Valentine Eduardo
Title: Valentine Eduardo
Fandom: The Social Network
Characters: Eduardo/Mark.
Rating: T.
Warnings: Some swearing. WARNING: A WILD DUSTIN APPEARS.
Spoilers: None?
Summary: On Valentine's Day, Eduardo gives Mark his heart.
Notes: A completely odd and strange TSN version of a Neil Gaiman short story.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Social Network. This is a work of fiction, and the characters described herein are based on the fictional representation of real people, to whom I have no affiliation or connection with. If you got here via searching your name by some means, I would advise you to go back and go to a different place. You should try YouTube! They have kittens there!
Many thanks to Julia, who was there when I wrote this in the chat.
It is February the fourteenth, at that hour when most people are just waking up for the day, or going to work, or perhaps getting ready for the day ahead, when I pin my heart to Mark's front door. It's a good heart, a healthy heart, one that's lived quiet a life, beating so hard for this man that doesn't look at me. It's dark red, almost brown, pinned with a hatpin right through the middle. Then I knock on the door, sharply, with a short colored stick I found one day when browsing in a shop, ribbons streaming behind me as I vanish into the air...
Mark opens the door. He looks like he's been up, coding probably, for longer than he should've been.
"My Mark," I whisper lightly, but he doesn't hear. I'd love nothing more than to take him inside, force some real food into him, hold him close under the sheets of that massive bed he rarely uses, but I stay quiet and still. He turns his head left, then right, looking down the street to find the source of my knocking. A car drives down, a neighbor heading to work, and he walks back into his house and into the kitchen. I move silently behind him, invisible and light, almost wanting to dance.
He roots through his cabinets briefly, looking for a large plastic sandwich bag, which he obviously doesn't know the location of. I slide up to him, quietly, as he's stretched out, arms overhead, shirt lifted to bare the skin on his waist. I breathe into his ear, "bottom shelf, next to the fridge" and jump away, laughter going unheard. He goes to the cabinet, and finds them, and grabs a bottle of generic cleaning spray from under the sink. He takes a roll of paper towels from the counter, as well. Then he walks back out to the front door. He pulls my hatpin from the wood of the front door, freeing my heart, and puts them both into the plastic bag. He wipes the front door clean of the blood, soaking it all up with the paper towels.
He walks back in, supplies and plastic bag in his hands, and puts it all on the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. He disappears out of the room for a moment, and comes back in wearing his North Face jacket, which was once mine, zipping it up and slipping on his flip-flops at the same time. He picks up the plastic bag and slides it into a pocket of the jacket, picks up his keys, and leave the house, locking the door behind the both of us.
Secret, quiet as a breeze, I follow him to the car, sometimes skipping, sometimes dancing, but he never sees me at all as he climbs into the driver's seat and heads to the Facebook headquarters. The windows are open, the frigid air waking him up, and I briefly regret using my hatpin to pin up my heart, as I have to keep one hand on my Fedora to keep it on my head. But I am in love with this man, and so sacrifices must be made on this day of love.
Mark is remembering all the times he's made this drive, down the streets and past the bakeries, sometimes at night, sometimes in early morning. Right now the streets are mostly empty, but for a few people, and soon there will be a sea of red and pink, flowers and balloons, hugs and kisses, etc.
He remembers all the times he's walked into this building, past his friends and staff, past the old desk he was sitting in when a secret lover stormed over and slammed down his work in anger, leaving in a display of tears and heartbreak that took time to heal.
Oh, Mark. Shall I sing for you, or dance for you, through the air and across the floor of AEPi, ridiculous music and beautiful girls, to hear you speak of change? Shall I give you all I have, my lungs and legs, my mouth and tongue, but please do not take my eyes, for I love to look at you so.
I grin and shout as I skip and jump behind him, waving my hat through the air with my be-ribboned colored stick, as he takes an unfamiliar turn to a different office than his own. He walks in, no greeting or small-talk, to see Dustin sitting at a desk, typing into his own computer. Mark sits, and I read into Dustin's life.
His silent suffering of love for Chris, unknowingly reciprocated, never to be told as he goes from girl to girl to boy to getting a dog and learning to tolerate a life of one-night stands and sadness. He will die, alone, locked in his bedroom, from pneumonia sustained during a terrible storm, and the last eyes to look at him will be Chris's, tears falling freely, as he wishes for a way to do it all differently, starting at Kirkland.
I walk around to him, and gently hug him close, a motherly embrace, and whisper in his ear that he is loved. Then I tap him once, twice, thrice, on the head with my stick, and wrap his wrist with a red ribbon.
He blinks and turns, too slow to even catch me as I flit away. He smiles. Perhaps tonight he will tell Chris how he feels, take him on a date and reveal everything, requited love spilling between them, and one day Chris will take him to the hospital as soon as he comes down with the flu, saying, "Sweetheart, I don't want it to get worse."
But now I have forgotten Mark, and I feel dismayed for it. He sits still, waiting for Dustin to look up, his jacket now unzipped, his t-shirt tight and entrancing across his chest.
Dustin finally looks up, and grins, bright, his red hair glinting and flashing in the fluorescent lighting.
"Hey, Mark. Happy Valentine's Day." He says.
"Yeah. Sure. Happy Valentine's Day," Mark replies, pulling the bag with my heart and pin in it. He holds this up. "Do you know what this is?"
"Uh... no?"
"It's a heart. Did you pin this to my door this morning, or get someone to do it for you? As a joke?" Mark asks. He places it on the table, gently. I smile and lean against the wall, pleased with his care.
"No... I didn't. Do you want me to call the cops or something?" Dustin asks. He's confused, and a little grossed out as he takes a pen and pokes at my heart through the plastic. I frown.
"Don't do that," Mark takes the pen from Dustin's hand and places it back into the cup of writing utensils sitting on the desk. "And no. I think I have an idea of what's going on."
Dustin raises his eyebrows, confused, and nods as Mark pockets the bag again and leaves the office, purposeful strides all the way to his office.
He opens the door and sits at his desk, pushing his computer away and setting the bag where it used to be. I can almost feel my heart swell with happiness, that he's pushing away something so central to his world to pay attention to part of me.
His assistant walks in, a pretty young woman named Charlotte, and asks if he needs anything. "No, Char, I'm good. Don't let anyone in here, okay? I'm busy this morning."
She nods and closes the door behind her, and I sit in a chair across from him, setting my stick down to lean against the desk. He pulls the heart out tenderly, placing it down on the silicon pad his laptop used to sit on. He stares at it while I start to get nervous.
What if he rejects my heart? What if he eats it, or something equally as odd? What if he sees me and says, "Sorry, not interested," and my heart breaks again, shattering, even?
He looks up from his observation of my heart, and lifts his eyebrows slightly. I panic, my eyes going wide. He can see me now.
"Hey, Wardo." He says. He smirks when I clear my throat nervously.
"Hi, Mark," I say, deer-in-the-headlights. I'm not sure what to do next, so many emotions going through me. I settle for petulance and furrow my brow. "You can see me."
"You've been dancing around like an idiot all morning. Kind of hard not to." He Mark-smirks some more.
I am displeased. I say so.
"Yeah, well, you pinned your heart to my front door. Kind of creepy, Wardo." He picks up the heart gingerly with a bunch of tissues and hands it over.
I take it and shove it back into my chest, sliding through like a ghost through a wall.
"Take off that hat, Wardo. Seriously, it looks kind of stupid on you. I'll give it to Dustin later, he'll love it." Mark says, picking up the silicon pad and setting it in the trash can. He pulls his laptop over to him, and opens it, grinning when I indignantly demand that he stop and pay attention to me.
"What? I give you my heart, you give it back? What the hell, Mark?" I ask, angry. This is so bad. This is so, so bad.
"I figured you'd need it," He says. "Now quit thinking crazy, and come over here."
I growl, but agree, coming around the desk and leaning over to look at his computer screen. There are few windows open, but the main one seems to be his own Facebook profile. He's typed "Eduardo's here. Happy Valentine's Day. ;)" into the box, and looks right at me as he hits 'enter' on his keyboard.
He calls Charlotte into his office and informs her that he'll be out the whole day, and to have a nice day. I refrain from skipping as we walk out, hand-in-hand, down to the car. We go home. It's a good day.
THE END
Fandom: The Social Network
Characters: Eduardo/Mark.
Rating: T.
Warnings: Some swearing. WARNING: A WILD DUSTIN APPEARS.
Spoilers: None?
Summary: On Valentine's Day, Eduardo gives Mark his heart.
Notes: A completely odd and strange TSN version of a Neil Gaiman short story.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Social Network. This is a work of fiction, and the characters described herein are based on the fictional representation of real people, to whom I have no affiliation or connection with. If you got here via searching your name by some means, I would advise you to go back and go to a different place. You should try YouTube! They have kittens there!
Many thanks to Julia, who was there when I wrote this in the chat.
It is February the fourteenth, at that hour when most people are just waking up for the day, or going to work, or perhaps getting ready for the day ahead, when I pin my heart to Mark's front door. It's a good heart, a healthy heart, one that's lived quiet a life, beating so hard for this man that doesn't look at me. It's dark red, almost brown, pinned with a hatpin right through the middle. Then I knock on the door, sharply, with a short colored stick I found one day when browsing in a shop, ribbons streaming behind me as I vanish into the air...
Mark opens the door. He looks like he's been up, coding probably, for longer than he should've been.
"My Mark," I whisper lightly, but he doesn't hear. I'd love nothing more than to take him inside, force some real food into him, hold him close under the sheets of that massive bed he rarely uses, but I stay quiet and still. He turns his head left, then right, looking down the street to find the source of my knocking. A car drives down, a neighbor heading to work, and he walks back into his house and into the kitchen. I move silently behind him, invisible and light, almost wanting to dance.
He roots through his cabinets briefly, looking for a large plastic sandwich bag, which he obviously doesn't know the location of. I slide up to him, quietly, as he's stretched out, arms overhead, shirt lifted to bare the skin on his waist. I breathe into his ear, "bottom shelf, next to the fridge" and jump away, laughter going unheard. He goes to the cabinet, and finds them, and grabs a bottle of generic cleaning spray from under the sink. He takes a roll of paper towels from the counter, as well. Then he walks back out to the front door. He pulls my hatpin from the wood of the front door, freeing my heart, and puts them both into the plastic bag. He wipes the front door clean of the blood, soaking it all up with the paper towels.
He walks back in, supplies and plastic bag in his hands, and puts it all on the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. He disappears out of the room for a moment, and comes back in wearing his North Face jacket, which was once mine, zipping it up and slipping on his flip-flops at the same time. He picks up the plastic bag and slides it into a pocket of the jacket, picks up his keys, and leave the house, locking the door behind the both of us.
Secret, quiet as a breeze, I follow him to the car, sometimes skipping, sometimes dancing, but he never sees me at all as he climbs into the driver's seat and heads to the Facebook headquarters. The windows are open, the frigid air waking him up, and I briefly regret using my hatpin to pin up my heart, as I have to keep one hand on my Fedora to keep it on my head. But I am in love with this man, and so sacrifices must be made on this day of love.
Mark is remembering all the times he's made this drive, down the streets and past the bakeries, sometimes at night, sometimes in early morning. Right now the streets are mostly empty, but for a few people, and soon there will be a sea of red and pink, flowers and balloons, hugs and kisses, etc.
He remembers all the times he's walked into this building, past his friends and staff, past the old desk he was sitting in when a secret lover stormed over and slammed down his work in anger, leaving in a display of tears and heartbreak that took time to heal.
Oh, Mark. Shall I sing for you, or dance for you, through the air and across the floor of AEPi, ridiculous music and beautiful girls, to hear you speak of change? Shall I give you all I have, my lungs and legs, my mouth and tongue, but please do not take my eyes, for I love to look at you so.
I grin and shout as I skip and jump behind him, waving my hat through the air with my be-ribboned colored stick, as he takes an unfamiliar turn to a different office than his own. He walks in, no greeting or small-talk, to see Dustin sitting at a desk, typing into his own computer. Mark sits, and I read into Dustin's life.
His silent suffering of love for Chris, unknowingly reciprocated, never to be told as he goes from girl to girl to boy to getting a dog and learning to tolerate a life of one-night stands and sadness. He will die, alone, locked in his bedroom, from pneumonia sustained during a terrible storm, and the last eyes to look at him will be Chris's, tears falling freely, as he wishes for a way to do it all differently, starting at Kirkland.
I walk around to him, and gently hug him close, a motherly embrace, and whisper in his ear that he is loved. Then I tap him once, twice, thrice, on the head with my stick, and wrap his wrist with a red ribbon.
He blinks and turns, too slow to even catch me as I flit away. He smiles. Perhaps tonight he will tell Chris how he feels, take him on a date and reveal everything, requited love spilling between them, and one day Chris will take him to the hospital as soon as he comes down with the flu, saying, "Sweetheart, I don't want it to get worse."
But now I have forgotten Mark, and I feel dismayed for it. He sits still, waiting for Dustin to look up, his jacket now unzipped, his t-shirt tight and entrancing across his chest.
Dustin finally looks up, and grins, bright, his red hair glinting and flashing in the fluorescent lighting.
"Hey, Mark. Happy Valentine's Day." He says.
"Yeah. Sure. Happy Valentine's Day," Mark replies, pulling the bag with my heart and pin in it. He holds this up. "Do you know what this is?"
"Uh... no?"
"It's a heart. Did you pin this to my door this morning, or get someone to do it for you? As a joke?" Mark asks. He places it on the table, gently. I smile and lean against the wall, pleased with his care.
"No... I didn't. Do you want me to call the cops or something?" Dustin asks. He's confused, and a little grossed out as he takes a pen and pokes at my heart through the plastic. I frown.
"Don't do that," Mark takes the pen from Dustin's hand and places it back into the cup of writing utensils sitting on the desk. "And no. I think I have an idea of what's going on."
Dustin raises his eyebrows, confused, and nods as Mark pockets the bag again and leaves the office, purposeful strides all the way to his office.
He opens the door and sits at his desk, pushing his computer away and setting the bag where it used to be. I can almost feel my heart swell with happiness, that he's pushing away something so central to his world to pay attention to part of me.
His assistant walks in, a pretty young woman named Charlotte, and asks if he needs anything. "No, Char, I'm good. Don't let anyone in here, okay? I'm busy this morning."
She nods and closes the door behind her, and I sit in a chair across from him, setting my stick down to lean against the desk. He pulls the heart out tenderly, placing it down on the silicon pad his laptop used to sit on. He stares at it while I start to get nervous.
What if he rejects my heart? What if he eats it, or something equally as odd? What if he sees me and says, "Sorry, not interested," and my heart breaks again, shattering, even?
He looks up from his observation of my heart, and lifts his eyebrows slightly. I panic, my eyes going wide. He can see me now.
"Hey, Wardo." He says. He smirks when I clear my throat nervously.
"Hi, Mark," I say, deer-in-the-headlights. I'm not sure what to do next, so many emotions going through me. I settle for petulance and furrow my brow. "You can see me."
"You've been dancing around like an idiot all morning. Kind of hard not to." He Mark-smirks some more.
I am displeased. I say so.
"Yeah, well, you pinned your heart to my front door. Kind of creepy, Wardo." He picks up the heart gingerly with a bunch of tissues and hands it over.
I take it and shove it back into my chest, sliding through like a ghost through a wall.
"Take off that hat, Wardo. Seriously, it looks kind of stupid on you. I'll give it to Dustin later, he'll love it." Mark says, picking up the silicon pad and setting it in the trash can. He pulls his laptop over to him, and opens it, grinning when I indignantly demand that he stop and pay attention to me.
"What? I give you my heart, you give it back? What the hell, Mark?" I ask, angry. This is so bad. This is so, so bad.
"I figured you'd need it," He says. "Now quit thinking crazy, and come over here."
I growl, but agree, coming around the desk and leaning over to look at his computer screen. There are few windows open, but the main one seems to be his own Facebook profile. He's typed "Eduardo's here. Happy Valentine's Day. ;)" into the box, and looks right at me as he hits 'enter' on his keyboard.
He calls Charlotte into his office and informs her that he'll be out the whole day, and to have a nice day. I refrain from skipping as we walk out, hand-in-hand, down to the car. We go home. It's a good day.
THE END