fic: now you see me (mark/eduardo); 3/3
They don’t talk for a long time.
It’s two weeks before Mark gets up the courage to check his email - his personal email, not work. He throws himself into the code, into Facebook, into everything that doesn’t involve Eduardo - because he needs him too much, wants him too much, misses him more than words can say and more than he should be allowed.
He stays at the office until his vision goes blurry and Chris leads him from the computer; until he can’t do anything but close his eyes, shaking his head, and let himself be led home. He can’t drive himself, when he gets like that; doesn’t trust himself on the road.
Chris comes in with him and gives him a hug (and Mark stiffens at the touch; he notices touching so much more now, notices when people are close, even the lightest of brushes drawing all of his attention) and Mark shuts his eyes.
“Sleep,” Chris says, and when Mark gets a good look at him he looks legitimately concerned. “Please.”
Mark nods, and for the first time sleeps through the night - well past that, actually.
When he wakes up, it’s to the smell of coffee, and he buries his head in the blankets, convinced he’s asleep - because only one person has made coffee in his coffeemaker since he bought the house and it certainly isn’t Mark.
And then he hears singing, soft, something in Portuguese - and his heart slams against his ribcage. He feels almost breathless, eyes shut tight, and he makes a low sound, the aching want to be downstairs overpowering him.
But - he has to take a moment, collect himself, because he has to calm down, has to push down the anger roiling through him, the hurt coursing through his blood.
“Wardo,” he whispers, and the word feels heavy in his chest.
He can’t avoid this forever, though, and so he stands up, bones shaking a bit, and closes his eyes.
“Okay,” he whispers, and walks downstairs.
There’s a plate of eggs on the table, bacon cooking, coffee dripping - and Mark has to swallow past a gasp, past a noise at all, standing in the doorway.
Eduardo looks so comfortable, here, and he hasn’t been here for three weeks but he looks like he belongs.
Mark should probably be angry that Eduardo’s here. He should probably be worried that Eduardo can get inside, that he felt that he could, that he was allowed.
But that’s bullshit because he is, because Mark would never dare turn him away.
“Wardo,” Mark says, and there’s the barest layer of anger in his chest but he steps on it.
Wardo turns around, eyes wide. “Mark,” he gets out, biting his lip.
And then Mark’s across the kitchen, kissing him, hard, licking his way into his mouth.
They need to talk, they need to discuss the bullshit that’s gone on between them but - but he can’t do anything but kiss Wardo, for now, but hold him tight and pull him close, because he’s been gone too long and Mark’s missed him too much.
“Mark,” he hears panted into his ear, and Wardo sounds almost pained, out of breath, “Mark -” and then he’s sucking at Mark’s neck, fingers digging little bruises into Mark’s hips.
And they need to talk. They need to discuss everything because clearly both of them have some issues that are going to fuck them up - but right now Mark wants nothing more than to kiss him, than to let himself fall into Wardo, again.
He drops to his knees, because he can, because he’s missed it, and hazards a glance up at Wardo.
His mouth is wide and he just nods, biting down on his lower lip.
Mark digs his thumbs into Wardo’s hips, because he can, because he relishes the look on Wardo’s face when he does (and he’s missed that, maybe not most but certainly a lot) and presses his face into Wardo’s crotch, breathing in, nuzzling his cock.
“Mark, Jesus Christ, deus,” Wardo breathes out, hand tangling in Mark’s hair and staying there. Mark makes a pleased sound and nods before pulling away enough to get Wardo’s slacks down around his knees, and sinks his mouth down onto his cock.
Wardo keeps up a running commentary - “Mark, god, missed this so much, missed you so much, never leaving again, Mark, Mark, I love you, Mark,” and Mark takes it, takes in every word, letting it sink deep into him, and closes his eyes.
When Wardo comes it’s with a soundless scream and Mark swallows, sitting back on his heels for just a moment before Wardo drags him up to kiss him, hard.
“I love you,” he whispers into Mark’s ear, hand possessive on his lower back.
“I love you, too,” Mark says, kissing him again, softer, now.
They eat breakfast together and Mark steals glances whenever he can. Wardo looks - fucking wrecked, to be honest, hair a mess and eyes red-rimmed.
“We need to talk,” Mark says, then, looking down at his plate, messing with the food. “I know you don’t want to - but we need to. I mean - I can’t - I don’t want to do that again.”
Wardo nods. “I know -”
Mark breathes out. “There’s nothing between me and Sean.”
Wardo’s still for a long moment.
“And I need you to know that because if you don’t - I don’t think we really know each other that well, after all,” Mark says, and he feels like the worst kind of asshole but that has to be said, because the idea - the idea that he’d ever want anyone but Eduardo is fucking insane.
“I know,” Wardo gets out after a long moment, and he’s staring at his now-empty plate, eyes wide. “I mean - I know, but -”
“Don’t you trust me?” Mark asks, and his voice is soft - and he’s just had an orgasm and this probably isn’t the right time to have this conversation but if he says things like that, it never will be.
Eduardo looks up at him, and his eyes are too wide.
It’s all the answer Mark needs.
“Oh,” he says, after a long moment, and stares down at his lap.
“I know it’s ludicrous,” Eduardo says, voice rough, cracked. “I know - but you - I don’t - I don’t know how to trust you.”
“You can fuck me but you can’t trust me not to fuck anyone else,” and the anger wells up in him because he isn’t that person, he’s not that kind of person and he’d never do anything like that to Wardo, Christ.
“Why should I?” Wardo asks, voice sharp. “You cut me out -”
“Years ago!” Mark shouts, standing up, and he takes his plate to the sink, staring into it for a long moment before whirling back around. “I’ve gotten better, you know I have! I was nineteen and a fucking idiot and if you can’t accept that I’ve changed then I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Because I love you,” Wardo gets out, and it’s the last straw.
“Do you?” Mark asks, the words crueler, possibly, than he should be being. “Do you really or do you just love the attention saying it gets you?”
Wardo stands up, looking absolutely scandalized. “Fuck you,” he hisses.
“Don’t think I should,” Mark spits out. “Wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”
The words are harsh and awful and they’re everything Mark tries not to be but that’s how it is - because this is how fighting goes, with them, it’s all or nothing, it’s everything they can do to hurt each other.
Eduardo stares at him, and his eyes are blazing. “Years ago and you’ve never properly apologized.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when you were fucking me,” Mark breathes out, sharp, and it feels too loud in the room, too real.
“It’s always about sex, for you, isn’t it,” Eduardo says, shaking his head, and he walks to the door.
“Don’t you walk out on me,” Mark says, and he sounds like a character from a romance novel but he doesn’t give a shit, isn’t going to watch Eduardo leave him again.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m not that kid and neither are you,” Mark snaps, shaking his head. “We’re grown up, now, okay, you don’t get to leave when you’re angry. There’s no Facemash and there’s no account to freeze. We talk our shit out or this ends now.”
Eduardo’s hand stills on the doorknob.
“It’s not all about sex,” Mark says, biting his lip, and he’s across the room because if he were any closer he’s afraid of what he’d do. “It’s never been like that.”
“Maybe that’s all it should be,” Eduardo says, soft, and the handle turns.
“Bullshit,” Mark breathes and he’s across the room, a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, pulling him in, away from the outside, away from the place that they both like to hide in. “That’s bullshit, Wardo.”
“Is it?” he asks, and his voice is low, livid.
“Yeah, it is,” Mark snaps, and the anger roils up in him but he forces his voice to be calm because he can’t fight, anymore, isn’t going to shout. “It is because you - you wouldn’t let me touch you unless - unless it was more, unless you wanted more. You’re not that kind of -”
“How would you know?” Eduardo asks, snaps, turning back around, and he gets Mark up against the wall, pressing in against him. “How would you know what kind of person I am when you haven’t been around in years?”
“People don’t change that much,” Mark gets out, and he’s angry and upset and weirdly turned on at the position they’re in right now.
“How do you know?” Wardo asks, and it feels like more, like something beyond the question itself. “How do you know I’m not that kind of person?”
“Because - you were always too nice,” Mark says, “back at Harvard - you were too nice and too emotional and -”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t -”
“Shut up,” Mark grits out, staring at him.
Wardo shuts up.
“You - you just - you’re not that kind of person. Christy blew you in a bathroom and you dated her.”
“We had chemistry.”
“She tried to set you on fire.”
“I don’t think it was that bad.”
Mark’s going to continue, but he can’t shake this - the idea that this is so temporary, that they’re going to start screaming in a minute, again, worse. “Do you -” he starts, and then cuts himself off, shaking his head. It’s a moment before he can continue. “Do you really think that I’d cheat on you?”
Eduardo seems to deflate against the door, and he bites his lip, looking down.
It’s all the answer Mark needs.
“Okay,” he says, soft, and nods, looking back up at him. “You - you’re released.”
“What?” Eduardo sounds actually shocked, which - that’s not okay.
“You can leave if you want.” Mark closes his eyes, tight, balls up his fists to keep from reaching out. “You don’t have to be here.”
“But -”
“If you think that, you don’t know me,” Mark says, “and I swear to God, if you bring up what I did when I was nineteen again I am going to punch you as hard as I can. If you can’t accept that I’ve grown up then I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Mark,” Eduardo says, voice soft, pleading, but Mark refuses to look up, to give in. He’s not that person anymore and Eduardo needs to see that - and if he doesn’t, there’s no point in trying.
“Goodbye,” Eduardo finally whispers, after a long moment, and he leaves.
Mark sucks in a breath and tries not to fall apart.
//
“What’s wrong?” Dustin asks him as soon as he walks in the office.
Contrary to what people seem to think, he has a real knack for telling when people are upset, and getting them to a place that’s better than where they are.
Mark can barely breathe, though, and he just shakes his head, sharp.
“You need something to do,” Dustin says, because he’s brilliant that way. “Good, because there was an incident.”
It takes a while for him to fix the problem, but when he does the hurt smashes back into him, hot and loud.
You asshole, he thinks, and he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.
Eduardo’s gone. Mark’s told him to leave and so he left - and he’s not going to come back, this time. Mark barely held on those three weeks but now he needs to let go of the idea that his Wardo will come back - because they’re too different, maybe, because maybe there are some hurts that can’t be fixed.
And he curls up, for a moment, into a ball on his chair, and he lets the pain course through him.
And then he opens his eyes, and goes back to his work, as he always has before - his work that’s a constant, a steady thrum of work that doesn’t hurt him, doesn’t fight, doesn’t do anything but what Mark tells it to, exactly.
And maybe that’s what love is about - maybe it’s hurt and tears and coming back together, time and time again, but maybe it’s not meant to happen so big. Maybe they hurt each other beyond repair when they were nineteen and so fucking stupid - maybe Mark went too far or Eduardo got too hurt, and maybe they can’t ever return to what they might have had given half a chance and better communication skills.
At home, there’s a plate of food still on the table, and Mark doesn’t want to go home to that, doesn’t want to have to clean it up - because maybe if he doesn’t see it, it won’t have happened. Maybe he can keep hoping, because maybe it’s not true that they’re broken - maybe he’ll see Eduardo, again.
The thought is strangely pathetic, even for Mark, and he closes his eyes, again.
He’s not going to see Eduardo again - or, at least, not soon. He has to get his head around that because otherwise he’s going to keep wanting and keep hoping and that’s not healthy or fair.
Wardo said “goodbye” and it felt like a finale, like an ending worthy of the two of them. He said goodbye and he left and he hasn’t been in touch since - and it’s different because where before they were angry and shouting and livid, that time he was soft and quiet and sad. So sad, like a different person, a different Wardo - and Mark hates to think that he was the cause of a change like that because Wardo (his Wardo, the Wardo he’s pretty sure will always be his even long after they’ve faded to a memory) is fairly near perfect as it is.
And so he’ll wait and move on.
He has to.
//
He doesn’t leave work until it’s very, very late.
It’s four in the morning by the time he shuts his laptop down, but he feels wired; he’s had three Red Bulls in the past hour and countless more during the day, and he’s jittery when he drives, almost to the point of dangerous - but no one else is on the road, no one else would be stupid enough to drive like this.
He pulls up and there’s a car in front of his house - a car that he recognizes - and all of the careful planning he’d done, all of the convincing he’d managed to do, flies out of the window.
His hands are shaking when he gets out of the car, and he unlocks the door after a few fumbled tries.
“Eduardo?” he calls into the house, because maybe he’s still a little bit angry and he doesn’t know if Wardo is appropriate.
There’s no response and he frowns, walking further into the house.
Eduardo’s asleep on the couch.
Mark takes a moment to let himself smile at that, looking down, but then the nerves creep up on him again.
In the morning, he tells himself, because he’s not actually enough of an asshole to wake up his - Eduardo at four in the morning to discuss the future and other stupid shit like that.
He grabs a blanket from the closet, draping it over him.
“Good night, Wardo,” he whispers, and crawls into the easy chair opposite the couch.
He sleeps.
//
He wakes up to sun streaming in through the window and Eduardo’s soft snoring.
He keeps his eyes shut for a long moment, and he doesn’t reach out for Eduardo; he’s not going to fall into that trap again, isn’t going to do that thing where they act as they’re fine and scream. That’s not - it’s not healthy and it’s not okay.
He rolls over, though, and watches Eduardo sleep. It’s probably at least a little bit creepy, but Mark doesn’t really give a fuck.
Eduardo looks - he looks soft, in sleep, soft and a little bit sad, and Mark wants to hold him tight, wants to apologize for everything that he said and make Eduardo feel okay again.
But they need to talk, first, because Mark’s - he’s hurt, because he’s not the same and he can’t believe that an Eduardo that would fall in love with him would think that he was.
“Wardo,” he whispers, and clears his throat. “Wardo,” he says, again, louder.
He watches Eduardo wake up, eyes squeezing tight before opening. “Mark?” he says, voice rough, and shakes his head, sitting up. “Shit.”
“You were asleep when I got back,” Mark says, sitting up himself, and bites his lip. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I appreciate it,” Eduardo says, and forces a smile at Mark.
There’s silence for a moment.
“Did you want to say anything?” Mark asks, looking down at his hands, twisting them together.
Eduardo clears his throat. “Um.”
“Eloquent,” Mark says, before he can stop himself, and winces.
“Shut up,” but this is fond, rather than angry, and Eduardo really smiles. “I - okay.”
“Okay?”
“I want you to know - that I love you. A lot.”
That sounds like the beginning of a break-up speech, and though Mark was expecting it, the words make him curl in on himself, a bit.
He stares down at his hands. “Yeah.”
“And - I don’t - I don’t like Sean.”
“I know.”
“Please let me finish.”
Mark just looks at him, biting his lip again.
“I don’t like Sean but - but that’s not reason to take it out on you. And I’m - I’m sorry.”
It’s absurd that they’re having this conversation at eight in the morning (and Mark’s still exhausted, not entirely convinced he’s altogether awake) but Mark doesn’t care, just nods. “Okay.”
“And I hope that you - you wouldn’t cheat on me.”
Mark nods again.
Eduardo swallows visibly. “I just - I can’t - I don’t - I don’t deserve you, Mark,” he breathes out.
Mark looks at him, sharp. “What?”
“I don’t - you’re smart and brilliant and - and you did some shit things when you were younger but I think everyone did, really, and -”
“If you say you thought I was cheating because there’s no way that you deserve me all to yourself,” Mark says, dry, “I will actually hurt you.”
Eduardo is tellingly silent, face pink.
“Holy shit,” Mark says, and he runs a hand over his face. “I - you - that is so ludicrous I can’t even deal with it.”
“Sorry,” Eduardo whispers, and he sounds miserable.
Mark takes a long moment to just look at him, and if Mark’s not been getting sleep it looks like Eduardo hasn’t, either. His eyes are red-rimmed and there are circles under them, dark circles, and he looks miserable.
Mark stands up, careful, and sits down next to Eduardo, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. He tries not to notice how Eduardo shivers and clings, tight, but he fails.
“I wouldn’t,” Mark whispers, “you have to know that, I wouldn’t - hurt you intentionally -”
“I know,” Eduardo says.
“Do you?” This is soft, pleading, because Mark needs Eduardo to know but he doesn’t know how to make him.
After a long moment, Eduardo nods, smiling a bit. “Yeah.”
Mark closes his eyes and rests his head on Eduardo’s shoulder, smiling a bit. “Good.”
He feels Eduardo sink back against the couch, and knows without looking that his eyes are shut tight, that he has a small smile on his face. “Are we?”
“Sure,” Mark whispers.
It feels - it feels like it’s not enough, like they need to really talk their shit out, but maybe this is how they should do it. Maybe it should be careful, soft, because that’s how they need to be.
“Sleep,” Mark whispers, and Eduardo nods, kisses the top of Mark’s forehead.
Mark settles in against him, and sleeps.
//
When they wake up, it’s decidedly awkward.
Eduardo’s looking anywhere but at Mark, and Mark takes a moment to feel real worry course through him, before shaking his head, sharp.
“If you don’t talk to me we’re never going to get less awkward,” he points out.
Eduardo nods, and bites his lip. It’s stupidly attractive, but Mark focuses on anything but at that.
“Look,” Eduardo says, and this is the end, Mark tells himself, eyes shutting - this is it, this is - “I don’t like sleeping alone.”
Mark frowns. “Niether do I.”
“I’ve been staying at hotels - and it’s silly and it’s bullshit, all right, that I should keep staying there. Yeah?”
Mark nods, slow, frowning a bit.
“And I know that I never officially moved in but - I keep all of my shit here, because I don’t - you know, have a house here - and -”
“Move in,” Mark says, quick, smiling.
Eduardo freezes. “You still want me to?”
“You idiot,” Mark says, laughing, and pulls him in close, hugging him tight. “I went three weeks without you, of course I want you here all of the time.”
Eduardo smiles, kissing the top of his head again, and he’s shivering slightly. “You know what else we went three weeks without?”
Mark raises an eyebrow, and trails a hand down Eduardo’s side, grinning. “Yeah,” he whispers, kissing him again, hard.
He drags him into the bedroom.
They don’t leave that day.
//
In the morning, Mark wakes up entangled with Wardo.
He swallows, reaching out just a bit, to brush aside his hair, to let his hand linger on Eduardo’s face.
Last night -
(Hands, reaching out, holding tight. Eduardo, above him, sliding into him, so slow, slack-jawed and almost reverent.
A whispered Mark, almost a prayer, more than a moan.)
- was fantastic and Mark has him back now but they haven’t talked, they still haven’t talked, and Mark’s watched enough romantic comedies to know that it’s an important part of the relationship.
Now, though, now he’s content to lie next to Wardo, to look at him, biting his lip.
He’s missed this, most of all. He’s missed waking up next to his Wardo and he’s missed eating breakfast together and all of the other stupid, awful things that boyfriends do. He’s missed holding Wardo’s hand and kissing his knuckles and just being together.
He’s being stupidly sappy and just plain stupid but he doesn’t really mind - because Eduardo, inexplicably, wants him anyway.
He feels more than sees Eduardo’s waking up - his breathing just the slightest bit faster, hitching out a bit, the rustling of the sheets.
“Morning,” Mark whispers, pressing a kiss to Wardo’s neck, and he smiles against the skin.
He feels Wardo freeze and then look at him, eyes wide. “Oh.”
Mark pulls away, frowning. “Oh?"
“No - not like that. I just - oh,” and Wardo sounds a bit shell-shocked, but not upset.
“Do you not want to be here?” Mark asks, staring at Wardo’s shoulder, very determinedly not looking at his face.
“What?” and he sounds so shocked that Mark looks up, catches his eye. “Mark, that’s - that’s not it at all.” He reaches out, pulling Mark close, and kisses him, sweet, tender, warm.
“Are you sure?” Mark asks, because as much as he likes kissing, he actually prefers having a relationship that isn’t on-and-off. They’re not children.
Eduardo nods, swallowing. It’s loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Mark shakes his head. “This - this can’t - we can’t do this.”
He’s lying, facing Eduardo, and he reaches out to rest a hand on Eduardo’s hip - on Wardo’s hip.
“I don’t want - three weeks, Wardo. I can’t do that again, every time you get - jealous,” and Mark’s eyes are shut tight, because he doesn’t know what Wardo’s face will say and he can’t deal with more hurt.
The voice, when it comes, is low, and soothing. “I know, Mark,” and it’s almost a whisper.
Mark forces his eyes open, fingers tightening on the waist. “I can’t - I’m not that person anymore,” because he isn’t, because that’s what he needs Wardo to know, most of all.
“I know.”
“And I’m so fucking sorry.”
“What?”
“For - everything.”
“Mark, you’ve already -”
“I know,” Mark whispers. “And I don’t want to apologize a thousand times, with a thousand qualifiers - but I am, I’m so sorry. I was nineteen and fucking stupid and if you think that there’s anything with me and Sean, then obviously I haven’t made that clear enough - and that’s on me, not you.”
Wardo frowns. “No.”
“What?”
“That’s not on you - that’s - Mark.”
Mark closes his eyes, sitting up a bit to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah?”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing.”
Mark frowns, nodding, staring at his hands, wringing them together.
“I mean it.” Eduardo leans in, pressing his face against Mark’s neck, hands resting on Mark’s hips. “Really.”
“Okay,” Mark whispers, but Eduardo’s left and he can’t deal with that again.
Eduardo pulls back. “I’m staying,” he says, definitive.
And Mark doesn’t know what to say to that, can only nod.
“Trust me,” Eduardo whispers, eyes shut, and he pulls Mark close.
Mark trusts.
//
He’s more careful, with Wardo.
He’s afraid to lose him - afraid that Eduardo’s going to leave again, going to get out, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. He’s never been so terrified to lose someone, and so he clings onto him because he doesn’t know how to express that he’s scared, fucking terrified.
Eduardo gets it, though, if the way he holds Mark at night, kisses the top of his head, doesn’t let go when Mark can’t explain, is any indication.
And Mark - he’s happy. He’s comfortable, he’s safe. He feels safe, with Eduardo. He lets himself believe that this is forever, that this is okay, because they’ve had everything happen, been friends and then enemies and now - this, and that’s okay.
He doesn’t bring up Sean. He’s careful to never mention the name, because he doesn’t like the look in Eduardo’s eyes; it’s jealousy there, yes, but more than that, it’s a sadness that he doesn’t know how to help, that he doesn’t know how to reassure Wardo is entirely unfounded.
Because it is; because there’s never been anything, anything between Mark and Sean, and there’s never going to be - because Mark can’t imagine loving anyone the way he loves Eduardo, least of all Sean.
He doesn’t know how to deal.
//
He’s in his office, working on a minor problem, when Sean comes in.
Mark stiffens involuntarily; he hasn’t seen him much lately. Sean’s been “in rehab” again, and he looks - healthier, at least, now.
“You’re back,” Mark says, toneless, closing out of his tab. He cares, of course he does, but he’s worried, on edge, about this.
Sean smiles, and reaches out for him, pulling him into a hug. “You bet I am, baby.”
Mark smiles a bit, patting his back, and he sees it then - Eduardo, standing outside of his office, looking - sad, like he does when Mark mentions Sean, but times a thousand.
“Shit,” Mark whispers, pulling away, and Sean starts to ask but sees where he’s looking.
“Don’t let him walk all over you,” he whispers, giving a wink, and Mark rolls his eyes and shakes his head, walking out to Eduardo.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, soft.
Wardo’s face is impressively blank. “Can we talk?”
Mark’s face must show the panic he’s feeling, because Wardo softens, smiling a bit. “Not like that. I just - we need to have a conversation that doesn’t involve breaking up. I promise.”
Mark smiles, and nods, reaching out to grab Wardo’s hand, just to be sure. He feels the faint shiver that goes through Wardo at the touch; he’s getting better at accepting the contact, at being used to it, but even now, something as simple as laced-together fingers makes him shiver, in the best way.
Mark lifts up their hands, because he can, and presses a quick kiss to Eduardo’s knuckle.
He gets a glare for that, though Eduardo doesn’t look angry - more lustful, more like he wants to take Mark apart. “Please,” he whispers, though, and so Mark nods.
They end up on a bench outside of the offices, and Eduardo doesn’t speak for a long moment, staring at his knees.
Mark finally asks. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to be jealous of Sean.”
Mark frowns. “Then don’t be.”
He gets a glare for that, more real this time, but nervous. “I know. I shouldn’t. But - but you’re so - and he’s -”
“Aside from straight, he’s an asshole and a drug addict,” Mark says. “And - there’s - he’s my best friend, probably, but nothing more than that, and he’s never going to be.”
“Okay,” Eduardo whispers, smiling up at him, “and I’m - I’m trying. I really am, I just -”
“I know,” Mark murmurs, kissing him, quick, because he does. He understands the fear, the jealousy; he feels it every time Eduardo’s around a member of the same gender, every time he sees a hand on Eduardo’s back that doesn’t belong to him.
“Good,” Eduardo breathes, and then they’re kissing, again. It’s urgent but Mark pulls away before it can get to be too much; he looks around them, biting his lip.
“After work,” he promises, eyes pleading.
Eduardo smiles, and nods.
//
When Mark gets home, Eduardo’s there.
Mark reaches out for him, pulling him into a hug. He gets like this, sometimes, needs nothing more than to hold Eduardo, to remind himself that he’s there, that they’re together, that they’re not going to be apart, not again.
“I love you,” he whispers, because he never tires of saying it.
Wardo smiles against his hair. “I love you, too.”
They’ll say it a thousand times more, in a thousand different places. Mark will murmur it over the phone just before a meeting and Eduardo will send him a text that says nothing but the three words. He feels it, in every inch of him, and he needs Eduardo to know that.
We’ll be okay, he thinks, later that night, and he’s smiling as he tugs off Eduardo’s shirt, tossing it to the ground.
He slides into him, later, and grabs Eduardo’s hand, kissing the knuckles again, feather-light, and Eduardo looks so fucking awed.
They’ll be fantastic.