pillow cocoon and lunges for the phone, but whoever it was gives up just as he pulls the phone towards himself. He silently curses, and listens to the voicemail left behind.
“Hi, it's me. Mark. Whatever. Um, you haven't been around in a couple of days, and Chris says your sick so … There's no food here. Um. I'm- I could come over if … y'know. You always come over with soup, when I'm sick. Dustin's attempting to make you soup right now, but there's no ingredients because there's food. And it's Dustin. Anyway, I'll see you whenever.”
There's a long silence where all he can hear is Mark's breathing.
Then, “I'm coming over.”
Eduardo smiles, and waits for the shuffling sound of Mark's feet outside his door.
---
-two-
Eduardo wishes his family were the kind that all grouped together during the holidays, in houses filled with embarrassing aunts and uncles, and annoying cousins, and really anyone else in their family. But the Saverin's spent their holidays just the three of them in a big, empty, Miami house.
He's only been there a couple of days, and he already wants to leave. As much as he loves, and misses his family, he thinks he'd love them a little more if he spent less time around them.
He sits through yet another tense dinner, filled with stilted conversation, where his father subtly undermines everything Eduardo has ever done in his life.
By the time he gets to his room, he just wants to lock himself in there for the rest of the week.
He has a voicemail waiting for him, when he checks his phone.
“Hey, it's Mark. My mom says I should've thanked you for the Hanukkah present, and I never did. So thanks. Hope your holidays are good.”
Eduardo can hear noises in the background of other people talking. The Zuckerberg residence is probably one of those houses that has embarrassing aunts and annoying cousins, this time of year. He feels a slight hint of jealousy that he swallows away once he hear Mark's voice again.
“Mine are okay. I had to give my room up for my grandmother, so I'm sleeping on the couch, and I can't code because everyone's always barging into the living room and attempting to talk to me.”
Eduardo almost laughs at the frustration in Mark's voice. He can just picture the ridiculous glare the rest of Mark's family must be getting. He suspects the only reason Mark bothered telling him was so he'd have an excuse to hide from his family a little longer.
“Mark! Come back in here, tell us about school!” A voice calls out, faintly.
“I'm on the phone!” Mark calls back. “Yeah.” He says, like Eduardo was actually there to answer him. “Yeah, I know. That sounds great, you should totally do that.”
He continues as if he's having a conversation, and Eduardo actually laughs this time.
“That asshole,” He mutters as he listens to Mark's one-sided conversation. He feels a sudden pang in his heart. He really misses Mark. They haven't seen each other in days. Hearing Mark's voice again just makes that a glaring fact.
The voice calls on Mark again. “Ugh, they won't stop. I have to go,” Mark mumbles before hanging up.
---
-three-
Eduardo has had a long day. He's went to eight different meetings with potential investors, who all shot him down. Not only that, but he has a sneaking suspicious that everyone in New York is part of a secret club called Let's Think of Creative Ways to Make Eduardo Feel Like Shit.
Christy has called him more times than he can count, today, as if she's making up for all the calls Mark hasn't picked up in the last week. Eduardo's patience is slowly fading away. He's so frustrated with everything, and everyone around him that he actually might cry.
And a homeless man sat beside him on the subway, so now his suit smells like pee.
By the time he gets home, he's seriously considering mass murder.
He stands in the shower for an extra 40 minutes just to feel the water run down his back. He eats leftover Chinese for dinner, and it tastes disgusting. He falls asleep at 8:47pm, because he's just that tired.
He's woken up seven hours later by the sound of his phone ringing. He mentally curses Christy and turns his phone off.
The next morning when he switches it on again, there's 39 texts from Christy, and a voicemail from Mark.
He pretends the texts aren't there and listens to Mark's message as he waits for the coffee machine to start working.
“Wardo!”
There's music blaring in the background. Eduardo can barely hear him.
“It's looking so good, Wardo! It's amazing! It's better than- it's- we wer working on the wall earlier and it's-”
He's drunk. The only reason Eduardo can tell is because he's not finishing any of his thoughts. When he's sober he usually just picks out the best one, or says them all really quickly. Now Mark's words are jumbled, and slightly less sharp than usual. If he didn't know Mark so well, he probably would have missed it.
“Wardo, it's going to be so great, and you should- you should be here to see it! It's- you should be here.”
There's a beat, and the music in the background pulses in Eduardo's ear.
“Why aren't you here?”
Eduardo gasps. He feels like he's been punched. He wishes he'd picked up the phone; wishes he could have answered, and spoken to Mark, and told him …
“It's just. The water under the bridge is cold, Wardo. And you're Brazilian, you're not accustomed to such low climates. But it's sunny in Palo Alto. Always. And I'm here.”
Eduardo swallows a lump in his throat.
Some one shouts “shots!” at Mark.
“Bye. I, um … never mind. Bye.” And then he hangs up.
Eduardo keeps the phone pressed to his ear, and tries to catch his breath again.
---
-four-
“You have one new message voice-message,” The polite British lady on his answering machine says.
“Eduardo,” Mark's voice starts. Eduardo slams his hand on several buttons to make it stop.
It does, but the flashing red light tells him it hasn't been deleted. He should delete it. Mark's not even supposed to be talking to him. It's over now. They signed all the necessary papers. There's nothing left to say. (He ignores the part of him that reminds him there's still everything left to say.)
He stares at the flashing light, as if it'll give him all the answers. It doesn't. It just keeps going like any other light that doesn't actually have a mind of it's own.
Eduardo ignores it. He ignores it in the morning when he eats breakfast. He ignores it when he comes home from work. He ignores it for two weeks, like it's some annoying extension of his crappy answering machine.
Meanwhile, the light keeps taunting him from afar. No matter what he's doing, it's always in the back of his mind. It's when he realizes he's starting to avoid his living room completely just so he doesn't have to see it, that he admits to himself he's being immature.
He gets up one Sunday morning and walks straight to the machine. He stares it down with his hands on his hips, glaring at it.
It flashes back in response.
Eduardo sighs. “This is stupid,” He mutters as he reaches for the delete button. His finger hovers above it for several minutes, before redirecting to the play button.
“Eduardo,” Mark's voice starts again.
Eduardo drops to the couch with a sigh, and buries his face in his hands.
“I …”
“Don't say you're sorry,” Eduardo whispers. “Not now. Please don't say you're sorry.”
“Can you pick up, if you're there? I just want to … you're probably not there.”
Mark sounds tentative. He's speaking slowly, like for once in his life he's actually thinking about his words.
He hears a sigh on the other end. “I didn't- it wasn't meant to be the way it was. You were-” Mark bites back his words, like he knows Eduardo will fight back to whatever he says, even if Eduardo's not there.
“You were never supposed to hate me,” Mark says in a small voice.
“Then why did you do it?” Eduardo shouts at his answering machine, finally pulling his face from his hands. He's on the verge of tears, he can feel them prickling in his eyes. Neither the machine, nor Mark answer him.
“I probably shouldn't have called,” Mark says quietly. “I'm sorry. I should- Bye.”
Eduardo stares at the machine, like maybe there's more. Maybe Mark didn't hang up. Maybe he said-
“You have no new messages,” The British lady tells him.
Eduardo swallows. He wipes at his watery eyes, and picks up the phone, dialing the number he learned by heart. Mark doesn't answer. He's probably wired in, or sleeping.
“Please don't call me again,” Eduardo says, in as steady a voice as he can muster.
---
-five-
By the time Eduardo gets home, it's already more early morning than late night. He's still a little drunk from the earlier birthday party his friends threw for him, and his eyes are half-lidded with sleep. His mouth tastes awful, and his body feels stiff, but he's in a great mood nonetheless.
There's several messages waiting for him when he gets home. Probably people calling to wish him a happy birthday while he was out. He presses play and walks from the machine without really listening.
His cousin wishes him a feliz aniversario as he unbuttons his beer-stained shirt. When he pours himself a glass of water, Chris's voice says “I hope you have a great birthday, man. I sent you something, but it probably won't get there in time. Anyway, you should come visit soon; I haven't seen you in so long. Talk to you later.”
He nearly chokes when the next message starts and he hears Mark's voice.
“Hi. It's Mark. Dustin gave me your number.”
He hasn't spoken to Mark in years. Not since … They haven't even seen each other since that. The last thing he said to him was …
Eduardo puts the water down, and walks over to the machine as if this is some practical joke, and any minute now somebody else's voice is gonna start speaking instead.
“I saw it was your birthday. On Facebook, no less.” He huffs out a nervous laugh. “And Dustin's was sending you a present. Which I probably just ruined the surprise for. I'm pretty sure it was just a toy deer with a beard sowed onto it anyway, because you're getting old, or something.”
Mark took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look, I know we haven't seen each other since … it doesn't matter. You were my best friend, and birthdays are important, and- I don't know. I just want to wish you a happy birthday. So, have a good birthday, and I hope you're happy.”
Mark pauses for a long time. Eduardo closes his eyes. He thinks about how long it's been. Thinks about all the pain and anger he had once felt. All of that seems like it's fading away. He still thinks about it sometimes, and wishes he could scream at Mark, but the truth is, he's grown up. There's a deer with a beard on it's way here to prove it. He could be angry at Mark, but what good will that do? And he's tired of it all.
Mark still hasn't hung up, and Eduardo wonders if maybe, he just forgot to, but then Mark speaks again. “I miss you, Wardo.” It's small and quiet, like he hoped Eduardo wouldn't listen long enough to hear it. But he does.
And really, that's exactly it. That's the feeling he gets whenever he thinks about Mark, or hears Mark's voice. That's what he always feels when he hears Mark's voice. Eduardo just misses him.
The next message starts to play, but Eduardo ignores it, and reaches for his laptop, so he can finally RSVP to one of those shareholder's meetings.
---
- and one-
His phone is ringing as he walks into his apartment. He knows it's been ringing for long, because the outgoing message starts to play, for whoever it is to leave a message. He would rush to answer it, but he's jet-lagged, and he'd rather sleep right now than talk to anyone.
“You came to the shareholder's meeting,” Mark says.
Make that almost anyone. Eduardo drops his bags and speeds towards his phone.
“And you didn't even- ”
“Mark,” Eduardo says hurriedly, picking up the phone.
Mark stops talking.
“I'm here. I just got home,” Eduardo says.
“You left before I could talk to you.”
“I know,” Eduardo says. “I'm sorry. Emergency work thing; they needed me to fly back as soon as possible.”
“Oh,” Mark says.
“I really wanted to stay,” Eduardo admits.
Mark doesn't say anything.
“So?” Eduardo says after the silence stretches on for too long, just toeing the line of awkwardness.
“You haven't changed your voicemail message in like six years,” Mark says.
Eduardo laughs. “Most people don't notice.”
“Well I've left a lot of messages.”
“I know.”
“You should really pick up your phone more often. People might want to talk to you.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah.”
They don't speak for a few seconds, just keep the phone pressed to their ears with the knowledge that the other is there.
“What do you want to talk about?” Eduardo finally asks.
Mark doesn't answer.
“You know I can't see you shrug over the phone, right?”
“But you know I'm doing it,” Mark counters.
Eduardo smiles. “How about we start with something easy?”
“Like what?”
“Like hello, Mark.”
“Hello, Wardo."