the lengths that I would go to, the distance in your eyes

[pointzerothree]

It's a long few days that pass after the conversation in which Mark could only tell the truth. Eduardo tries not to think about it, at first (and fails, but that's beside the point), not about to share those forced truths and figuring that Mark will come to him when he's ready, just as Eduardo said he should. Having been the one to screw up this

Comments

[zuckered]

Life goes on. It's a universal truth.

It's been a few days since Mark slammed Eduardo with just about every truth bouncing around in his head. Since Mark realized that there probably are some benefits to having inane thoughts, that he envies the people whose version of the truth just ends up being the discussion of which dresses make their asses look fat, or some other pop-culture fed cliché that becomes mainstream thanks to the few seconds they get on the silver screen. Most people wouldn't, in a million years, end up talking about billions of dollars' worth in shares. Months of hidden agendas. But there's something that Mark and Eduardo have shared since the start, something that pulled them together in spite of varied interests and age gaps, and that's the fact that they were, in many ways, destined to make something special.

(Mark doesn't believe in destiny, not really, but he thinks that in a way, it might apply here. Sometimes things happen that are so statistically improbable that it's hard not to thank the heavy hand of some intangible force. This holds doubly true now that he's been transported to a magical and isolated island, where currency's more or less given in flowers.)

But even the joint creation of something magnificent, game-changing, life-altering, doesn't guarantee that it'll last. The lesson's easy enough to learn and take to heart, but these days, what Mark finds difficult is deciding just how much he's willing to try. It's nice, in theory, to assume that someone will just keep giving an effort their all, but no one's an endless well of patience or energy, and Mark knows he doesn't rank high in that area to begin with. More importantly, Wardo knows.

Which is why Mark's sitting in the rec room, trying to find the routine that feels more natural to him than the schedule he's formed on the island. One without the spontaneity that comes from having a friend who was, in many ways, the other half of the coin.

Even in the middle of a line of code, Mark pauses instantly when he hears someone (Wardo, he knows, even if his brain tries to rationalize and tell him that it can't be the case, not after so many days have passed) clear their throat close to the building's entrance. Surprise registering in a complete halt of movement, as well as an inability to process the fact that the bottle being held out to him is his to drink. (He does, however, take it in hand, then place it on the table in front of the sofa.)

"Sure," he replies, finally breaking out of his reverie and staring at his monitor again. His fingers fail to move.

[pointzerothree]

There's a moment, watching Mark watch his computer screen, where Eduardo almost turns around and walks away again after all. If he's doing this for nothing, then there's no point in doing it, or at least there shouldn't be, and there are days when it feels like he's poured so much energy into Mark and their friendship that he doesn't have anything left to give. He stays, though, not needing more than that second's hesitation, smiling timidly at the side of Mark's head as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, a few feet separating them. Under any other circumstances, maybe he wouldn't have bothered trying (or so he can tell himself), but the difference between this and probably several other past similar incidents is that this one is entirely his fault, a conclusion that he's reached over six days of thinking it over. He was angry and he was provoked, maybe, where lack of words could even count as provocation at all, but he could have held his tongue, didn't need to lash out when he had to know, on some level, that it would achieve nothing. After that, he wouldn't have been surprised if Mark didn't want him around at all; the way he sees it, to have as much attention as got him permission to sit is more than he'd have deserved anyway. He doesn't need more than that, certainly doesn't need to have Mark's focus trained fully on him for the apology he's half-rehearsed in his own head. In fact, it might be easier if he doesn't. Never has he been so grateful for the computer that he's always had to share Mark with anyway, often feeling like he was the one losing the battle.

"Look," he says after a few seconds' silence, hands curled around the neck of the beer bottle he's rested between his knees, gaze fixed on his own lap, though he steals the occasional sideways glance at Mark. "I know you're probably mad at me right now, and - I get that, I would probably be mad at me, too. I just wanted to say -"

By necessity, the speech, such as it is, is going to be one full of starts and stops; Eduardo knows that. He might be considerably better at talking about his feelings than Mark is, but that doesn't mean this comes easily. He's too nervous for that, worried it will be too late, that Mark will have been waiting for him to make the first move just as he was waiting for Mark to do so, and in that lack of understanding, he'll have lost his chance to make things right. It isn't fair that this should be on him, but it is, and he's never had a problem owning up to his own faults. (If anything, he makes too much of them, but that's neither here nor there. At the end of the day, he supposes that if he accomplished anything other than screwing up an already damaged friendship, it was proving himself right. He's a fuck-up, always has been, lucky to be in Mark's sphere at all and luckier still to have this shot at fixing things now.)

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry," he continues, quieter, if at all possible. It isn't like he really needs to bother. The nice thing about this building, so far out of the way, is that save for the occasional basketball player or Seventies TV aficionado, it's usually empty, much less frequented than the Compound. Now, it's just the two of them, and the silence that hangs heavy and oppressive between every sentence Eduardo manages. "I mean, I - I tried before, but I know it was - anyway, the point is that. I'm sorry. I'm really, really fucking sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did, and I can promise you that I didn't mean it. I was just. Angry, and hurt, I guess. And I know that isn't an excuse, but I just wanted you to know that that was why I said... not because I think it. I don't. I shouldn't have even gotten so upset in the first place."

Biting his lip, he turns his head fully in Mark's direction, eyes wide with uncertainty. "You don't even have to say anything. Just... know that I'd take it back if I could."

[zuckered]

It's the apology that suddenly feels familiar. Just the ghost of it, sounding very much like a certain phone conversation the both of them shared, when Mark accused Eduardo of being just that- angry, hurt, needing a voice. Suddenly, it feels like he's able to map out the process that loops between them, the way that Eduardo always seems to snap a little after falling behind, after being brushed off. It's the sort of thing that Mark might find commendable- but sometimes it's hard, because what comes out of Eduardo's mouth or what actions his hands take in such a fired moment is some mixture of truth and emotion. The emotion's the problem. Emotion is truth and a lie all at once, mixed together, perception and vision altering with colors and exaggerations, but only as a result of feelings buried deep in a person's chest. In their heart. The problem then lies in the fact that Mark honestly has difficulty differentiating one from the other, that Eduardo probably does as well, because if there's one thing Mark's sure of, it's the fact that his (former?) best friend always tries to stamp down words that he doesn't think would be wise to share. And that always means that he's hiding. It's diplomatic, it's probably for a good cause, but it still makes it impossibly hard for Mark, and during a time when he can't afford for things to be impossibly hard.

Still, it's a concession, Mark's willing to admit that. No matter what factors have pushed them to this very instant, this is Eduardo taking a step that, while he's done many a time, can't be easy. What Mark can offer him, one way or the other, is a listening ear, and it's this that he tries to hint at by reaching out to close the laptop itself with a click, still not completely looking over (because something's churning in his stomach, and it's a nauseating feeling) but trying his best to catch every word as well as he can.

Now here's the problem.

Mark believes that Eduardo always means his apologies when he gives them. That they are an honest admission of the fact that Eduardo believes he's done something that he shouldn't have, that if he had the opportunity to turn time back, he'd choose a different path altogether. That whatever the consequences are, they aren't worth the brief catharsis that yelling may provide, or freezing a bank account may provide- briefly, Mark wonders if Eduardo's ever done this to his father before, even in passing. Some children throw up tantrums regularly, and personally, Mark believes that it helps foster a healthy relationship between parent and child, because it's not really good for either side to bend over backwards to appease the other. Somehow, Mark can't see Eduardo doing the same. When he tries, when he closes his eyes off from everything in the present, all that he can imagine is a boy whose voice in the home grows lower and lower until it fades into silence. Sounds poetic, but the reality of it is harsh, unwanted, and it grates on Mark's nerves that this is yet another reason why he must stay put, why it is imperative for him to do so, even though every bone in his body is telling him that doing so much prove disastrous as well.

But the matter of the apology aside, there's also what Eduardo said in the first place. Whether or not Eduardo actually believes it, that's the core matter at hand. That's what determines whether or not there's actually a point to all of this, the fighting, the confusion, the pain that's magnified simply by being in close proximity, whether or not it's actually aiming for something, or just a means of holding themselves together as they spiral slowly out of one another's grasps.

"You don't have to apologize," Mark says, brow furrowed both in concentration and in confusion. "You were just being honest."

[pointzerothree]

Even as he speaks, there's a gravity to Mark's closing the laptop that Eduardo can't ignore, the barely familiar weight of having Mark's full attention, with or without his gaze, heavy on his shoulders. Regardless of the words that follow, that in itself is proof of how necessary this is. The times Mark has done this, set his computer aside to focus on whatever conversation the two of them might be participating in, Eduardo is pretty sure he could count on one hand (an exaggeration, probably, but that's what it feels like, anyway), and he's struck not for the first time with the sense that he doesn't know what to do when that's the case. The fight, the battle for attention, for recognition, to come first, he's used to; it's one he always loses, but even that is comfortable, giving him a reason to continue trying harder, all the while resigned to the fact that he'll never win. Now, whether or not Mark chooses to look at him - and, really, that can't make a difference when his own eyes are trained on the glass bottle between his knees, a sign of deference, if nothing else - it's a sign of just how fucking serious this actually is, as if six days of radio silence weren't enough to prove that on its own. That shouldn't be so difficult to wrap his head around when he's so used to screwing up, to falling short, but he never expected that he would be the one to potentially ruin this.

Shaking his head, dazed but fervent, when Mark finally speaks, Eduardo opens his mouth to reply, but it takes him a moment to find words at all. At the time, yes, it felt accurate, but only for that split second when, rife with emotion and long-buried resentment, he actually thought that he deserved better. Whether or not he was being honest, then, is something that's hard to determine. He knows better now, than whatever irrational self-importance led him to lash out like that, didn't need more than an instant to reach the same conclusion even when they were fighting. To admit that it hurt is one thing, but to act like there's any reason why it shouldn't have been the case is another entirely, something totally out of line. Either way, though, he can't deny it, or at least isn't sure that he should, for the sake of continued honesty. Maybe neither of them are compelled to tell the truth anymore, but that's no reason to be anything less than forthcoming. If anything, after what he said, the damage he potentially did, Mark deserves the full truth now even more than he did when the island was making him confess things that he had no intention of saying.

"No," he says, a little lost, because it's the simplest beginning, the one thing that has to be true no matter what happens next. "I do need to. It wasn't - it wasn't fair." If he didn't have to apologize, then they wouldn't have spent days avoiding each other, both apparently unwilling or afraid or waiting for the other to make the first move, and again, Eduardo wonders if maybe this is too little too late, too much injury already caused for an apology to do any good. Maybe that's what Mark means, the thought making Eduardo's stomach turn, the corners of his mouth pulling into a deeper frown. "It wasn't honest, either. I might have thought so for a second, but - no." It's not quite right, but it's the closest he can manage, and, now, nearly a week after the fact, it also isn't the point. "And I know I don't really have the right to ask anything of you right now, but... I'm really hoping you can forgive me. Because I miss you, and I really don't want to have fucked things up so badly after everything we've been through. So if you need time, or, or you want me to go or whatever, I understand, I just. Want you to know that I'm here, and that I'm sorry, and that I hope we can move past this."

[zuckered]

There are certain answers that would help at this point. Those in response to clarification questions, mostly. What was it about Mark's personality that Eduardo responded to? What were the verbal triggers? What changed in that moment back in the rec room, when Eduardo's expression changed completely? Is it just a habitual response to being left behind, or does Eduardo really believe that he was being harsh, that he wasn't being fair, that what he said wasn't holistically true?

The problem lies in the fact that all of these questions, if asked, will just set off another series of switches. Minor implosions. Gaps wedged into the bridge that so carefully hangs between the two of them, the one that Mark knows either of them has carefully stepped out onto, testing the planks, the strength, the resilience. Whether the greatest risk is the dissolution of the friendship, or if it's something else, something deep and delicate in a man's confidence (and in this, he thinks that both he and Eduardo would apply), doesn't really matter. The end is all the same. One false step and the both of them could end up tumbling, could end up getting carried in opposite directions. It's happened before- surely, it can always happen again. The greatest difficulty is never the repetition of history, but instead finding a way to break out of a pattern and venture into new territory. Innovation is one thing.

Changing parts of oneself, quite another.

Mark rubs at his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, already feeling the start of a headache forming at the bridge of his nose. This is where his brain is always forced into hyperdrive these days, trying desperately to learn what most people have apparently known for years. Either that, or trying to learn what has always evaded people, what shouldn't be solved or understood by the efforts of a single man. The things that Eduardo lays out on the table, cards for everyone to see, have never been present in Mark's deck from the start. 'I miss you.' 'I hope we can move past this.' 'It wasn't fair.'

If he could repeat these admissions back in return, no hesitation, no misgivings, everything would be easier.

But he can't.

Not in that way.

"Stop," he says, shaking his head, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple. "It's not- it's not something that I have to forgive, it's not something that I'm mad ab- I'm not mad." The stammers seem so incoherent today, and belatedly, Mark wishes that the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, would have been half as obtuse.

"I didn't expect it."

[pointzerothree]

Briefly, Eduardo wishes that he were mad. That Mark could yell and get out any frustration, or else turn on that cold, hard-edged disappointment that's always brought childhood memories with it, and Eduardo could sit there and take it and let that be penance for a wrongdoing, a way of compensating for the mistakes he made in the only way possible. Instead, he's left with an unsettling feeling of emptiness, of uncertainty, without a single fucking clue as to what it is that Mark wants from him. Surely it has to be something; Mark's always wanted something, an algorithm or a thousand dollars or an extra two hundred for some kind of server or just the expected deference, never Eduardo himself. Now, that seems vividly to be the case again. If he didn't want anything, if there was nothing to apologize for, then why the six days of silence? Why run off at all? It seems off to Eduardo, incongruous with his own expectations, and prompts him to finally turn his head slightly in Mark's direction, eyes wide and questioning, teeth pressing to his lower lip. There's hurt in there somewhere, perhaps unwarranted, but existing all the same. Mostly, though, it's a desperate need to appeal, to figure out what he's done wrong and set it right, since there must be something he's missing, some step he hasn't taken. Mark's always had an uncanny way of making him feel small, in a manner that's hardly unfamiliar but that only one other person has ever really quite been capable of, and now is the truest it's been in a long time. He doesn't remember the last time he felt so young.

"Okay," he murmurs, nodding slowly to himself, as if trying to figure out how to piece together this puzzle, how to determine what move to make next. If his apology isn't wanted, then it isn't wanted; he just doesn't know many other courses to take, when he tried to explain himself before only to be met with the sight of Mark's retreating back. He doesn't even know if Mark would want an explanation, anyway, if going back to that moment would make things better or only make them worse. It's impossible to guess, and Eduardo is so often wrong that he probably would be again, and with something so dire, the connection between the two of them already feeling so shaky, it isn't a chance he's willing to take. He cannot get this wrong. If there's one thing he's learned, other than the necessity of watching his back, it's that he wants Mark Zuckerberg in his life no matter what happens, enough that, were force of will capable of saving a friendship, he'd have done so several times over by now.

Taking a breath, he looks away again, then reaches forward to pop the cap off his bottle using the edge of the table, not yet sipping it but holding it in both hands, glass growing warm against his palms. To look, to try to read that unfathomable expression, is only going to make him more anxious, and he doesn't really know how much more he can take when he feels like he's waiting on a bed of nails already. (With Mark, there's no end to what he can take, but he doesn't want much more of this.) "You don't have to be mad to have to forgive something. I'm - I'm glad you're not, but... You didn't expect it, I didn't mean to say it, so just. If you could tell me what I can do to make this right, that would be really great."

[zuckered]

As much as Mark hates to admit it, there are times when he's pretty sure that Eduardo's father has a point. While the two of them have never spoken at great length about the relationship between the younger and elder Saverin, Mark's perception of the man has been shaped by the little details shared over time, sometimes in stories, and others given in expression. What he's gleaned from the few years they've had is that Eduardo's father is ambitious and traditional- more or less the worst combination seen in parents of today's generation. Impossibly high expectations only come as a result of confidence, and confidence is rarely found without establishing a sense of independence at a young age. It doesn't have to be striking out on one's own, packing one's owh school lunches, or even completing every assignment without a word of help from a friend or parent- independence is found in a child being trusted to make decisions for him or herself, to begin considering the calculus that goes into every move and every interaction, kinks ironed out in youth to help make way for smoother times in years to come. Where Mark's mother has always given her son complete freedom to spend his time studying what he chose, and even allowed to pick out a fair number of his own extracurriculars, stories say that Eduardo's father has often been there every step of the way, dictating the next move, pressuring for a certain outcome. And that never works. Shaping the life of a child keeps the training wheels on too long, and has made Eduardo Saverin into a young man who is, sometimes, every bit a child on the inside.

It's this thought that strikes Mark as he keeps a close watch on Eduardo in his peripheral vision, never having to meet eye contact directly, but taking a certain level of comfort from proximity alone as well. The way Eduardo sits, one might almost think that Mark has some kind of hold over his best friend. One that shows an imbalance of power, rather than the both of them as peers.

Contrary to what others might think, Mark doesn't want any of that.

The deep exhale only just manages to avoid turning into a sigh as Mark rubs at his forehead. He's being given a challenge. That's all he needs to see it as. Eduardo has asked him for a solution, a solution to a problem that seems to have been years in the making (at least, for him, although Mark suspects that Eduardo's already caught the weight of the years on his own two shoulders, always too empathetic for his own good). The chances that he'll magically land on the answer in one questioning is slim.

"Level with me," he decides at last, wondering if he's just fanning the flames that have only just managed to settle, embers emitting smoke that makes it hard to breathe. "Just level with me. Tell me what you think. Who you think I am. Telling me what I'm not doesn't matter, doesn't provide context, and it makes for a lousy definition. Whether or not you meant to say what you did, you believed the words when they came out of your mouth. How true was it?"

[pointzerothree]

They're two completely different questions, of course, and Eduardo isn't surprised. That is, in his view, from what he remembers, classic Mark, always thinking more quickly, a step or several ahead of what anyone else would be capable of keeping up with, Eduardo included. This time, though, he means to follow along, to not get left behind, because whatever this is, at least it's progress, something better than the near week they've spent avoiding each other's presence. All the same, it feels a little like being on trial - completely different from what he imagines their deposition to have been like, but like he's being judged, and whatever testament he gives will be what Mark bases his verdict on. Ever since the time he was young, Eduardo's greatest crime has always been feeling too deeply, the very instinct that prompted such actions like freezing the account and smashing Mark's laptop; now, though, there's legitimate damage done, and desperate though he is to set things right, he can't pretend that he doesn't deserve whatever judgment Mark passes. Maybe it was always going to come to this, maybe he was just trying too hard from the very beginning, trying to rebuild something too broken to ever be successfully put back together. He doesn't want to believe that, though, not yet, and as such, he knows that whatever he says next might well be the most important words they share over the course of their friendship.

"It wasn't," he says slowly, a little stronger than he's sounded when insisting as much before, though his tone is still quiet, inhibited. "I - I believed it when I said it because... I said all that, about me and Sean, and then you didn't say anything, so I just figured..." He trails off, not needing to say it. He figured that he was right, and rarely has it sucked so much for that to be the case. "And, yeah, that hurt. So I took it out on you." It isn't entirely accurate, sounding more vindictive when phrased as such than freezing the account or anything else, but it's close enough to the truth, and it isn't the important part, anyway. What matters is the part after; what matters is this. Glancing tentatively at Mark, he frowns, regret clearly evident in the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes. "But - but I realized, you know, that I said it because it was what I thought in the first place, so it was stupid to expect anything else, right? I had no reason to, and I'm okay with that. Mark, you are -"

Finally rounding back to Mark's initial request, he draws in a deep breath. "I think you're brilliant," he says, and looks away again, something fond but sad in the exhale he lets back out again, as if getting caught in the act, admitting something he hadn't intended to share. "Probably the most brilliant person I've ever met. Sometimes a little oblivious, maybe, but -" He swallows. "You have a different set of priorities than I do. It doesn't mean that you don't care, just that you want things that I... that I can't deliver, I can't live up to. I've been figuring that out since around the time I showed up here. And that's okay. I'm okay with that. I wouldn't change you, Mark, I would never have thought that you needed to, but it's been years for you. You've lived through more than I have. Of course you aren't exactly who I remember you being when we were in school. We'd been barely speaking for months by the time everything fell apart, anyway. So who am I to say whether or not you've changed when I'm not even sure how well I knew you then in the first place?"

[zuckered]

He lets Eduardo continue rambling, but part of what holds Mark's tongue back is confusion. This time, of course, felt a little more strongly. The disconnect between Eduardo and Mark sometimes feels as wide and deep as a chasm, an impasse, and one where the bridge only ever seems to hang on by a thread that continues to grow thin. What's he supposed to do with that? What's he supposed to do when every single step rocks the bridge and threatens to send it tumbling down? Sometimes, it isn't hard to imagine that keeping that bridge hanging, even if only symbolically, might end up meaning more than having it crash and burn beyond repair. It might be the lesser of two evils, and it's that train of thought that's driven Mark away just as much as the hurt from their last conversation. Misunderstanding is better than hate, he has to assume. Only when faced directly with the source of misunderstanding does Mark feel frustrated, feel the desire to work out all of the kinks, the fallacies, the flaws that should be easy fixes, even if they never turn out as such. The tiniest of remarks and details, like the mention of Mark not saying anything in response to Eduardo's comment about Sean. What comment? Does the absence of a response automatically mean that the first statement should be accepted as true? Maybe that's a quick fix. Mark assumes nothing unless directly told. Eduardo accepts truths as implied by silence.

Once again, they're on opposite sides. And the potential he has to leap over that gap now has him ignoring all of the praise, the things that he honestly hears all too often. He doesn't need reassurance of the fact that he's a brilliant guy, that's practically given right now. Even if it's not necessarily academic brilliance, or brilliance in its purety, the fact that Mark has pinpointed the right occasion to introduce such a simple concept to the world in a way that's easy for them to digest, that is just enough brilliance coupled with opportunity, enough to mix and start a storm.

Mark doesn't need to be reminded of that. Every single day has him waking up and remembering, lamenting all that he's left behind, all that makes most days honestly easy to get through, lonely or not. Sometimes you don't need company when you know that you've at least got innovation on your side, an endless trove of information and chance to dig through. Mark can live on that. Sometimes he thinks that most people could, if only they were touched by it. Maybe not Eduardo, though.

"What do you mean- what do you mean, when I didn't say anything?" Mark asks, his brows pulled together in utmost confusion. The jagged nature of the question disturbs his calm, the laptop tilting precariously on his lap as he shifts, before his hand drops down on that too to hold it in place. "What did you assume that I meant? What did I imply that made me out to be such an awful person? You have to tell me these things, Eduardo, not just write me off as being the bad guy when I told you- I told you that I'm tired, you don't." He stops, looking around, his shoulders hunching again as his lips press firmly together. "I arrived after months of being involved in two fairly significant court cases. Lawyers assume shit, Eduardo. I don't want that from everyone else. If you have a question, ask, don't... assume."

He sounds slightly defeated by the end, a thumb pressing against the furrow between both brows.

[pointzerothree]

It shouldn't matter. Eduardo tells himself this, repeats it over and over in his head in quick succession to try to convince himself as much, but when it comes down to it, regardless of how much it shouldn't matter, it really, really fucking does. Having Mark ignore what he says is one thing; it's been done before and it will be done again, something he's mentally prepared for, just because sometimes Mark thinks so damn fast that Eduardo is certain that he can't just respond to everything said. It's the way things are, something Eduardo knows comes not from apathy or lack of affection, just from a brain like Mark's. Of course, that doesn't really excuse his not saying anything to something so major, that couldn't have just been overlooked for pacing's sake, but Eduardo is here because he came to terms with the implication in that. Had it been a surprise, that would be one thing, but he said it first himself, an acknowledgment of that truth before Mark all but confirmed it. It's fine, it should have been fine; that's the whole point of his having come to apologize.

The idea of Mark not knowing, though, of having been so fucking oblivious, caring so little that he couldn't even hear what Eduardo was saying, that stings in a way that being right didn't. It feels like ice in his veins, makes him bodily shiver as he looks away, eyes growing wide and dark with the effort it takes not to just up and leave again right now. He's been saying for a month now, since the night Mark showed up, that any effort would be worth it, and a part of him still has to believe that's true. If he's the only one making that effort, though - as it's beginning to seem like he is, Mark asking everything of Eduardo and not even bothering to listen to what he says - then he has to wonder if there's a point after all. He can't do this by himself. Owning when he was wrong, yes, he'll do that without hesitation, but the damage done between them wasn't solely his fault, and as such, he can't be the only one trying to fix it. It takes both of them. It takes Mark actually fucking caring, and in the moment, at least, Eduardo has a hard time believing that he does.

"I did tell you," he says through his teeth, voice low, though there is, as ever, less ire than outright hurt. He wishes he could pretend that the opposite were true, that he could be fucking tough enough to really stand up for himself, but in this case, he doesn't know if that would be a good idea anyway. Him getting angry is what got them into this position in the first place, and still, despite himself, he would take fixing this over accepting defeat and the two of them going their separate ways, the latter an idea that hurts more than he'll ever say when he knows that this is their last shot, that they don't get this reconciliation back home. "When we were standing there, I out and outright told you what I thought. That after having to listen to you go on and on for months about how great Sean was, after you moved across the country because he said you should, then I show up, and not only am I apparently getting left behind, but you don't even want him to know that you wanted me there. It made pretty fucking clear how you felt about us both. It just would have been nice to have you say so, instead of ignoring what I said. I could take you telling me that it was true, Mark, that I didn't matter half as much as him, that you were so... I don't know, ashamed of wanting me around that you'd want to keep it a secret from him, because God knows I could never live up to what he was for you."

[pointzerothree]

Though it feels a little like he's strayed from the real topic at hand, Eduardo doesn't much care. It has more to do, anyway, with how emotional he's gotten, something he intended not to do when he made his way over here. At least this time, there will be no uncertainty, everything laid out on the table, Mark hopefully unable to ignore what the issue here is. Eduardo doesn't care that it's true, or else he wouldn't have said so. What he cares about is how Mark responds to it, though he can't bring himself to look in Mark's direction to see what that is. "But I told you all that, and you didn't say anything," he murmurs, hating how goddamn small he sounds, his shoulders hunched forward in something like defeat. "Apparently you didn't realize I said anything at all. What else was I supposed to take from that, Mark? If it weren't true, you'd have told me. I guess I just... didn't want it to be, which is why I got so angry."

[zuckered]

"...that's what you're talking about?"

The uneven lighting in the rec center colors Mark's face with shadows, making obvious the furrow in his brow, deeply driven confusion mixed with something resembling shock. Yes, he's taken aback. Yes, he's surprised. While it's almost expected for Mark that the two of them would be having, as always, a difficult time communicating, that their latest debacle came to a head because of that moment in conversation is something that Mark just cannot understand. Cannot fathom. His eyes blink, squeeze shut, his lips moving with words that can't quite form or string together into coherent thought. It's beyond him. People in general are just beyond him, doesn't matter how long he's known them, doesn't matter how well he predicts trends and offers services that'll cater to the whims of society. Individuals are just another level entirely, and trying to understand them requires delving into a depth of detail that Mark can't seem to manage for the life of him. Even when it's Wardo. (Sometimes, especially Wardo's involved.)

His cheeks blanch, his hands ball into fists, and again there's that steady pounding in his ears, the one that always seems to surface when he tries to concentrate. Is there any way for him to make it clearer? He remembers telling Eduardo that people don't understand him, and maybe the problem is that such a statement doesn't spell things out down to every last letter, but isn't the point of a friend that they give one another the benefit of the doubt? That maybe friends are the people who don't require every last word to be made clear by those they care for. But no. Mark never gets that. Even his own mother, his extraordinarily kind mother who thinks the world of him, still puts words into his mouth, and assumes that her little boy is just as American pie as everyone else in the area. That much, he's always attributed to a generation gap. With Eduardo, he's never sure quite what it is. Disconnect. Dissonance.

"Wardo, I told you," he says, nodding with every few words, his sentences forming an unsteady beat. "I told you after you made that statement, that I don't think anyone really understands me or where I'm coming from, and for the love of- I wasn't trying to imply that you were right. I was trying to- I didn't think I needed to spell it out. I didn't care more about Sean Parker than I did you. I wasn't ashamed of you, I just didn't..."

He stops abruptly, hands weaving into his hair, the heels of both palms pressed against his temples. Again, he feels his pulse, everywhere.

"Sean Parker was like... the face to facebook. He was cool, he knew what people liked, he knew how to make things new and novel, he knew how to host parties that gained facebook so much notoriety that all the CS students across the country wanted to intern with us even before we ever turned a profit. We don't pay people several times more than other companies, but we're cooler. And I didn't want to lose that." He pauses, expression twisted as he falls more heavily against the back of the couch again.

[pointzerothree]

Eduardo listens. It's the least he can do, really. There are times it takes a conscious effort on his part not to fall into hypocrisy, but he at least remains aware of it, and when Mark's seeming not to listen is one of the main reasons why he got upset in the first place, it wouldn't make any sense not to do so himself. It isn't even just to make a point, either. He wants to understand, he really, truly does, because the idea of this being the end still isn't something he can stomach, and on some level, he thinks he'll always be automatically inclined to give Mark the benefit of the doubt. For him to have not understood would make sense; it's why he's tried so hard not to overreact (at least not too much). Mark could explain himself and everything could become clear and they could fall back into what they once were, putting this whole incident behind them. There isn't, Eduardo is pretty sure, anything he would like more than to be wrong in this instance.

He doesn't get it, though, not when Mark starts, and certainly not when Mark finishes, those last few words hitting harder than they have any right to. Of course he didn't want to lose that. Facebook and its coolness were always Mark's priorities, regardless of who got caught in the crossfire. In this case, though, it's more than that, it's fucking personal, now more than ever. Trained in business though he might be, it's more baffling to Eduardo than he can recall it having been before, the degree to which Mark is able to compartmentalize, even sorting other people's thoughts and feelings into different categories. To Eduardo, this isn't about Facebook in the slightest, and it never has been. It's about him and Sean, and Mark's perceptions of them both, the different places they ranked in his esteem, a scale that Mark doesn't even seem to have been conscious of. (Eduardo will accept that much. That doesn't mean he can deal with the rest of it, not when this is all so goddamn reminiscent of that conversation itself, him at the end of his rope, trying so, so desperately to hold on, to matter more.)

"No, but you were all too willing to let go of me," he murmurs, glancing at Mark out of the corners of his eyes, a heavy resignation in his voice. It isn't a question, isn't even an argument, merely a simple statement of fact. He knows because it happened, because Mark chose Facebook over him once before, because he had to stand there in that office as everything he once had came crashing down around him and deal with Sean's stupid, smug face, the way he hovered over Mark as if trying to demonstrate the hold he had over him, the thing he possessed that Eduardo probably never could, no matter what he tried to tell himself. Shaking just enough for it to be noticeable, he sighs heavily, head kept lowered. He may still be upset, but he's not so proud as to do anything else, not when he knows he's fighting a losing battle here. "I... I know what he did for Facebook, Mark. That isn't my point. What I'm trying to say is... When it was you and me, you acted like he was a god. Like he could do no fucking wrong. But I was - I was supposed to be your best friend. And I don't get it, why else you'd have such a problem with him knowing that you might have wanted me around, like it would have been a crime or something. Like... like I wasn't good enough to want there."

[zuckered]

He cannot keep fighting this battle. That's something that becomes increasingly clear every single time they have this type of conversation. It even teases at his awareness when he notices Eduardo's expressions, his altered tones, and while normally Mark might try his best to deal with it and soldier on, four years have a way of wearing a person down. He's had four years for this matter to occasionally come and interrupt his thoughts out of the blue. Four years to stare at empty chairs, four years of working through his closet and forgetting to do his laundry until he comes across that black fleece yet again, four years of going to work every day and realizing that only Dustin and Chris will be there, that only they remain of those years that he spent on Harvard's campus. He's had four years to feel regret about what he's done, but the problem now is that Eduardo hasn't been around for any of it. That's something that returning home won't even fix. That's something Mark doesn't know if Eduardo will ever truly understand, because it's simply not in Mark's blood to apologize in that way, but it's something that Eduardo probably needs to keep from crumbling time after time. For what isn't the first time, and what Mark suspects won't be the last, futility plays with his senses as he stares at an indistinct point on the wall across from them. This silence, too, will be taken by Eduardo as meaning that Mark implicitly agrees with what's been said.

And not for the first time, Mark thinks that it's probably easier if he just gives in to this skewed view that everyone has of him. People don't expect much from assholes. People aren't too often hurt by them either, so long as they don't expect something better out of them. The more that he sets the standard, Mark thinks, the better it'll be in the long run, like cauterizing a wound. It's not pretty. It's not ideal. But it works, and that very same scar tissue builds around his heart until he feels like it barely manages to beat at all, the energy leaving him altogether, not even lingering still in the fingertips that lightly graze the surface of his laptop.

All too willing. The words repeat in his head, swirl until Mark feels like he needs someone to tear inside his skull and just rip them out altogether. The best he can do, barring that, is making camp deep inside his brain again, sleeping with his ideas, letting little else bleed through. It's okay to be alone, he reminds himself. He's done it for this long. He can do it for a little while longer, going through the motions, playing with whatever amount of friendship still stands between the two of them. Not rocking the boat.

There was once a time when that seemed to be the indicator of friendship, when people cared so much that no day remained completely calm. But everyone grows up.

They were only boys.

He shakes his head a couple of times, the movement so slight that it's hardly noticeable at all.

"Are we still friends?" he asks, his gaze unmoving, still aimed straight ahead. What he knows is that he needs that reference, some point from which he can build off of, something to color the behavior that's expected of him. His jaw clamps, his expression almost resigned. More than ever, this place feels like a jail, maybe someone's idea of a fitting punishment for the man who knows that he'll always be alone, the one who shares his every thought, the angry who writes in ink and never in pencil.

[pointzerothree]

Eduardo stops short. There are, admittedly, a few reactions he considers in the space of time Mark is silent, some considerably worse than others, but nothing even close to a question like that, one which hits like a punch to the gut, feeling as lethal as I'm afraid if you don't come out here, you're going to get left behind. At its simplest, it's insulting; in more depth, it still leaves Eduardo with only one conclusion to reach, and however expected that result might have been, that doesn't make it any easier. Just having Mark outright say something would be better than this, a question that shouldn't need to be asked and a whole lot of things left unsaid. They're back where they were at the start, except this time, it hurts a hell of a lot more, the question itself carrying with it the implication that he was right. Are we still friends? Mark asks, but what Eduardo hears is Are we still friends, since that's true? and he doesn't fucking know what to do. In coming here, he wanted the opposite of this, but no matter how much he hates the thought, it's becoming increasingly clear that this is all he's going to get, and he doesn't know how much more of this he can take. He's the one who cast away his pride and came over here after almost a week's silence, he's the one who apologized despite perceiving himself to be the wounded party; at the very least, having said himself why he thinks it to be true, he hoped that Mark would have been able to own it, not give him a question that it's hard to even make sense of. Why the fuck would he have put himself through all of this if they weren't friends?

"If you really have to ask me that, after everything?" he begins, jaw tensing in turn, expression starkly contrasting the way his eyes have, unbidden, grown wide and wet. Before he can talk himself out of it, he shakes his head, a quick, jerky movement. "Then no. No, I don't see how we could be. Jesus, Mark, how can you even -" Eduardo cuts himself off with a wince, going from staring pleadingly at the side of Mark's head to keeping his gaze averted, setting his bottle down on the table hard enough that some splashes up and drips down the sides. There isn't any point in staying, not when he's fighting a losing battle, not when he's the only one who seems to care at all. He may not be worthy of much, probably never should have had a place so high in Mark's life at all, but he deserves better than this. (It's one of a very few times in his life he's been able to say so. Funny, really, how nearly all of them have been when Sean factored into the picture.)

The thought alone brings with it an accompanying adrenaline rush, and even with his eyes still visibly red and glassy, he knows better than to wait until it passes, preferring to act while he feels compelled to. The feeling is familiar and foreign both, best equatable with the moment he slammed Mark's laptop on the desk after finding out about his shares. His anger now isn't quite the same - if anything, he's probably more disappointed, in himself as much as Mark for ever expecting anything more - but the clarity is, the feeling both sickening and beautiful that comes with the knowledge that he really should have more. Even now, he loves Mark Zuckerberg more than he thinks he's ever loved anyone, except his girlfriend, but if that isn't returned, regardless of how Mark began their conversation a week ago, then to stay will only ever bring him back here. It isn't fucking fair, how Mark can continue to do this to him, can miss the point until Eduardo isn't even sure what that point is anymore. Whatever it is, though, this isn't it.

"Forget it," he says, more to himself than to Mark, trying to ignore the way his voice breaks as he pulls himself to his feet, meaning to start for the door. "Obviously I shouldn't have come here."

[zuckered]

"Okay," he says, forming his first lie. The truth is, of course, that none of this is okay at all. Learning to cope with a situation that is far from the best doesn't necessarily mean that things are fine. Doesn't mean that there still can't be that telltale waver in his voice, the one that so rarely seeps into Mark's words, that hasn't even since back at the facebook offices, before finally raising a voice against Sean Parker, even one that was still, in the end, far too futile. Okay, he says, even as he knows that the color has left his cheeks by now, tingling in the absence of a pulse, of a beat, of severed ties and burnt bridges. His eyes look steadfastly away. His vision swims in the wake of tears that he doesn't allow to fall. It wouldn't be fair to anyone if they did.

What now? Does this punishment really fit? He thinks now of kings, of emperors, of ruling the world and losing everything else in the process. It's too ridiculous of a thought, and yet the only one that fits. He holds the keys to a world that he can no longer access, but more importantly, keys to a world he would have to run alone. (Wardo never wanted the empire, but in some ways, it's clear to Mark that this is all he can offer.)

"I'm sorry."

Maybe the apology is for that reason. Maybe his apology encompasses his overall sentiment regarding all of it. Maybe it's for the things he can't say. Maybe it's for all the apologies he neglected to give before. Maybe it's all this and more, but if there's one thing Mark Zuckerberg can't do right now, it's decide.

So he sits still, and in the back of his mind, he hears the rain.