TSN: Optimal Noise Level
Title: Optimal Noise Level
Author: des_pudels_kern
Fandom: The Social Network
Pairing, Characters: Mark, Eduardo (can be read as pre-slash if you are so inclined)(let's be honest, you probably are)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Any characters mentioned here belong to their respective creators; the names of any real people mentioned refer to fictionalised versions of these people. No money is made and no offense intended.
Length: ~ 5k
Status: One-shot
Summary: Eduardo spends enough time in Kirkland that he might as well be living with them. He's always over, to study, to hang out, sometimes staying late enough that he falls asleep. Eliot must be a horrible, noisy, unwelcoming place.
Author's Note: For laliquey, written for the 2012 round of thesantanetwork. Everybody should have a little something underneath their virtual tree, even if the time for trees is technically already over. I hope you like it!
Gratitude for betaing goes to yellowwolf5, who is a saint for putting up with my drabble-sized monster sentences. All mistakes that remain are my own.
A general note: For the purpose of this story, let's assume that people get into their dorms (the buildings, not the rooms) with keycards. I have no idea what the system is in Harvard, and I didn't get a close enough look to be able to tell for sure for movie!Harvard. Actually, I have no idea how dorms in general work, over here the renting of private rooms or flats is much more common.
Written: January 2013
Optimal Noise Level
There are certain facts to college life, facts that just are, that Mark accepts without so much as a shrug, the way pre-college he had accepted that in the mornings the shower belonged to his sisters. He grew into the habit of showering in the evenings. It was convenient, an arrangement that didn't bear thinking about.
The facts of college are different, of course, but similarly mundane in nature (if Mark had expected his existence to turn into one big intellectual challenge with his move to Harvard, he'd have been sorely disappointed, but while he freely admitted to anyone who bothered to ask that he had a very high opinion of himself, he was still rooted strongly enough in reality to have come to college with realistic expectations). It's Chris who showers in the mornings now. Dustin likes to poke his nose into everybody's business and probably removed the bedroom doors from their suite for that very reason when he moved in as the first of them. Billy from next door always accidentally walks in when he's coming home stoned.
Eduardo might as well be living with them too, considering the amount of time he spends in Kirkland.
Eduardo is always there.
It started with him coming over to hang out, even when no one had time for him and he ended up having to entertain himself. It turned out Eduardo didn't mind sitting by himself and watching tv or reading while Mark wired in and did something that everybody he knew shook their head over in incomprehension but that mattered to him. In turn Mark decided he didn't mind having Eduardo over. Then Eduardo started to show up for study sessions during which they each crammed something different because they didn't share any classes, and then he came by to learn by himself even while Mark was playing video games with Dustin. Eventually he took to just showing up, buzzing to be let in, knocking on their door, or waiting in front of it, headphones in and playing with his phone, until Mark came back.
Mark wouldn't go so far as to say Eduardo's tendency to end up standing in front of locked doors was his motivation for CourseMatch, but it was his inspiration. Mark is nothing if not practical, and Eduardo kept losing time waiting and doing nothing.
That is Eduardo's reasoning for co-habituating with them in all but name, after all, the need to get things done.
Eduardo has a single in Eliot. Logically, one assumes a single to be better suited for academic studies than a suite filled with other people, and that is most likely the reason Eduardo's father shelled out the extra dollars for it, not certain other, more carnal activities. The walls between singles are thin though, and Eduardo's neighbors might not use their rooms for what their parents intended them to. Eduardo doesn't volunteer details and Mark doesn't ask for them (every other Saturday one of Billy's roommates has his girlfriend from back home visiting - Mark didn't learn to use headphones and loud music to wire in until after he'd left his active, lively family home), but anyone who considers a place with Dustin in it the better study location must be very desperate.
Every now and then, Eduardo stays late enough to fall asleep. Usually it's accidental, with the controller still in his lap where he's sat in front of the tv, or with his face planted in a book while he slumps against the headboard of Mark's bed. Sometimes, rarely, it's deliberately. That starts with Eduardo crashing on their couch first, and then, once he accepts that Mark tends to stay up late and will even sometimes pull the occasional all-nighter for no reason except that he feels like it, stretching out on top of Mark's covers and sleeping there. But that too only lasts until Mark turns off his computer and throws him out to go to bed himself, sending Eduardo on his way to Eliot, where by then even Eduardo's neighbors will have succumbed to the so-late-it's-early hour.
Mark adapts this, too, into his routine. Let Eduardo in, interact with him or don't, eventually ignore him as they both drift into tending their respective priorities, and finally turn around to see Eduardo lounge on his bed in various states of wakefulness and poke him until he stops groaning about how hard his life is, takes his stuff, and leaves.
As long as Mark doesn't need his bed he doesn't care if Eduardo sleeps in it - the opposite even. It's part of their give and take. All relationships are based on the compromise of egoism. What can they do for you, and what can you in turn do for them so that they'll keep doing things for you. It's the same principle the exchange of goods is based on, which in turn is the basis of modern society. Providing shelter, so to speak, is something Mark can do for Eduardo, is willing to do unasked and with only token complaining because beneath his reassurances that he doesn't want to inconvenience people Eduardo hides a strong dislike for admitting weakness. Mark can relate to that; it's one trait Eduardo and him have in common.
He does not mind indulging Eduardo in this, not when Eduardo reciprocates and puts his way with numbers at Mark's disposal without bristling because Mark once again stated that Eduardo would write him a more elegant algorithm instead of asking. Still, it's a nuisance having to stop what he's doing to let Eduardo in all the time is an inconvenience, made better just barely by CourseMatch and its predictions when to expect Eduardo, and Mark knows that, when Eduardo rings for Mark to buzz him in and it makes him lose his train of thought, he's not good at hiding his momentary frustration.
Facts of life.
He wires out one night, eyes burning with strain and shoulders refusing to straighten from too many hours hunched over his keyboard, and pulls off his headphones to re-enter the real world, now lifelessly silent in a stark contrast to when Mark turned his back on it. Eduardo is lying on his side, face pillowed on an open book and arm awkwardly bent above his head as if he fell asleep propping himself up, and the rest of the suite is dark behind Mark's room.
"Wardo," Mark mumbles while standing up and slowly, painfully straightening his back after all, with several cracks that sound as if they should hurt but feel good, like his spine popping back into place. He clears his throat and says it again, louder, "Wardo," while he stumbles through the unlit common area and puts a half-eaten can of tuna into the fridge.
Eduardo is a light sleeper (which is probably also why he keeps fleeing from his neighbors), and Mark saying his name while he putters about is usually enough to wake him and let him sigh and yawn while he slowly, melodramatically, works his way back to the verticality.
This time though he hasn't moved when Mark returns to his side, still occupies the length of Mark's bed, neck crooked and cheek pressed against ink and paper.
"Wardo." Mark reaches out and nudges Eduardo, fingertips poking his upper arm, pressing harder into the shirt-covered flesh until Mark knows that, if Eduardo were awake, he'd crease his brows and rub his arm with an unhappy complaint. Eduardo remains asleep though, breath not hitching, no muscle twitching, not even his lids flutter to give away that his mind is anything but dormant right now.
He toys with the idea of raising his voice, shaking Eduardo awake, or going back to the fridge and getting a cold beer to press to the nape of his neck (since he can't actually dump water over him without ruining his own bed for the night). Mark is already drawing in breath and reaching out a hand to take hold of Eduardo's shoulder when he hesitates and, after a moment of contemplation, changes his mind.
There are shadows beneath Eduardo's eyes, and Mark knows he had two papers due that day.
He may be self-centered and, to a certain degree, selfish (it's a Darwinistic mandate to put one's own interests above those of others, most people just like to deceive themselves into thinking otherwise). He does know how to be a good friend though (evolution here, too - look after those that are part of your particular group).
Eduardo uses his cell as an alarm and he always sets it cautiously early so that he has plenty of time for his elaborate pre-class routine, plus a cushion in case of emergency, unlike Mark's own habit of rolling out of bed and leaving sometimes without having done more than brush his teeth and pull yesterday's sweats over his boxers. There are two beds, Mark is still up anyway, and there's no need to wake Eduardo when he's obviously in need of rest.
He checks Eduardo's jacket for his wallet first but finds it when he moves on to rummage through his messenger bag. The wallet is thick, padded with more cards than anyone else Mark knows bothers to carry around with them, and Eduardo probably has to keep it in his bag so it doesn't ruin the cut of his jacket, that seems like something he'd do. He checks to make sure the keycard to let him into Eliot is there, and pulls the chain with the key to Eduardo's single from the bottom of the outer pocket. Then he stuffs both together with his own things into the muff of his hoodie and turns the light off on his way out.
The grounds are dead at this hour, and Mark only passes a couple drunkenly making out as he pads across campus, taking shortcuts over grass that leave his naked toes in his flipflops wet and cold with dew and night air. He figures that whatever was going on in his dorm that had Eduardo seek refuge in Kirkland is most likely long over, and if not Mark will probably still have no problem falling asleep in spite of it as long as it's just noise and not downright disturbance of the peace by night.
Eliot, as it turns out, is quiet. Mark can't hear anything from the rooms he passes on his way to Eduardo's, or from those on the other side that he walks past on his way to the bathrooms down the hall. No one else seems to be awake, still or yet, and at this point Mark is too tired himself to wonder at the irony that Eliot's noise level is apparently more in accordance with Mark's sleeping habits than Eduardo's, so he drops his assortment of keys on Eduardo's desk, pulls off his hoodie, toes off his shoes, and goes to bed.
He takes a couple of minutes to get settled.
The room is colder than what Mark is used to, but the blanket is heavy and warms up around him quickly. The sheets aren't stiff and fresh anymore, clearly slept in, but they still smell vaguely of laundry when Mark turns on his stomach and smushes his face in the pillow.
And it's silent.
Kirkland at night isn't loud; on weeknights things usually calm down after midnight, and when Chris and Dustin have both gone to bed it's quiet, but it's a lived-in quiet. There's the humming of their fridge, and the low but present sounds and lights of electric devices left on stand-bye, the minute noises of his roommates breathing and occasionally shifting from two open doorways away, the occasional dripping of water and leftover humidity from their en-suite bathroom, the ambient smells of too many different activities lingering and coalescing into the distinct air of home that you only notice by its absence when you are someplace else. Mark's sheets barely hold the smell of his laundry detergent for a whole day before they begin to adopt the miasma of food and drink consumed on them, paper and marker, the toilet products of too many people using his bed as a chair and couch and desk. Eduardo's single, in contrast, is neat and ordered, no odds and ends catching dust in corners, the air is cool and clean, and it is void of distractions in a way that makes it so much better suited for both learning and sleeping than the suite.
Somehow he still ends up lying awake, rearranging his limbs every couple of minutes, ears prickling every time he thinks he might have heard something, eyes opening again and again to blink into the darkness to find some movement or a steadily flashing light.
He falls asleep slowly and laboriously when usually sleep is a matter of course, something he decides focus on and then proceeds to do the way he dedicates himself to any task he's taking on (any that he doesn't object to, that is).
Waking up happens gradually. He's drifting for some time before he even notices he's awake. Mark is warm and loose, body and mind slow, heavy and light at the same time the way only that moment between waking and sleeping is, the second of weightlessness at the height of a jump drawn out in drowsiness.
It takes him a while to register the ringing as something out of order that he should react to.
It is in keeping with their habits at least that even now he has to drag himself up to let Eduardo in, and he doesn't bother with listening to him over the intercom, just buzzes him in and opens the room door before sitting back down on the bed and mourning the way the cold floor leeches the warmth from his feet.
He looks up when Eduardo enters, and even though he's sporting a spectacular case of bedhead the night of uninterrupted sleep seems to have done him good, or at least left him recovered enough that he's already managed to work himself into nervous knots by, what, seven in the morning? Mark can barely keep his eyes open, doesn't want to keep them open, and Eduardo is going a mile an hour.
"…gone, and I figured you went here, I'm so sorry, you should have just kicked me out. And then you didn't open when I rang, I probably woke you up, but my wallet and keys were gone too and I need my books and a shower," Eduardo stops to take a breath, and Mark jumps in.
"Do that. I'm going back to sleep. I'll lock up when I leave, you can get your keys back tonight." The first words come out a croak, throat still dry and rough, and he licks his lips when he's done speaking, half wanting some water to wet his mouth and get rid of the taste of morning breath, half not wanting anything that might drag him further from sleep.
"Oh, yeah, here…," Eduardo mumbles, voice obscured where he's turning away from Mark and the faint rustling of fabric audible in the silence that still hangs over the world, then he's stepping closer and dropping Mark's own keys and keycard onto the bed. "You probably want to go over now and sleep in your own bed, now that I'm not squatting in it anymore. Did I apologize? If not, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to turn you out of your own bed. I mean, I didn't mean to fall asleep at all."
Eduardo is standing in front of Mark and rambling like he's trying to make them feel awkward, and the room is small enough that Mark is feeling crowded even though it's Eduardo uncomfortably shifting and shuffling until his back connects with the desk and he can't back away any further.
Mark curls his toes in an attempt to preserve some of the fleeting warmth of sleep, but it's no use, his feet are uncomfortably cold already, and the rest of his body is following rapidly, naked arms and legs exposed to the unheated morning air of Eduardo's room.
"Don't be stupid, Wardo. It's a bed, it's there for sleeping, and it was free. Plus, it's not as if you haven't been in it before." Words come easier now, and he's not happy with that, is still too tired to want to be awake.
Maybe what Eduardo is trying to object to, in this roundabout way of profusely apologizing for occupying Mark's bed, is Mark commandeering his, but, really, Eduardo has been in Mark's bed plenty of times, even sleeping in it, and the fact that so far he's always woken up when Mark tried to throw him out doesn't change that. Eduardo was in Mark's bed and sleeping, and Eduardo's bed was free. Mark keeps different hours and Eduardo's noisy neighbors had already retired themselves. It was convenient, and Eduardo has no leg to stand on if he wants to complain, the hypocrite.
For a moment neither of them say anything, then Eduardo sees reason or just gives in, right now Mark doesn't care.
"Okay," he says, with that nod of his that starts small and then somehow ends up with his whole body bobbing.
"Good…," he pauses, hand flopping about in a helpless gesture of whatever, "Night? Morning? Sleep well. I'll just. See you later."
Eduardo then starts to open drawers and doors, pulling out his bathroom kit and fresh clothes while Mark rubs his palms over the bony knows of his knees to psych himself up for the struggle of moving again. When Eduardo slinks out of the door, Mark levers himself back into bed and under the cover, having considered and dropped the idea of turning on the heater for the simpler alternative of just getting out of the cold air.
It's still warm and cozy and good, and Mark shudders, suddenly feeling even stronger how cold he's grown with the contrast. He weakly tugs the blanket higher, up his chest, but now that he's lying down again the heaviness is back and he gives up, back to drowsing in seconds.
He's still awake when Eduardo comes back, just about, and listens to him move around the room, picking Mark's keys back up from the bed Mark couldn't be bothered to move them from and putting them on the table, shifting books out and into his bag, opening another drawer to take out something plastic-crinkly and stuffing that, too, in his bag. He remains motionless as Eduardo shrugs on his jacket and puts on his shoes, stumbling about because he doesn't sit down to do so and bumping into his closet with a cut-off curse. There's a sigh, and silence, silence, while Mark drifts and waits to fall over the edge of sleep and absent-mindedly wonders if Eduardo is already gone, then steps, and the blanket come up to Mark's chin, a cocoon of warmth. He'd sigh if he could, wiggle deeper, but he doesn't want to move.
Then Eduardo leaves.
Mark stays in bed, but, uncharacteristically, he doesn't manage to fall asleep again. He's back to the half-awake turning of the previous night, too tired to be awake but not sleeping either.
Eliot wakes up around him.
The walls are thin enough to hear an alarm next door go off, and someone lumbering about on the other side of him. People talking in the hall.
This is college, so the general waking up and getting ready drags on for hours.
It's okay though, it's only background noises, nobody is actually being loud. Mostly it's just quiet again, or still.
Every now and then someone walks down the hallway, the tapping of sneakers or clacking of heels passing by, and Mark finds himself waiting for these moments, clinging to them, following the sounds of another person. Then the steps pass, and it's as if he were alone again in the building.
For all he knows, he is.
Maybe all the people living in Kirkland flee their rooms and spend their time elsewhere because when they moved in it was too loud and they never stuck around to notice the change, so now they all hang around friends' places and try to study where other people are coding or watching movies and fall asleep on couches and beds not their own even though their rooms in Kirkland would be so much more peaceful.
Mark smiles at that, lazy, slow quirk of lips that moves his cheek against the cotton of the pillow case. The faint scent of laundry detergent is still there, and it just enhances the untouched, empty feeling of a ghost dorm that pulls at Mark's mind and keeps him from falling back asleep.
Maybe it's the silence the inhabitants of Kirkland are trying to avoid.
Mark tries to smile at that thought too.
The blanket is suddenly too heavy, a stifling and hot weight over him. He tries to kick it lower, but then he's too cold in the hostile, unmoving air of the room. Eventually he gives up on sleep and gets up, leaving the bed behind unmade. Mark doesn't make his own bed, he won't make Eduardo's either, no matter how straight and smooth the blanket was stretched out and folded down when he arrived.
The rest of the day turns out to be mostly a lost cause. Lunch is breakfast and leftovers from yesterday, afternoon classes are a waste of time that Mark could have put to better use in the science lab, and for dinner he's meeting the others in the dining hall because Chris is not afraid to be a cliché and announce that he's craving a salad when Mark would have been fine eating more takeout in front of the tv.
By the time they get back to the suite, all Mark wants is to grab a beer and wire in, so that's what he does. He throws Eduardo's keys and card on the desk next to his bottle, but that's it - he doesn't mind Eduardo coming back with them, but Eduardo is capable of entertaining himself. And he's not going to play host.
People move around him while he works, hovering around the periphery of his vision, dropping close to look over his shoulder only to leave again. At some point there's a hand on his arm and an offer to watch a movie and/or share a bag of chips, but he declines on both counts and pulls the headphones back over his ears.
By the time he's done with his problem sets and has saved them, it's not as late as the previous day, but not early anymore either. There's still light in the common area, and Chris is sitting on the couch, tv showing one of his documentaries, volume down low. Dustin is nowhere to be seen and their room is dark.
The keys are still on the table, and when he turns around Eduardo is on his bed again, lying on his stomach and head pillowed on his arms because the pillow is propping up a book, uselessly so since Eduardo's eyes are closed.
"Wardo."
Chris' head perks up, Eduardo's doesn't.
Mark does not sigh. He turns off his computer, throws the empty beer bottle in the can, and leans down to shake Eduardo. "Wardo."
Eduardo doesn't move. Of course not, he's tired. He got up at seven. Before, even - by seven he had gotten up, walked over to Eliot, and probably leaned on the bell for twenty minutes until Mark woke up. Who even gets up at seven? This is college, these are the years when everybody tries to be as lazy as possible in between bouts of studious frenzy. It's perfectly acceptable to show up to eight o'clock lectures unshowered and in pajamas. Mark knows even the econ people at least tolerate this because it's how Dustin comes back from his Tuesday econ class, and they haven't kicked him out yet. It's Eduardo's own fault he's so tired, and Mark should just wake him up and kick him out.
He doesn't, though. He picks his keys up and stuffs them into his pocket, puts on socks he digs out of the basket of laundry he refuses to put away because it's not like it's bothering anyone, and turns off the light.
Chris looks up at him when he walks past, brows raised in a question. Mark isn't sure what he's even asking, let alone what to answer, so he shrugs and holds up Eduardo's keys, jingling them, and that seems to be enough because Chris nods and turns back to the tv.
The grounds are more crowded this time, scattered with people purposefully walking home from wherever they've spent the evening but don't want to spend the night.
Eliot is just as quiet as before.
The air in Eduardo's room is a bit stuffy because Mark didn't bother to open a window and air before he left, but still cold. The bed is still unmade, blanket wadded-up on the lower half of the bed and pillow creased and dented. There's no laundry in the corner, clean or otherwise.
Mark looks around Eduardo's room, the blank, silent, crowded space of it, and decides that, convenient free bed and technically perfect sleeping conditions or not, he doesn't want to be there. And since Mark is a big fan of not doing things he doesn't want to do he turns around, lock Eduardo's door behind him, and walks straight back to Kirkland.
By the time he's back, the suite is dark, and Mark moves through the rooms by memory. He drops his collected keys and cars back on the desk, and then powers his computer up. After all that walking around in the fresh air, he's disgustingly awake again, and hopefully staring at his screen for a bit will help with that. He opens a couple of windows, pulls up some directories, and indulges in a bit of simple hacking that doesn't require much thought.
The boost from having been outside fades soon enough though. Mark turns to look at the bed in the light of his screen and tries to critically judge the size of his bed and how much space Eduardo is taking up, then turns his computer off again.
He crosses the suite to brush his teeth because he forgot before, comes back, and pushes at Eduardo until he gets his mostly dead weight rolled over to make room. He closes Eduard's book, the page long gone anyway, and drops it next to the bed, dumps his clothes next to it until he's left wearing only his boxers and the soft, worn t-shirt he's had on all day, and pulls at his comforter until it's out from under Eduardo and he can climb under it. He considers covering Eduardo, too, but he's still wearing his slacks and shirt (which in the morning will be wrinkled enough that, walking over to Eliot, Eduardo will look like he's on a walk of shame) and would probably be too hot. As it is, Mark thinks he can even feel the warmth of his body radiating out and through the blankets across the barely-there space between them, and irrationally it makes the naked skin of his arms break out in goose bumps.
Dustin must have rolled on his stomach because there's light snoring coming from his direction, the clock in the common area ticks along, and water sounds from the pipes bathroom when someone flushes a toilet connected to theirs. The red standby light of Mark's computer glows in the dark. Mark's sheets smell of everything else in the room so his nose filters the scents out and tells him they smell of nothing and familiarity at the same time. And Eduardo, who, when he accidentally falls asleep on the couch, will wake at the drop of a paperclip (they'd have tried dropping a needle, but the clip was the closest they could find), continues to sleep next to him, breaths slow and even in a rhythm that Mark tunes into to lull himself to sleep, too.
The next morning Mark wakes up when the mattress dips and shifts when Eduardo gets up, and blearily opens his eyes when he hears Eduardo pick up his keys from Mark's desk, getting ready to leave.
"I hacked into the housing system, so you can just let yourself in. It's more convenient."
It's not, it's really not, because while Mark can just clear Eduardo's keycard for Kirkland he can't make him a key to the suite. He doesn't mention that, though, while Eduardo stands and gapes, his face alternating between disapproval and helplessness.
He doesn't bring it up either.
"Thank you, Mark. " He smiles, having settled on embarrassment and fondness.
"Go back to sleep. I'll see you tonight."
Of course he will. Eduardo is always over. It's a fact of college life.
Author: des_pudels_kern
Fandom: The Social Network
Pairing, Characters: Mark, Eduardo (can be read as pre-slash if you are so inclined)(let's be honest, you probably are)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Any characters mentioned here belong to their respective creators; the names of any real people mentioned refer to fictionalised versions of these people. No money is made and no offense intended.
Length: ~ 5k
Status: One-shot
Summary: Eduardo spends enough time in Kirkland that he might as well be living with them. He's always over, to study, to hang out, sometimes staying late enough that he falls asleep. Eliot must be a horrible, noisy, unwelcoming place.
Author's Note: For laliquey, written for the 2012 round of thesantanetwork. Everybody should have a little something underneath their virtual tree, even if the time for trees is technically already over. I hope you like it!
Gratitude for betaing goes to yellowwolf5, who is a saint for putting up with my drabble-sized monster sentences. All mistakes that remain are my own.
A general note: For the purpose of this story, let's assume that people get into their dorms (the buildings, not the rooms) with keycards. I have no idea what the system is in Harvard, and I didn't get a close enough look to be able to tell for sure for movie!Harvard. Actually, I have no idea how dorms in general work, over here the renting of private rooms or flats is much more common.
Written: January 2013
Optimal Noise Level
There are certain facts to college life, facts that just are, that Mark accepts without so much as a shrug, the way pre-college he had accepted that in the mornings the shower belonged to his sisters. He grew into the habit of showering in the evenings. It was convenient, an arrangement that didn't bear thinking about.
The facts of college are different, of course, but similarly mundane in nature (if Mark had expected his existence to turn into one big intellectual challenge with his move to Harvard, he'd have been sorely disappointed, but while he freely admitted to anyone who bothered to ask that he had a very high opinion of himself, he was still rooted strongly enough in reality to have come to college with realistic expectations). It's Chris who showers in the mornings now. Dustin likes to poke his nose into everybody's business and probably removed the bedroom doors from their suite for that very reason when he moved in as the first of them. Billy from next door always accidentally walks in when he's coming home stoned.
Eduardo might as well be living with them too, considering the amount of time he spends in Kirkland.
Eduardo is always there.
It started with him coming over to hang out, even when no one had time for him and he ended up having to entertain himself. It turned out Eduardo didn't mind sitting by himself and watching tv or reading while Mark wired in and did something that everybody he knew shook their head over in incomprehension but that mattered to him. In turn Mark decided he didn't mind having Eduardo over. Then Eduardo started to show up for study sessions during which they each crammed something different because they didn't share any classes, and then he came by to learn by himself even while Mark was playing video games with Dustin. Eventually he took to just showing up, buzzing to be let in, knocking on their door, or waiting in front of it, headphones in and playing with his phone, until Mark came back.
Mark wouldn't go so far as to say Eduardo's tendency to end up standing in front of locked doors was his motivation for CourseMatch, but it was his inspiration. Mark is nothing if not practical, and Eduardo kept losing time waiting and doing nothing.
That is Eduardo's reasoning for co-habituating with them in all but name, after all, the need to get things done.
Eduardo has a single in Eliot. Logically, one assumes a single to be better suited for academic studies than a suite filled with other people, and that is most likely the reason Eduardo's father shelled out the extra dollars for it, not certain other, more carnal activities. The walls between singles are thin though, and Eduardo's neighbors might not use their rooms for what their parents intended them to. Eduardo doesn't volunteer details and Mark doesn't ask for them (every other Saturday one of Billy's roommates has his girlfriend from back home visiting - Mark didn't learn to use headphones and loud music to wire in until after he'd left his active, lively family home), but anyone who considers a place with Dustin in it the better study location must be very desperate.
Every now and then, Eduardo stays late enough to fall asleep. Usually it's accidental, with the controller still in his lap where he's sat in front of the tv, or with his face planted in a book while he slumps against the headboard of Mark's bed. Sometimes, rarely, it's deliberately. That starts with Eduardo crashing on their couch first, and then, once he accepts that Mark tends to stay up late and will even sometimes pull the occasional all-nighter for no reason except that he feels like it, stretching out on top of Mark's covers and sleeping there. But that too only lasts until Mark turns off his computer and throws him out to go to bed himself, sending Eduardo on his way to Eliot, where by then even Eduardo's neighbors will have succumbed to the so-late-it's-early hour.
Mark adapts this, too, into his routine. Let Eduardo in, interact with him or don't, eventually ignore him as they both drift into tending their respective priorities, and finally turn around to see Eduardo lounge on his bed in various states of wakefulness and poke him until he stops groaning about how hard his life is, takes his stuff, and leaves.
As long as Mark doesn't need his bed he doesn't care if Eduardo sleeps in it - the opposite even. It's part of their give and take. All relationships are based on the compromise of egoism. What can they do for you, and what can you in turn do for them so that they'll keep doing things for you. It's the same principle the exchange of goods is based on, which in turn is the basis of modern society. Providing shelter, so to speak, is something Mark can do for Eduardo, is willing to do unasked and with only token complaining because beneath his reassurances that he doesn't want to inconvenience people Eduardo hides a strong dislike for admitting weakness. Mark can relate to that; it's one trait Eduardo and him have in common.
He does not mind indulging Eduardo in this, not when Eduardo reciprocates and puts his way with numbers at Mark's disposal without bristling because Mark once again stated that Eduardo would write him a more elegant algorithm instead of asking. Still, it's a nuisance having to stop what he's doing to let Eduardo in all the time is an inconvenience, made better just barely by CourseMatch and its predictions when to expect Eduardo, and Mark knows that, when Eduardo rings for Mark to buzz him in and it makes him lose his train of thought, he's not good at hiding his momentary frustration.
Facts of life.
He wires out one night, eyes burning with strain and shoulders refusing to straighten from too many hours hunched over his keyboard, and pulls off his headphones to re-enter the real world, now lifelessly silent in a stark contrast to when Mark turned his back on it. Eduardo is lying on his side, face pillowed on an open book and arm awkwardly bent above his head as if he fell asleep propping himself up, and the rest of the suite is dark behind Mark's room.
"Wardo," Mark mumbles while standing up and slowly, painfully straightening his back after all, with several cracks that sound as if they should hurt but feel good, like his spine popping back into place. He clears his throat and says it again, louder, "Wardo," while he stumbles through the unlit common area and puts a half-eaten can of tuna into the fridge.
Eduardo is a light sleeper (which is probably also why he keeps fleeing from his neighbors), and Mark saying his name while he putters about is usually enough to wake him and let him sigh and yawn while he slowly, melodramatically, works his way back to the verticality.
This time though he hasn't moved when Mark returns to his side, still occupies the length of Mark's bed, neck crooked and cheek pressed against ink and paper.
"Wardo." Mark reaches out and nudges Eduardo, fingertips poking his upper arm, pressing harder into the shirt-covered flesh until Mark knows that, if Eduardo were awake, he'd crease his brows and rub his arm with an unhappy complaint. Eduardo remains asleep though, breath not hitching, no muscle twitching, not even his lids flutter to give away that his mind is anything but dormant right now.
He toys with the idea of raising his voice, shaking Eduardo awake, or going back to the fridge and getting a cold beer to press to the nape of his neck (since he can't actually dump water over him without ruining his own bed for the night). Mark is already drawing in breath and reaching out a hand to take hold of Eduardo's shoulder when he hesitates and, after a moment of contemplation, changes his mind.
There are shadows beneath Eduardo's eyes, and Mark knows he had two papers due that day.
He may be self-centered and, to a certain degree, selfish (it's a Darwinistic mandate to put one's own interests above those of others, most people just like to deceive themselves into thinking otherwise). He does know how to be a good friend though (evolution here, too - look after those that are part of your particular group).
Eduardo uses his cell as an alarm and he always sets it cautiously early so that he has plenty of time for his elaborate pre-class routine, plus a cushion in case of emergency, unlike Mark's own habit of rolling out of bed and leaving sometimes without having done more than brush his teeth and pull yesterday's sweats over his boxers. There are two beds, Mark is still up anyway, and there's no need to wake Eduardo when he's obviously in need of rest.
He checks Eduardo's jacket for his wallet first but finds it when he moves on to rummage through his messenger bag. The wallet is thick, padded with more cards than anyone else Mark knows bothers to carry around with them, and Eduardo probably has to keep it in his bag so it doesn't ruin the cut of his jacket, that seems like something he'd do. He checks to make sure the keycard to let him into Eliot is there, and pulls the chain with the key to Eduardo's single from the bottom of the outer pocket. Then he stuffs both together with his own things into the muff of his hoodie and turns the light off on his way out.
The grounds are dead at this hour, and Mark only passes a couple drunkenly making out as he pads across campus, taking shortcuts over grass that leave his naked toes in his flipflops wet and cold with dew and night air. He figures that whatever was going on in his dorm that had Eduardo seek refuge in Kirkland is most likely long over, and if not Mark will probably still have no problem falling asleep in spite of it as long as it's just noise and not downright disturbance of the peace by night.
Eliot, as it turns out, is quiet. Mark can't hear anything from the rooms he passes on his way to Eduardo's, or from those on the other side that he walks past on his way to the bathrooms down the hall. No one else seems to be awake, still or yet, and at this point Mark is too tired himself to wonder at the irony that Eliot's noise level is apparently more in accordance with Mark's sleeping habits than Eduardo's, so he drops his assortment of keys on Eduardo's desk, pulls off his hoodie, toes off his shoes, and goes to bed.
He takes a couple of minutes to get settled.
The room is colder than what Mark is used to, but the blanket is heavy and warms up around him quickly. The sheets aren't stiff and fresh anymore, clearly slept in, but they still smell vaguely of laundry when Mark turns on his stomach and smushes his face in the pillow.
And it's silent.
Kirkland at night isn't loud; on weeknights things usually calm down after midnight, and when Chris and Dustin have both gone to bed it's quiet, but it's a lived-in quiet. There's the humming of their fridge, and the low but present sounds and lights of electric devices left on stand-bye, the minute noises of his roommates breathing and occasionally shifting from two open doorways away, the occasional dripping of water and leftover humidity from their en-suite bathroom, the ambient smells of too many different activities lingering and coalescing into the distinct air of home that you only notice by its absence when you are someplace else. Mark's sheets barely hold the smell of his laundry detergent for a whole day before they begin to adopt the miasma of food and drink consumed on them, paper and marker, the toilet products of too many people using his bed as a chair and couch and desk. Eduardo's single, in contrast, is neat and ordered, no odds and ends catching dust in corners, the air is cool and clean, and it is void of distractions in a way that makes it so much better suited for both learning and sleeping than the suite.
Somehow he still ends up lying awake, rearranging his limbs every couple of minutes, ears prickling every time he thinks he might have heard something, eyes opening again and again to blink into the darkness to find some movement or a steadily flashing light.
He falls asleep slowly and laboriously when usually sleep is a matter of course, something he decides focus on and then proceeds to do the way he dedicates himself to any task he's taking on (any that he doesn't object to, that is).
Waking up happens gradually. He's drifting for some time before he even notices he's awake. Mark is warm and loose, body and mind slow, heavy and light at the same time the way only that moment between waking and sleeping is, the second of weightlessness at the height of a jump drawn out in drowsiness.
It takes him a while to register the ringing as something out of order that he should react to.
It is in keeping with their habits at least that even now he has to drag himself up to let Eduardo in, and he doesn't bother with listening to him over the intercom, just buzzes him in and opens the room door before sitting back down on the bed and mourning the way the cold floor leeches the warmth from his feet.
He looks up when Eduardo enters, and even though he's sporting a spectacular case of bedhead the night of uninterrupted sleep seems to have done him good, or at least left him recovered enough that he's already managed to work himself into nervous knots by, what, seven in the morning? Mark can barely keep his eyes open, doesn't want to keep them open, and Eduardo is going a mile an hour.
"…gone, and I figured you went here, I'm so sorry, you should have just kicked me out. And then you didn't open when I rang, I probably woke you up, but my wallet and keys were gone too and I need my books and a shower," Eduardo stops to take a breath, and Mark jumps in.
"Do that. I'm going back to sleep. I'll lock up when I leave, you can get your keys back tonight." The first words come out a croak, throat still dry and rough, and he licks his lips when he's done speaking, half wanting some water to wet his mouth and get rid of the taste of morning breath, half not wanting anything that might drag him further from sleep.
"Oh, yeah, here…," Eduardo mumbles, voice obscured where he's turning away from Mark and the faint rustling of fabric audible in the silence that still hangs over the world, then he's stepping closer and dropping Mark's own keys and keycard onto the bed. "You probably want to go over now and sleep in your own bed, now that I'm not squatting in it anymore. Did I apologize? If not, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to turn you out of your own bed. I mean, I didn't mean to fall asleep at all."
Eduardo is standing in front of Mark and rambling like he's trying to make them feel awkward, and the room is small enough that Mark is feeling crowded even though it's Eduardo uncomfortably shifting and shuffling until his back connects with the desk and he can't back away any further.
Mark curls his toes in an attempt to preserve some of the fleeting warmth of sleep, but it's no use, his feet are uncomfortably cold already, and the rest of his body is following rapidly, naked arms and legs exposed to the unheated morning air of Eduardo's room.
"Don't be stupid, Wardo. It's a bed, it's there for sleeping, and it was free. Plus, it's not as if you haven't been in it before." Words come easier now, and he's not happy with that, is still too tired to want to be awake.
Maybe what Eduardo is trying to object to, in this roundabout way of profusely apologizing for occupying Mark's bed, is Mark commandeering his, but, really, Eduardo has been in Mark's bed plenty of times, even sleeping in it, and the fact that so far he's always woken up when Mark tried to throw him out doesn't change that. Eduardo was in Mark's bed and sleeping, and Eduardo's bed was free. Mark keeps different hours and Eduardo's noisy neighbors had already retired themselves. It was convenient, and Eduardo has no leg to stand on if he wants to complain, the hypocrite.
For a moment neither of them say anything, then Eduardo sees reason or just gives in, right now Mark doesn't care.
"Okay," he says, with that nod of his that starts small and then somehow ends up with his whole body bobbing.
"Good…," he pauses, hand flopping about in a helpless gesture of whatever, "Night? Morning? Sleep well. I'll just. See you later."
Eduardo then starts to open drawers and doors, pulling out his bathroom kit and fresh clothes while Mark rubs his palms over the bony knows of his knees to psych himself up for the struggle of moving again. When Eduardo slinks out of the door, Mark levers himself back into bed and under the cover, having considered and dropped the idea of turning on the heater for the simpler alternative of just getting out of the cold air.
It's still warm and cozy and good, and Mark shudders, suddenly feeling even stronger how cold he's grown with the contrast. He weakly tugs the blanket higher, up his chest, but now that he's lying down again the heaviness is back and he gives up, back to drowsing in seconds.
He's still awake when Eduardo comes back, just about, and listens to him move around the room, picking Mark's keys back up from the bed Mark couldn't be bothered to move them from and putting them on the table, shifting books out and into his bag, opening another drawer to take out something plastic-crinkly and stuffing that, too, in his bag. He remains motionless as Eduardo shrugs on his jacket and puts on his shoes, stumbling about because he doesn't sit down to do so and bumping into his closet with a cut-off curse. There's a sigh, and silence, silence, while Mark drifts and waits to fall over the edge of sleep and absent-mindedly wonders if Eduardo is already gone, then steps, and the blanket come up to Mark's chin, a cocoon of warmth. He'd sigh if he could, wiggle deeper, but he doesn't want to move.
Then Eduardo leaves.
Mark stays in bed, but, uncharacteristically, he doesn't manage to fall asleep again. He's back to the half-awake turning of the previous night, too tired to be awake but not sleeping either.
Eliot wakes up around him.
The walls are thin enough to hear an alarm next door go off, and someone lumbering about on the other side of him. People talking in the hall.
This is college, so the general waking up and getting ready drags on for hours.
It's okay though, it's only background noises, nobody is actually being loud. Mostly it's just quiet again, or still.
Every now and then someone walks down the hallway, the tapping of sneakers or clacking of heels passing by, and Mark finds himself waiting for these moments, clinging to them, following the sounds of another person. Then the steps pass, and it's as if he were alone again in the building.
For all he knows, he is.
Maybe all the people living in Kirkland flee their rooms and spend their time elsewhere because when they moved in it was too loud and they never stuck around to notice the change, so now they all hang around friends' places and try to study where other people are coding or watching movies and fall asleep on couches and beds not their own even though their rooms in Kirkland would be so much more peaceful.
Mark smiles at that, lazy, slow quirk of lips that moves his cheek against the cotton of the pillow case. The faint scent of laundry detergent is still there, and it just enhances the untouched, empty feeling of a ghost dorm that pulls at Mark's mind and keeps him from falling back asleep.
Maybe it's the silence the inhabitants of Kirkland are trying to avoid.
Mark tries to smile at that thought too.
The blanket is suddenly too heavy, a stifling and hot weight over him. He tries to kick it lower, but then he's too cold in the hostile, unmoving air of the room. Eventually he gives up on sleep and gets up, leaving the bed behind unmade. Mark doesn't make his own bed, he won't make Eduardo's either, no matter how straight and smooth the blanket was stretched out and folded down when he arrived.
The rest of the day turns out to be mostly a lost cause. Lunch is breakfast and leftovers from yesterday, afternoon classes are a waste of time that Mark could have put to better use in the science lab, and for dinner he's meeting the others in the dining hall because Chris is not afraid to be a cliché and announce that he's craving a salad when Mark would have been fine eating more takeout in front of the tv.
By the time they get back to the suite, all Mark wants is to grab a beer and wire in, so that's what he does. He throws Eduardo's keys and card on the desk next to his bottle, but that's it - he doesn't mind Eduardo coming back with them, but Eduardo is capable of entertaining himself. And he's not going to play host.
People move around him while he works, hovering around the periphery of his vision, dropping close to look over his shoulder only to leave again. At some point there's a hand on his arm and an offer to watch a movie and/or share a bag of chips, but he declines on both counts and pulls the headphones back over his ears.
By the time he's done with his problem sets and has saved them, it's not as late as the previous day, but not early anymore either. There's still light in the common area, and Chris is sitting on the couch, tv showing one of his documentaries, volume down low. Dustin is nowhere to be seen and their room is dark.
The keys are still on the table, and when he turns around Eduardo is on his bed again, lying on his stomach and head pillowed on his arms because the pillow is propping up a book, uselessly so since Eduardo's eyes are closed.
"Wardo."
Chris' head perks up, Eduardo's doesn't.
Mark does not sigh. He turns off his computer, throws the empty beer bottle in the can, and leans down to shake Eduardo. "Wardo."
Eduardo doesn't move. Of course not, he's tired. He got up at seven. Before, even - by seven he had gotten up, walked over to Eliot, and probably leaned on the bell for twenty minutes until Mark woke up. Who even gets up at seven? This is college, these are the years when everybody tries to be as lazy as possible in between bouts of studious frenzy. It's perfectly acceptable to show up to eight o'clock lectures unshowered and in pajamas. Mark knows even the econ people at least tolerate this because it's how Dustin comes back from his Tuesday econ class, and they haven't kicked him out yet. It's Eduardo's own fault he's so tired, and Mark should just wake him up and kick him out.
He doesn't, though. He picks his keys up and stuffs them into his pocket, puts on socks he digs out of the basket of laundry he refuses to put away because it's not like it's bothering anyone, and turns off the light.
Chris looks up at him when he walks past, brows raised in a question. Mark isn't sure what he's even asking, let alone what to answer, so he shrugs and holds up Eduardo's keys, jingling them, and that seems to be enough because Chris nods and turns back to the tv.
The grounds are more crowded this time, scattered with people purposefully walking home from wherever they've spent the evening but don't want to spend the night.
Eliot is just as quiet as before.
The air in Eduardo's room is a bit stuffy because Mark didn't bother to open a window and air before he left, but still cold. The bed is still unmade, blanket wadded-up on the lower half of the bed and pillow creased and dented. There's no laundry in the corner, clean or otherwise.
Mark looks around Eduardo's room, the blank, silent, crowded space of it, and decides that, convenient free bed and technically perfect sleeping conditions or not, he doesn't want to be there. And since Mark is a big fan of not doing things he doesn't want to do he turns around, lock Eduardo's door behind him, and walks straight back to Kirkland.
By the time he's back, the suite is dark, and Mark moves through the rooms by memory. He drops his collected keys and cars back on the desk, and then powers his computer up. After all that walking around in the fresh air, he's disgustingly awake again, and hopefully staring at his screen for a bit will help with that. He opens a couple of windows, pulls up some directories, and indulges in a bit of simple hacking that doesn't require much thought.
The boost from having been outside fades soon enough though. Mark turns to look at the bed in the light of his screen and tries to critically judge the size of his bed and how much space Eduardo is taking up, then turns his computer off again.
He crosses the suite to brush his teeth because he forgot before, comes back, and pushes at Eduardo until he gets his mostly dead weight rolled over to make room. He closes Eduard's book, the page long gone anyway, and drops it next to the bed, dumps his clothes next to it until he's left wearing only his boxers and the soft, worn t-shirt he's had on all day, and pulls at his comforter until it's out from under Eduardo and he can climb under it. He considers covering Eduardo, too, but he's still wearing his slacks and shirt (which in the morning will be wrinkled enough that, walking over to Eliot, Eduardo will look like he's on a walk of shame) and would probably be too hot. As it is, Mark thinks he can even feel the warmth of his body radiating out and through the blankets across the barely-there space between them, and irrationally it makes the naked skin of his arms break out in goose bumps.
Dustin must have rolled on his stomach because there's light snoring coming from his direction, the clock in the common area ticks along, and water sounds from the pipes bathroom when someone flushes a toilet connected to theirs. The red standby light of Mark's computer glows in the dark. Mark's sheets smell of everything else in the room so his nose filters the scents out and tells him they smell of nothing and familiarity at the same time. And Eduardo, who, when he accidentally falls asleep on the couch, will wake at the drop of a paperclip (they'd have tried dropping a needle, but the clip was the closest they could find), continues to sleep next to him, breaths slow and even in a rhythm that Mark tunes into to lull himself to sleep, too.
The next morning Mark wakes up when the mattress dips and shifts when Eduardo gets up, and blearily opens his eyes when he hears Eduardo pick up his keys from Mark's desk, getting ready to leave.
"I hacked into the housing system, so you can just let yourself in. It's more convenient."
It's not, it's really not, because while Mark can just clear Eduardo's keycard for Kirkland he can't make him a key to the suite. He doesn't mention that, though, while Eduardo stands and gapes, his face alternating between disapproval and helplessness.
He doesn't bring it up either.
"Thank you, Mark. " He smiles, having settled on embarrassment and fondness.
"Go back to sleep. I'll see you tonight."
Of course he will. Eduardo is always over. It's a fact of college life.