hepburn had it easy, 1/2
Title: Hepburn Had It Easy
Author: kissoffools
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Rating: R
Summary: Meet Eduardo Saverin: economics major, all-around nice guy, and one of the newest pledges to the prestigious Porcellian Final Club. Meet Mark Zuckerberg: computer programmer extraordinaire, Jewish, and easily one of the least likely candidates to be asked to join a Final Club - any Final Club. And, as luck would have it, it's Mark's abysmal social skills that are going to grant Eduardo a one-way ticket to a red Porc blazer. That is, if he can perform a little magic. A "My Fair Lady" AU for the Facebook world.
Disclaimer: Solely based on the fictional characters from David Fincher's The Social Network. Has nothing to do with their real-life counteparts! Moving along!
Notes: Written for thesocialbbang. Word Count: 15,427. Big thanks go to alexthegreat, who gave me this idea in the first place! And even bigger thanks go to my lovely beta astro_frog5 - without her, this fic definitely would not have happened. Love to everyone!
And please go check out the beautiful art made special for this fic by alexthegreat! It so works with the story, and I'm so excited about it. Thank you, Alex! ♥
Fade in.
That’s how most movie scripts start - or at least, all the ones Eduardo has read. It’s simple, classic, and the perfect way to indicate to an audience that something’s about to happen. That’s how his film prof put it, anyway. Eduardo knows, has always known, that a film minor is an unusual choice for an economics major. But then, Eduardo’s always been a little different.
It’s the fade in that tells the audience you’re about to start your story. And later, when Eduardo looks back on everything that’s happened, he realizes that this is where their fade in belongs.
This, Eduardo realizes, is the start of their story.
The parties at AEPi, Eduardo has come to realize, are possibly the shittiest parties in existence.
He’s not sure what it is that truly makes their parties suck. Maybe it’s that not very many people actually show up - and the attendance is easily seventy-five percent male. Maybe it’s the crappy music that no one can really dance to or the lukewarm refreshments. Maybe it’s that they still string crepe paper across the walls, as if this was middle school instead of Harvard. Or maybe it’s the lame themes - in the previous year, they’d had Fall Harvest and Winter Social and Valentine’s Hop and something stupid called Abundance of April that Eduardo hadn’t even bothered turning up for. The first party of the new fall semester is aptly named Back To School, and it sort of makes Eduardo want to poke out his eyeballs.
But no matter the individual problems with the parties at AEPi, Eduardo always shows up. He has fewer friends than he’d like - “Why don’t you ever invite your friends home for the summers?” Eduardo’s father asks time and time again from behind his newspaper, and Eduardo is too mortified to tell him “I have no friends.” - and it’s better than staying in and doing econ readings. At least, that’s what he tells himself before he actually arrives.
Two hours in, Eduardo is sort of thinking of bailing - drinking alone over an article about quantitative easing, back in his dorm at Eliot, would almost be better than this - and he goes so far as to pull that Dustin kid he’d met earlier aside to ask him if he knows of anywhere better to spend their Friday night.
“If I knew anywhere better, would I be here?” Dustin’s smile is wry and he shrugs his shoulders as he takes a pull of his beer. It sucks, but what can you do?, his expression says.
And then a guy Eduardo has never met before barrels into Dustin’s side.
“Woah, dude.” Dustin reaches out a hand to steady the guy’s shoulder. He’s jittery. “You okay? Aren’t you supposed to be out with Erica?”
The guy shakes his head. His gaze is distant, as if he’s focusing on something beyond Dustin’s head. “She had to study. There’s no beer back at the dorm.”
“So?”
“So I need beer.” His eyes finally seem to focus and return to the here and now, and it seems to register with him that Dustin isn’t alone. “Oh. Hey,” he says, raising a hand in something that half resembles a greeting of acknowledgement.
“Hey,” Eduardo says, because what else does he say to the weird kid wearing sandals in October?
“These parties suck,” he says to Eduardo, and Eduardo can’t help but grin a little bit. At least everyone knows it.
“Do you know anywhere else -”
“There’s nowhere else,” the guy says, shaking his head. “Not unless we could turn into hot girls or Final Club members. Which reminds me. Beer.”
The guy turns back to Dustin, who rolls his eyes and points him in the direction of the refreshments. The beer’s only supposed to be for the seniors, the 21-and-up crowd, but no one at the party seems to care very much. They never do.
Eduardo watches the guy hurry over to the table and collect four, five, six beers. Then he turns abruptly and heads out of the room, juggling the bottles of beer carefully in his arms. Eduardo notices he never spoke to anyone else.
“That’s Mark,” Dustin says, nodding towards the double doors. “He’s a little intense.”
Eduardo laughs. “I’ll say. So nowhere better?”
“Nowhere better.”
“Shit.”
“Yup,” Dustin says cheerily.
***
Eduardo doesn’t give Mark another thought that night. He’s sound asleep by the time Facemash.com launches, but he reads about it in the Crimson the next morning. “Blogging and coding while intoxicated,”, the article says, and Eduardo can’t help but shake his head, thinking of six beers cradled carefully in his sweatshirt. “He’s a little intense”, Dustin had told him. Eduardo has a funny feeling that intense doesn’t even begin to describe Mark Zuckerberg.
***
Two weeks later, Eduardo heads to Mount Auburn Street in a freshly-pressed suit jacket and tie. His knees shake as he walks and he tries his best to look as if he belongs there.
He wasn’t expecting the invitation from the Porcellian to be slipped under his door. Not this year, not when he’s a junior and they usually only rush sophomores. He’s not sure why he’s caught their eye all of a sudden - maybe word’s gotten out about the thirty grand he’d made over the summer by betting oil futures. Maybe it’s all an elaborate prank. Who knows? He just hopes it isn’t the latter. He’d phoned his father immediately after opening the invitation, and calling to say, “Oops, never mind” was not something he wanted to do.
The night is chilly and the wind’s picked up a little when he reaches the nondescript entrance of the Final Club. There’s just one person outside, a tall and intimidating Porc member in a red blazer, and he raises his eyebrows when Eduardo approaches.
“Name?”
“Eduardo Saverin.” He tries to hide any trace of a shake in his voice.
The guy gives him the once-over and Eduardo stays still, waiting. Then he jerks his head towards the door.
“Through the bike room, on the left,” he says. He doesn’t ask for Eduardo’s invitation, and Eduardo isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. He hurries past the bodyguard before he stops to think about it.
The reception room is large and filled with people. The walls are thick, deep wood, the kind that’s been standing for centuries. Heavy red curtains hang from the tall windows at the far end, and there’s a bar with girls in short skirts serving brandy and whisky and all sorts of expensive liquors. There’s a sea of boys in black jackets, their hair all styled within an inch of its life, and here and there are dots of red - actual Porc members in their red member’s blazers. They’re the ones Eduardo’s going to have to impress if he wants to wear a jacket like that himself.
He beelines immediately for the nearest Porc member, ordering himself to be confident, be cool, act as if he belongs. The guy is tall, taller than Eduardo, and solid - he’s clearly an athlete. His blond hair is neat and tidy and he’s wearing an easy smile, but Eduardo can’t shake the feeling that this guy could crush him in a second if he chose to. Lovely.
“Thanks for the invitation,” Eduardo says, holding out his hand and silently commands it not to tremble. “Eduardo Saverin.”
“Cameron Winklevoss,” the guy says, and Eduardo raises his eyebrows. He knows that name - there’s an athletic complex somewhere on campus with that name over its doors. He thinks, anyway - he hasn’t made visiting athletic complexes a habit. This guy is clearly someone important.
Cameron flags down a waitress - this place has waitresses, holy shit - and she appears with two beers in her hand almost at once. Cameron accepts them with an easy smile and passes one over to Eduardo. He takes a sip at once, grateful.
“I know you. The oil futures kid, right?”
Eduardo nods. Someone at the Porc actually knows who he is. That sounds like as good a start as any.
“That’s me.”
“Eliot House, Economics major, AEPi.”
“AEPi?” The deep voice from behind Eduardo startles him, and he feels a little foolish when he jumps. A mirror image of Cameron moves into view and comes to stand beside him, and Eduardo blinks in surprise.
“My brother, Tyler,” Cameron says, and Eduardo’s suddenly grateful that he hadn’t said some stupid version of ”Wow, twins?”. “The Jewish frat,” Cameron says as an aside to Tyler.
Tyler shoots Cameron a look and Eduardo wonders if they’ve forgotten him. “The one that Facemash kid belongs to? He was in the Crimson.”
“Zuckerberg.”
“The little shit,” Tyler says, not altogether fondly. “Do you know him?”
It takes Eduardo a second to realize the question is meant for him. “Oh… no.” He’d read the Crimson article - it seemed as if everyone on campus had seen it. Farm animals. Connections are everything at Harvard, Eduardo knows this, and like hell will being connected with Mark Zuckerberg be a good thing. Not here at the Porc, anyway.
“That’s too bad.”
“That could have been fun.”
Eduardo blinks. “What?”
Cameron throws an arm easily over Eduardo’s shoulders, and Eduardo suddenly has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This does not sound like it’s going to end well.
“Come on,” Cameron says. “Let’s go have a chat.”
***
One of the most important moments in any movie is when the main characters meet for the first time - Eduardo doesn’t have to be a film student to know that. When Harry Met Sally. When Romeo Met Juliet. When Bridget Jones Met Mark Darcy. Without those moments, Eduardo knows, there’d be no movie at all.
He never knew that When Eduardo Met Mark would be important, too.
Mark is Dustin’s roommate, Eduardo remembers. So if I find Dustin, I’ll have to find Mark eventually.
Fortunately for Eduardo, Dustin is fairly well-known in the Jewish circles around campus. He only has to stop two guys he knows from his Psych class when they pass him on the quad, and he’s directed to Kirkland. It’s easy enough to slip inside without a pass-card - thank goodness for too-trusting freshman - and Eduardo wanders the halls, trying his best not to look like a burglar or a rapist or some other sort of deviant. Suite 3C has M D C scrawled across the door’s whiteboard in messy handwriting. Bingo.
It isn’t until he knocks that he remembers he’s pretending to come here for Dustin, and he doesn’t have an excuse. They aren’t exactly the kind of friends who drop by each other’s rooms just to hang out. Hey, man, is your socially-moronic roommate here? I want to turn him into a project for my benefit. Hope that’s cool. Eduardo has a funny feeling that one won’t fly.
But then it’s Mark who pulls open the door to the suite, and Eduardo’s thrown.
“Hello,” Mark says, puzzled. “Can I help you?”
“Um. Is Dustin here?” Eduardo asks. Well, that’s better than nothing.
Mark shakes his head, but doesn’t offer anything else. Eduardo pauses for a moment, uncertain.
“Oh,” he says. Well, he can’t exactly turn around and leave now. He came here for a reason, and that reason didn’t really have anything to do with Dustin, anyway. He can make this work. Hopefully. “I just wanted - I’m Eduardo. We met last week? The party at AEPi?” He offers his hand and wonders why he’s phrased it all as a question. For some reason, Mark makes him nervous.
Mark stares at him blankly, and it’s more than clear that Eduardo hadn’t registered on Mark’s radar at all that night. And now Eduardo’s just a tool in a suit with his hand in the air. Wonderful.
“Sure,” Mark says, as if he isn’t really sure what to do with that. “Mark.” He does, however, shake Eduardo’s hand. So that’s something.
“Mark,” Eduardo repeats, more stalling than anything else. What the hell is he supposed to say next? He barely knows this kid. And Mark clearly isn’t looking to make friends. He never should have agreed to this. Fuck the Winklevosses.
“Yep.”
And then Eduardo spots a folded copy of the Crimson on the coffee table behind Mark.
“You’re the Facemash guy, right?” Eduardo tries to keep the eagerness and guilt out of his voice. He knows that this isn’t right. Eduardo’s good at keeping his nose out of trouble and playing it safe, and this assignment from the Winklevoss twins promises neither. But the deep red of a Porcellian blazer flashes through his mind, and Eduardo presses his lips together. He can see himself bringing it home over winter break, modeling it proudly for his parents. His mother would cook them a celebratory dinner, and maybe his father would even come home from the office early enough to eat with them. Maybe, for once, they could be like a normal family. Eduardo really wants to bring that blazer home.
Mark nods again. “Yeah. That’s me.” Nothing more. The guy is clearly not a conversationalist. This is going to be more work than Eduardo anticipated.
“Did you get in trouble?”
A shrug. “Three months academic probation.”
Eduardo whistles softly. “They had to make an example out of you, I guess.”
“That’s what Dustin said. Did you want me to give him a message, or...?” Mark’s fidgeting, shifting on the balls of his feet just slightly, but Eduardo notices. Mark wants him to leave.
Eduardo quickly shakes his head. “I’ll catch him later. So everyone’s talking about you, you know that?”
Mark gives him a wry smile. “My dream come true.”
“You pissed a lot of people off,” Eduardo presses, hoping that Mark isn’t the type to punch someone he’s just met in the face. “Not everything people are saying is nice.”
Mark stares at him and Eduardo hurries to recover, unsettled by the blank look on his face. Does the guy ever emote? “Not that it really matters. I mean, who cares? It probably won’t even end up affecting you that much unless you’re going for a Final Club.”
There, at least Eduardo’s managed to work the topic around to the Clubs. That’s something. And Mark’s actually looking at him with interest now. Clearly Eduardo’s hit something there.
“Really,” Mark says, but there’s less complacency in his tone now. Eduardo can hear it.
“Yeah. I mean - why? Are you interested?” Too perfect.
There’s a flicker of intrigue on Mark’s features for a second. Just a second, and then it’s replaced with the same blank mask as before. It’s Eduardo’s first hint that Mark is not actually a robot. That he, too, cares about something.
“I’ve heard they can open a lot of doors,” Mark says, and god, could he be more awful at faking disinterest if he tried? Eduardo has a feeling that Mark holds a lot of people at bay, very rarely giving any outward sign of excitement - but it’s there. Eduardo can see it.
“Oh, absolutely,” Eduardo agrees enthusiastically. He pauses for a moment, as if he’s contemplating an idea that’s only now occurring to him. God, he’s starting to feel like a dick. Here’s something that Mark Zuckerberg actually cares about and Eduardo’s going to play him like a fiddle. This is why he doesn’t take dares. “Actually - I might be able to help you. If you’re interested.”
Mark’s eyebrows arch up skeptically. “What?”
“You know the Porc?” Eduardo asks, and hurries on at Mark’s no duh expression. He doesn’t want the guy to think he’s an idiot. “I’m punching this month.”
There’s jealousy in Mark’s eyes; Eduardo can see it. It’s bizarre, how unreadable Mark can be at one moment, Eduardo thinks, when he’s so transparent the next. That must be awfully confusing for his friends, poor guys.
“Congratulations,” Mark says, in a tone just too forced to be sincere.
“Well, I was thinking. What if I could get you a chance to punch, too?”
If Mark was a dog, his ears would have perked up. “You would do that for me?”
Eduardo shrugs.
“You’re not even a member. Isn’t recruiting over?”
“Not totally.” Eduardo’s lying through his teeth by now. “They’ve been known to take late recruits - recommendations at the end of the month. Or if we can’t get you in this year, we could try for next. We might have to work for it a bit, but I think we could do it.”
“Work for it?”
“Look. Facemash pissed people off. Your Crimson interview made you sound like a condescending asshole. And I don’t think they allow pants with holes in them past the bike room.”
Something in Mark’s face changes yet again. His eyes narrow and turn cold almost at once, and it feels dangerous. Like there’s some inner menace hiding under the curls. The whole effect is more frightening than Eduardo would have expected, and part of him wants to take a step back. He’s getting the feeling that Mark is not the best person to mess with.
“The Porc is full of pretentious frat jocks,” Mark says, and Eduardo’s surprised at the sudden change of heart. Mark is obviously taking Eduardo’s words more seriously than he’d anticipated.
“Whatever,” Eduardo says with a shrug, because it sort of seems like he’s fighting a losing battle at this point. Maybe he can find Mark in a few days, apologize, and try again. He obviously has something Mark wants - he just has to find the right approach. “It was just an offer.”
He makes it down one whole flight of stairs before he hears the quick smack-smack-smack of sandals on hardwood.
“So if I let you buy me new pants and coach me or something, you’ll help get me into the Porc?” Mark calls down from the top of the landing. He’s leaning against the railing and looking far more eager than he probably wants to.
Eduardo turns and looks up at him. He’s got Mark now, he knows it. He’s in. “Absolutely.”
“You don’t even know me.” There’s a why there, Eduardo knows. But Mark doesn’t ask, doesn’t elaborate, so Eduardo doesn’t have to lie again. Thankfully.
“Let’s do dinner,” Eduardo says, offering Mark a smile. “How about Kirkland, at seven? We’ll figure out the logistics then.” It’s much easier to push forward with the actual details than it is to sit around and dwell on what a shitty thing he’s doing.
He’s afraid Mark’s going to press the issue, going to ask again, but he doesn’t. “Okay,” Mark agrees. “Sure.” And there, it’s back to stoicism. The kid’s got more ups and downs than a yo-yo.
“See you then!” Eduardo calls up the flight of stairs. Then he turns, pushes on Kirkland’s heavy front door, and bangs out into the crisp early October afternoon.
Game on.
***
For the first few days, Eduardo observes.
Not in a creepy way - it’s not as if he’s hiding in the bushes and watching Mark on his way to class. He’s pretty sure that wouldn’t go over very well. But he eats with Mark and Dustin and their friend Chris in the dining hall, he hangs out with them in their suite at Kirkland, and more often than not, he walks with Mark to class or to the store. He basically plans his days around observing Mark in his natural environment, and it’s worth it because he discovers two very important things.
One, Mark is not a bad guy. He’s funny in a dry sort of way, and he’s intelligent and he’s surprisingly kind once he gets comfortable around someone. And two, Mark is hopelessly and absolutely socially inept.
On the way back to Kirkland one evening after a movie night, Eduardo catches Mark’s arm. Dustin and Chris are up ahead, arguing about Ewoks or Daleks or Hobbits or whatever those weird creatures were in the movie they’d just watched, so he figures it’s as good a time as any to talk.
“You need help.”
Mark tilts his head, a faintly amused smile turning up the corner of his lips. “Really.”
Eduardo shakes his head. “I’m not trying to be mean, Mark, I’m just saying. Final Clubs are selective. You need to be the best.”
“And right now, I’m not.” His tone is light.
“You’re a good person, Mark. You just need some polishing.”
“Right. You mentioned something about that,” Mark says. But he doesn’t seem fazed at all - it’s as if the whole thing is a fascinating social experiment that Mark’s decided to participate in, all at his own convenience. It’s a far cry from their first meeting, Eduardo thinks, and he isn’t sure what to make of it.
“It’s fine,” Eduardo encourages. “Just a few adjustments. Manners, speech, stuff like that.”
“Speech?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “So it’s like I’m Eliza Doolittle.”
Eduardo laughs, surprised. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Mark doesn’t seem the type to be able to reference movies at all, let alone musicals. They may have more in common than Eduardo realized. “But there will be no singing.”
The corner of Mark’s mouth quirks up. “Deal.”
“We’ll have the Porc boys hanging off your every word in days.”
Mark is definitely two seconds away from dissolving into laughter. But he presses his lips together and gathers his composure, rearranging his features back to neutral before nodding.
“Then let the makeover commence.”
***
“Outside fork first.”
“What?”
“Outside fork for salad, middle fork for the entrée, smallest fork for dessert. How is that difficult?”
“I challenge you to find somewhere on the Harvard campus that’s going to serve us meals with place settings this classy.”
“The Porc does,” Eduardo says, and that shuts Mark up.
Eduardo crosses his arms on the dining hall table, watching Mark as he shovels salad into his mouth. It’s hard to keep his nose from wrinkling in disgust. Mark may be a lot of things - intelligent, funny, able to know what’s wrong with a computer in a second - but classy, he is not. Eduardo doesn’t want to cast aspirations on his parents, since he’s never met them, but… where the hell was Mark’s mother when he learned how to eat by himself?
“Is that vanishing salad?”
Mark pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”
“If you don’t down it all in thirty seconds, does it disappear on you?”
Mark looks like he has a few choice words for Eduardo, but says nothing.
“Sit up straight. Take your time. Actually lift your fork to your mouth. And elbows off the table.” Eduardo feels like he’s talking to a four year old. If this is anything to go by, Hepburn’s version of a makeover may just have been easier.
Mark scowls just a bit, but sits up and slows down. He takes smaller bites, too, which Eduardo didn’t even have to tell him to do. Maybe he’s a faster learner than Eduardo expected.
“And chew with your mouth closed.”
Mark stares at Eduardo for a second. He doesn’t look happy. “Elbows off the table,” Mark says finally, nodding at Eduardo's arms, and then goes back to eating.
Eduardo slides his hands into his lap guiltily.
***
“Do we really have to do this?” Mark tugs at his tie - the only one he owns, much to Eduardo’s horror. It’s yellow with a cornflower blue fleur-de-lis print, and it’s awful. Eduardo wants to slap the designer, and also whoever told Mark it brought out his eyes.
“Yes,” Eduardo insists. They’re in the corner of Eliot’s common room, the big one on the first floor, with a party in full swing around them. It had been Eduardo’s idea to take Mark to his dorm’s first party of the fall semester - set him out into the wild, as it were, and see how he handles being around actual people. Actual women. Eduardo’s seen him in one-on-one settings - conversations in the dining hall or in the library - and knows Mark’s no Casanova, but he’s rarely overtly offensive, either. So he wants to see how Mark handles a crowd.
Eduardo straightens his tie and claps Mark on the shoulders.
“Go,” he urges. “The girl over there. By the snacks. She’s alone and she looks shy - she’ll be easy to talk to.” Mark throws him one last-ditch, plaintive look, and Eduardo crosses his arms.
“Go.”
So Mark does.
Eduardo smiles kind of fondly as he watches Mark edge up to her. It’s actually kind of sweet - Mark picks at the food on the table first, slowly working his way over to the girl while keeping his eyes downcast. And the girl is actually watching Mark with something that, if Eduardo isn’t mistaken, could very well be interest. When Mark finally looks up, he smiles and steps over to her. Eduardo inches closer, nodding to his housemates and people he’s never met before, all the while keeping his eyes on Mark and the girl.
He’s halfway across the room when he sees her smile drop. She crosses her arms. Shit. Eduardo drops all pretense and heads straight for them.
“No!” Mark’s saying hurriedly as he falls into earshot. “I didn’t - I wasn’t saying that. I’m just saying that it’s good. I mean. If you weren’t here, those chips would feel all neglected and alone. I wasn’t calling you fat -”
“Hi,” Eduardo swoops in, clapping an arm around Mark’s shoulders and extending a hand out to the girl. She’s offended, he can tell, and eyes him with suspicion. “I’m Eduardo. You’ve met my friend Mark. And you are?”
“Alice,” she says, shaking his hand. Her grip is loose, as if she can’t wait to let go of him.
“Alice,” he repeats, his smile as warm as he can possibly make it. “And you’ve met Mark here.” Her lip practically curls up in disgust.
“Hi,” Mark says, and his tone is somewhere between confused and sheepish. Eduardo squeezes his shoulders a little. Poor bastard.
“Alice, would you excuse us? I need Mark’s help for a second.” Relief crosses her face. “And that’s a lovely dress, you know. Stunning.”
He hauls Mark away before he can say another word.
“Ow!” Mark yelps when they’re back in their corner, and Eduardo lets go of him. “Don’t manhandle me like I’m a child.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing!”
Eduardo raises his eyebrows.
“Fine. I was trying to - I don’t know. I was trying to be friendly. So I told her that it was great she was there - the chips would be lonely if she wasn’t keeping them company.” He waves his hands around a little helplessly.
Eduardo does everything in his power not to put his head in his hands. “Why would you say that?”
Mark shrugs. “I thought I was - you know. Flirting.”
“Flirting.”
“I don’t…” Mark trails off, and there’s something in his face that tempers the frustration building in Eduardo’s chest. He’s in over his head. Eduardo’s known the guy the better part of a week now, and he’s never once seen Mark realize he can’t handle something.
Eduardo sighs. “The party was a bad idea,” he admits. “Come on. I think we can still catch the end of Shark Week if we hurry.”
It’s not until they’re alone, walking through the cool night back to Kirkland, that Eduardo sees the guilt lift off Mark’s shoulders. It’s not until then that he realizes, Mark wanted to do well.
***
“Do you really think we need a visual list?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like you think I’m a child.”
Eduardo draws a straight line, right down the middle of the words Acceptable and Not Acceptable, and doesn’t bother with an answer. Mark’s gone back to his cocky, assured, blunt self; there have been no more traces of the uncertainty and anxiety that surfaced at the Eliot party. But Eduardo saw it. He knows it exists, now. And that’s something.
“Women,” Eduardo starts, waving a ruler in the air, “are delicate creatures. Skittish and wary. One wrong move with them and they’ll run the other way faster than you can imagine.”
“You make them sound like deer.”
“They sense things like emotions and vibes far more easily than you or I would,” Eduardo continues, ignoring him. “So when you’re trying to pick one up, you need to be aware of not only your words, but your tone. Your body language. Everything around you. If even one of these is off, she won’t want anything to do with you.”
Mark’s hand raises lazily in the air. If it was possible to inject contempt into an action, Mark would be the master. “What are you doing?” Eduardo asks, surprised.
“Teacher, I have a question.”
“Shut up.”
“Why am I taking advice from you?” Mark asks, and Eduardo bristles. “Aren’t you single?”
He doesn’t mean to snap, but “Which one of us is already punching the Porc?” comes out of Eduardo’s mouth before he can stop it. There’s a flash across Mark’s face, and Eduardo can’t tell if it’s jealousy or resentment before it vanishes.
Mark shuts up.
Eduardo guides him through his dos and don’ts, things like “Do compliment what she’s wearing, but make sure you mean it otherwise she’ll think you’re lying,” and “Don’t fidget or avoid eye contact - she’ll think you’re hiding something.” It’s an exhaustive list, even Eduardo can admit that, and when he finishes it, he props the whiteboard up against the dresser in Mark’s room.
“Is it even worth it?” Mark sinks down onto his bed, surveying the long list of rules. “Girls, I mean. All these rules, all this trouble. Have you met one yet that’s worth it, Wardo?”
Eduardo stares at the rules too, eyes glancing over “Talk to her for a few minutes before offering to buy her a drink, or she’ll think you’re just interested in sex, even if you are,” and “Don’t spend too much time looking at her; glance at a couple other girls that pass you while you’re talking to avoid her thinking you’re desperate for her attention”, and shakes his head.
“No,” he finally says. “I haven’t.”
***
“This,” Eduardo demonstrates, gesturing to the space between himself and the closed suite door, “is the appropriate distance needed to hold the door open for someone.”
From where he’s perched on the arm on the couch, Mark’s eyes flicker over the space too.
“Any less than this is acceptable too. Any less than this and you’ll look like a dick if you don’t.”
“Okay,” Mark says, and Eduardo has to force himself not to let his surprise show on his face. He isn’t used to Mark being this agreeable.
“But if someone’s this far away -” Eduardo takes two giant steps backwards, narrowly avoiding tripping over a pair of Dustin’s old sneakers, “- then don’t bother. It’ll just make them speed up and they’ll probably be annoyed with you.”
“So only hold doors sometimes,” Mark repeats. “Not when someone’s too far away. Otherwise they’ll get mad. And it doesn’t matter who the other person is?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t have to know them?”
“No.”
“And they won’t try and walk with me or make conversation about the weather?”
“Not unless you do know them.”
Mark pauses for a moment, considering all this. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Eduardo repeats. This is the most accepting Mark’s been of any lesson so far, and quite honestly, it’s throwing Eduardo off a little. He’s used to having to put up a bit more of a fight.
“Yeah. It makes sense. I wouldn’t walk with someone I didn’t know, either. I rarely walk with people I do know.”
“Why aren’t you fighting me on this?” Eduardo doesn’t want to impede their progress - this feels like a breakthrough, it really does. It’s different, but it’s nice. He doesn’t want to push Mark back into being disagreeable and grumpy about each new lesson.
Mark shrugs.
“You fight me on everything,” Eduardo presses.
“My mom used to try and teach me to hold doors open,” Mark says, picking at a scab on his arm as if he was barely paying Eduardo any mind at all. “She tried for years before she gave up. She always used to say it’d be a miracle if I learned how to think about another person.”
It’s the first time Eduardo’s ever heard Mark talk about his mother. He looks down at Mark, poking away at his skin, and wonders, How could she give up on you?
Two hours later, after a rousing game of Halo, Mark and Eduardo head down to dinner. Eduardo’s walking a little ahead of Mark, talking about AEPi’s awful parties, and they’re just inside the Kirkland cafeteria when he hears, “Thank you.”
It’s a quiet voice, a girl’s, and she moves past Eduardo with a stack of books in her arms and a smile on her face. Eduardo turns, confused, just in time to see Mark let go of the cafeteria door. And, to Eduardo’s surprise, Mark’s smiling too.
Go figure.
***
“I don’t smell.”
“You kind of smell.”
“Are you my mother?”
“No,” Eduardo says, rolling his eyes, and leans in to sniff the air around Mark’s shoulder. “But you still smell. When was the last time you took a shower?”
“He never showers!” Dustin calls from the living room, where he’s blowing things up in Call of Duty.
“I do too,” Mark says. He takes a second to toss a look of contempt Dustin’s way. “I just finished a 36-hour coding tear. I needed to get the problems finished for my Origins class, and it wasn’t until hour eight that I realized I was doing them wrong. I’ve been a little busy.”
Eduardo shakes his head. “And if I wasn’t here, would you go down for dinner like this?”
Mark looks down at his hoodie, his jeans, his flip-flops. “Probably.”
“And would you go to the movies like this, if someone invited you after?”
“No one ever invites me to the movies.”
“But would you?” Eduardo has to press on if he doesn’t want to focus on the way Mark’s words pang in his chest.
“I guess so.”
“Shower,” Eduardo says, “right now.”
“I need to eat!” Mark argues, standing up.
“You’re going to draw flies if you go to the cafeteria like this.”
“Flies aren’t actually attracted to body odor,” Mark says. “That’s a myth.”
He shuts up when Eduardo drops a towel on his head.
“Fine.” Mark’s exasperated, but Eduardo doesn’t care. He marches right behind Mark to the bathroom and stands outside the door when Mark closes it in his face.
“I’m not going anywhere until I hear that water running!” he calls, and he’s sure Mark would be flipping him the bird if the door was still open. When he hears the shower sputter to life, he nods, satisfied.
“The Porc will never punch you if you smell like you just climbed out of a sewer!” he adds, yelling to be heard over the sound of the water, and his chest clenches involuntarily. Sometimes he forgets he isn’t doing this just to hang out with Mark. He always remembers eventually, though - and when he does, the bitter taste of guilt is more than enough to make him want to forget again.
***
“I cannot believe you’re making me do this.”
Eduardo huffs out a little laugh. He’s finding it harder and harder to get exasperated with Mark these days, despite his complaining and his petulance and his goddamned stubborn demeanor. Eduardo’s actually starting to like Mark - a lot. He’s opinionated and annoying, but he’s also funny. He also has these little moments - unremarkable things, things that no one but Eduardo would pick up on - and Eduardo thinks that somewhere, somehow, they’ve actually become friends. He and Mark - friends. Go figure.
“You cannot go to the party looking like that,” Eduardo says, veering off from the middle of the sidewalk as they arrive in front of their destination.
Mark pauses, his gaze dropping down to his clothes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Eduardo rolls his eyes and pulls open the heavy door. “Get in here.”
The store is cool and well-lit, soft pot lights shining down onto the sales floor. The suits seem to gleam, the lines crisp and colors fresh, and Eduardo can’t help but smile. This is the type of store he’s comfortable in - the type he’s been visiting since his Bar Mitzvah back in Miami - and he’s hoping he can convert Mark, too.
But Mark is hanging back, fidgeting awkwardly near the door, and Eduardo sighs. This may be more work than he thought.
“You can come in,” he calls. “I promise the dress shirts won’t hurt you.”
Mark flips him the bird and shuffles forward.
A salesman with a shiny golden nametag reading Daniel descends on them almost at once. He’s all smiles and smooth gestures, and he even manages to suppress a grimace when he takes in Mark’s wardrobe.
“This is his normal attire?” he asks Eduardo, and Eduardo nods. Daniel gives Mark a little smile. “Oh, dear.”
Mark fidgets while Daniel takes his measurements. He won’t smile and he won’t stand up straight, and he only lifts his arms half-heartedly when Daniel asks him to.
“Mark,” Eduardo warns, and he realizes that he probably sounds like Mark’s mother. Shit. “The most uncomfortable thing in the world is a suit that doesn’t fit. Trust me. Just… please?”
And Eduardo isn’t sure if it’s his words or his tone or the fact that Mark feels bad for him having to wrangle all of this, but Mark lifts his arms higher and straightens them, holding them out stiffly so that Daniel can easily run the tape measure from shoulder to fingertip.
Mark mostly stays quiet when Daniel and Eduardo comb through the racks. He hangs back, eyes downcast and not even looking at the things they’re pulling for him. Except that when Daniel pulls a baby pink dress shirt off the rack and holds it up for Eduardo’s opinion, Mark mutters, “No pink,” and Eduardo thinks maybe he’s paying more attention than he’s letting on.
Finally, Daniel ushers them back to the fitting rooms and lets them be.
“I’ll give you some time,” he says smoothly, and sweeps out at the jingle of the front door bell.
Eduardo crosses his arms and turns to face Mark head on. If Mark’s going to start being difficult, it’ll be now.
Mark stares in dismay at the jackets and pants and shirts and ties hanging from the rack Daniel had set up. “Do I -“
“Yes,” Eduardo says firmly, and that’s that.
Mark spends so long putting on the first suit that Eduardo starts to wonder if there’s a window back there for him to escape through. Eduardo sits on the plush white chair in front of the three full-length mirrors and checks his watch.
“Are you ever coming out of there?” Eduardo finally calls.
There’s a string of vehement swearing, and Eduardo can’t help but chuckle.
When Mark finally unlatches the door and stomps out in front of the mirror petulantly, Eduardo blinks. Mark’s hair is unruly, sticking up in the back, and he isn’t smiling. He tugs at the sleeves of the crisp white dress shirt as if he’s trying to make them long enough to hide his hands, and he shuffles from foot to foot. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror.
But the suit fits perfectly. It’s snug in all the right places, tailored just right, and it adds a sense of sophistication to Mark that Eduardo has never seen before. He looks trim and stylish and better than Eduardo ever could have imagined.
And that’s the moment.
“What?” Mark asks, and Eduardo realizes he’s staring.
“Oh! Nothing,” Eduardo says quickly, and his cheeks heat up. Shit.
Mark turns back to the mirror, finally frowning at his reflection. “Does it look that bad?”
“No!” Eduardo says quickly, and he actually gets to his feet before he realizes how eager he sounds. Get it together, Saverin. He takes a deep breath. “No,” he repeats.
Mark’s expression is unsure. “No?”
“It looks - really good,” Eduardo manages, and it’s really the best he can do because fantastic and suave and sexy are not really the type of adjectives he should be using, no matter how much they fit.
He steps in front of Mark, taking a moment to adjust Mark’s collar. There’s no tie and he’s left two buttons undone, and Eduardo has to will himself not to look at the patch of collarbone Mark has left exposed. This is not about hormones and feelings and bare skin, Eduardo thinks. This is about the Porcellian, and if this is going to work, it needs to be treated like a professional business relationship. A professional business relationship.
It is not professional or businesslike to fantasize about ravishing your coworker.
“Yeah?” Mark asks. He still looks uncomfortable - they’d have to get him used to wearing the suit before the party rolls around - but he no longer looks like he wants to die, so that’s something.
“Yeah,” Eduardo agrees, stepping back to let Mark look at himself in the mirror again. “The fit is good and it’s classic - it’s exactly what you should be wearing.”
This time when Mark looks at himself in the mirror, he has a little smile on his face.
***
Every movie has a midpoint - a game-changer, Eduardo remembers his professor calling it. Some point where everything changes, some point where new things are introduced and end up altering the world as everyone knows it.
Eduardo never would have pegged Sean Parker as their game-changer.
Mark doesn’t want to go - wants to stay in, code a website or whatever it is he does with his time when Eduardo isn’t around - but Eduardo insists. They’ve done the manners, the social skills, the clothes. The Porcellian dinner party is two weeks away, and they need to make sure they’re as ready as they think they are.
It’s time, Eduardo thinks, for a trial run.
Eduardo makes sure he picks a safe, low-key environment - a speaker at the school, nothing fancy. Nothing that requires alcohol or food or excessive socializing. Just enough to get Mark out into the world and get him used to doing things a little differently.
But Eduardo sees Mark’s hands shake as he ties his tie, and his heart goes out to him. Poor guy.
Mark doesn’t seem as worried, though, once they arrive at the lecture hall. He stands up straight and moves through the crowd surprisingly easily - no trademark shuffle. He holds the door for a girl and tells her she looks nice, and Eduardo just about falls over. By the time he and Mark are settled in their seats, about a quarter of the way back from the stage, Eduardo’s thoroughly impressed. By some small miracle, they may actually end up pulling this off.
Sean Parker steps up to the podium, arms wide as he grins at the applauding crowd. Eduardo’s done a little reading on the guy - Napster, Plaxo, the whole kit and caboodle. He’s young, still in his early twenties, and he moves across the stage with ease as he talks. The entire room is silent. As is so rare in a lecture hall, people are actually listening.
And Eduardo’s listening too.
Except.
It’s just that there’s something off about the guy, Eduardo thinks. He’s spinning tales of parties and girls and deception and lies and corruption, and it all sounds a little… unbelievable. Like it’s been amped up for the audience, for dozens of audiences over time, so much so that Sean’s started to believe every word. It’s like Sean thinks he’s some sort of untouchable, someone above the businessmen with their suits and their contracts and their decorum. It’s enough to leave a bad taste in Eduardo’s mouth, and he’s fairly sure he’s scowling.
He nudges Mark, discreetly leans over and whispers, “Can you believe this guy?”
“I know,” Mark says quietly, and it isn’t until Eduardo turns his head that he sees the reverence on Mark’s face.
He spends the next few minutes watching Mark watch Sean. Mark’s focused, he’s paying attention, and he’s listening. He’s practically hanging off every word that comes out of the guy’s mouth. Eduardo doesn’t have to watch long to realize that Mark, too, thinks Sean Parker is untouchable.
Eduardo has never seen Mark put so much attention on another human being before, and he feels a hot burn start in the pit of his stomach. Every sentence from Sean seems more ludicrous than the last, and Eduardo’s somewhere between wanting to laugh out loud and get up and walk out.
Eduardo doesn’t have to meet Sean Parker to know that he hates this guy.
And yet, when the applause finishes and the lights go up, that seems to be exactly what Mark wants to do.
Eduardo hangs back and watches Mark, watches him half-walk, half-run his way up to the stage. Sean’s shaking hands with professors, somehow still commanding the floor after the lights have come back on, and Mark climbs right up on that stage and hurries over to Sean. He watches Mark stick out his hand to shake, sees the way Mark makes eye contact when he introduces himself. His eagerness, the new confidence he’s somehow picked up in the past few weeks should make Eduardo feel proud. But he sees the smile on Sean’s face and his stomach churns harder.
It takes a minute for Eduardo to move into earshot.
“It was nothing,” Mark’s saying, and Eduardo blinks. He was unaware that Mark possesses anything resembling modesty. “Just a stupid website I put up for entertainment. I was drunk -”
“And the site got how many hits?” Sean’s arms are crossed and he’s leaning forward with interest. Eduardo steps up onto the stage too, stands just behind Mark’s shoulder.
“Twenty-two thousand,” Mark says, and Eduardo stares. Is that a blush?
Sean whistles, long and low. He’s impressed - Eduardo can tell. Eduardo doesn’t want him to be impressed. Sean Parker is some rich kid from Palo Alto, a fuckup of the first degree who disguises it with big talk and a knack for good ideas. Mark doesn’t need to impress him.
“In two hours?” Sean says.
“In two hours.” This time it’s Eduardo speaking up, leaning around Mark to stick out his hand. “Eduardo Saverin. President of the Harvard Investors Association.”
“Hey man,” Sean says. His eyes move to Eduardo for a second - half a second, if that - before they’re focused squarely back on Mark. Eduardo kind of wants to punch him squarely in the jaw. “You were drunk and coded an interactive website in one night that crashed the entire Harvard network.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” It was a huge deal, Eduardo thinks, and you know it.
“It sounds like a pretty big deal to me,” Sean says. His eyes flick over Mark, up and down, quick as can be. But Eduardo sees. He notices. When Sean meets Mark’s eyes again, there’s a new look there. There’s interest. Eduardo has to fight himself not to let his hands ball into fists. You weren’t even there.
“Well,” Mark says, and fidgets back and forth.
“You’re a rogue,” Sean says, “like me. Someone working within the system to beat the system. I see a lot of myself in you, you know.” There’s a proud, smug smile on Sean’s face and Eduardo has to fight to keep from laughing out loud. Who the fuck is this guy?
“Really?” The hopeful tone in Mark’s voice pokes at Eduardo’s chest.
“Absolutely,” Sean says. “Listen. I’m in Boston for the rest of the night, and I’d love to hear what else you’re working on. Let’s grab some dinner and talk. On me.”
Mark almost falls over himself to say yes. “Wardo, you want to come?”
No, Eduardo doesn’t want to come. He doesn’t want either of them to have anything more to do with Sean fucking Parker.
Sean looks at Eduardo as if he’d forgotten he was even there. “Well, sure,” Sean says, “he can come. You have any start-up ideas, Wardo?”
No one else has ever called Eduardo that before, and he hates the sound of it in Sean’s mouth.
“Eduardo’s really good with money,” Mark says. “And dealing with adults. Way better than me.”
In the right light, Sean’s smile could have been mistaken for a snarl. “That’s great. You need that to get ahead in this world.”
There’s something so patronizing about Sean’s tone, something that so clearly says I don’t want you here that makes Eduardo bristle. He has to get out. He can’t go to dinner with the two of them - can’t sit there and listen to Sean belittle his very existence over a plate of spinach dip. He can’t do this.
“Thanks,” Eduardo says, taking a step back. “But I should go. Midterms are coming up and there’s a calculus test that’s going to kill me.” It all sounds so childish next to stupid Sean Parker and his ventures and his girls and his parties til dawn, and Eduardo hates himself a little for being so intimidated.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” The look on Sean’s face says it’s anything but. “Maybe next time.”
“You sure, Wardo?” Mark asks, and there’s a second where Eduardo sees something move across Mark’s face. Maybe worry. Maybe panic. Maybe the belief that he can’t do this, can’t talk to someone this big and important without Eduardo by his side. But it’s gone almost before it registers, and it’s easier to pretend he never saw it at all.
“Yeah!” The voice coming from Eduardo is so jovial that there’s no way anyone believes him. “I’ll catch you later.”
His blood boils as he leaves the lecture hall.
***
Eduardo spends the next three hours in his room determined not to think about Mark. He tackles some of the calculus sets his professor assigned earlier in the week. He calls his mother and hears all about his father’s newest business deals. He decapitates as many zombies as he can in Evil Dead. He reviews everything he’s learned for punch month (three lies john harvard daniel chester) even though he likely won’t need it again. He stares at the ceiling and thinks about classes and parties and girls and everything that has nothing to do with Mark Zuckerberg.
He fails miserably.
They should have stayed at Kirkland, Eduardo thinks. They should have stayed in and ordered pizza and scammed the delivery guy out of a tip, should have played Zelda until their fingers bled. They never should have gone to the stupid lecture and Mark never should have worn the goddamn suit. They should have stayed holed up in the dorms, in Mark’s world. It may be simple and quiet and smell vaguely of socks, but it’s safe.
There is nothing safe about Sean Parker, and maybe that’s the thing that grates on Eduardo most of all. He’s pulled Mark out of his world, brought him into this whole crazy situation where things are new and different and scary. And Eduardo needs - wants - needs to keep Mark safe while he’s there.
Eduardo’s on his way to Kirkland almost immediately, thinking P\please be home, please be home the entire way.
Mark is home.
“Sean thinks Facemash could do well if it were integrated into a bigger site.” Mark’s babbling almost at once. His suit jacket’s tossed into a rumpled heap on his bed and his tie hangs down onto the ground. Eduardo doesn’t care. “It needs a lot of start-up cash and some better servers than just the Harvard network, plus a clearer concept for the whole thing, but Sean thinks it’s definitely a tangible venture. You want a beer?”
Eduardo takes the beer wordlessly, keeping it closed.
“Sean knows what he’s talking about. It’s a really intense business with a steep learning curve, especially for someone so young, and it’s hard to believe he’s already mastered it. He says he really thinks I can -”
“Sean Parker’s a dick!” The words explode from Eduardo before he realizes he’s planning to say them.
“You think so?” Mark’s lips curve up into some semblance of a smile.
“Yes, I think so.” Eduardo sets his beer down on the table with a thunk because now that he’s started, like hell is he going to stop before he’s finished. “He’s a chump, Mark. He’s totally paranoid and bombed out of two huge companies in spectacular fashion. He’s dangerous.”
Mark repeats “dangerous” in a tone that suggests he’s biting back laughter.
“He’s completely taken by you because of your suit and your smile and your manners and he has no idea that it isn’t who you are.”
Mark tilts his head. “And who am I?”
“You’re… I don’t know. You’re Mark,” Eduardo says with an exasperated little sigh, as if it’s obvious. “You work for thirty-six hours and then crash for fifteen, and you never shower and your sweatpants look like they could have a life of their own. You’re brilliant and you’re arrogant and you’re kind of an asshole, and you’re good at Xbox and you’re funny and you eat tuna more than any normal human and you’re - yeah.”
“And Sean Parker wouldn’t like that.” Mark’s eyebrows rise, and there’s more disbelief in his tone than Eduardo would have expected.
Eduardo snorts. “Don’t be stupid.”
“But you do.”
“I -” Eduardo pauses. Opens and closes his mouth a few times without any sound coming out. Finally, he shrugs. “Yeah.”
And that’s when Mark kisses him.
Eduardo doesn’t know what to do. His eyes stay open and his arms sort of stick out from his body at weird angles, shock running through him. He and Mark have never talked about this - never even hinted at this - and they’d planned out how to pick up girls at parties. It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense. But Mark keeps kissing his stunned mouth, his teeth biting down on Eduardo’s bottom lip almost as if to wake him up. Before Eduardo can think any more about the whole thing, before he can pull back and say stop, no, what?, he’s gripping Mark’s shoulder. And he’s kissing Mark back.
Maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t have to make sense.
There are fingers tangled in hair and teeth and shirt buttons and someone’s panting and before Eduardo quite knows what’s happening, he has Mark crowded against the wall of the suite. And his fingers are pulling at Mark’s shirt.
“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” Mark says, pulling back from the kiss. His lips press against Eduardo’s jawbone. “Well. Maybe a little.”
“I -” But Eduardo can’t say I wasn’t, can’t argue it, because he was. He hadn’t known what to call the big ball of anger in his chest when he’d stormed through Mark’s door, but it was jealousy. Plain and simple.
Go figure.
“Don’t feel weird,” Mark says, as if it’s a basic instruction, and his lips creep closer to Eduardo’s ear. “I already knew, even if you didn’t. I saw your face when I put on that stupid suit.”
“Aren’t you perceptive.” The final word’s a gasp as Mark tugs on Eduardo’s earlobe with his teeth.
“Not usually.”
Eduardo makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I thought you were straight,” he manages to say.
Mark pulls back to look at him, and Eduardo immediately regrets opening his mouth in the first place. “Why? Because I don’t look like a big fairy queen who likes shopping and TLC marathons?”
“No, it’s just that - I don’t know, I always assumed.”
“When you really think about it, there’s no logical reasoning for strictly being attracted to one gender.”
“I don’t think logic usually plays into attraction.”
“It used to.”
“Maybe when humans were in danger of dying every other minute.”
“In today’s society, with radiation and high-speed cars and all sorts of technological advances, I’d say we’re still in danger of dying every other minute.”
Eduardo sighs. “You were saying.”
“The ultimate goal when it comes to one’s love life is to meet, copulate, and reproduce with the most healthy, vital, compatible partner, essentially. Right? So why cancel out half the potential partners in the world strictly based on anatomy? It’s simple Darwinism.”
“I don’t think Darwinism was about logic.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still a logical process.”
Eduardo cannot believe that he has Mark pressed against a wall with his shirt unbuttoned and he’s talking about Darwinism.
“You know, we can’t copulate.” Eduardo gestures in the general area of their crotches. “We don’t exactly have the right parts to produce offspring.”
Mark hesitates, apparently mulling that one over for a moment. Eduardo actually feels a little bad for a second, because he’s actually standing here kissing Mark and now he’s crushed his theory. He’s fairly certain you’re not supposed to poke holes in a guy’s personal philosophy if you’re interested in getting into his pants anytime soon.
But Mark finally shrugs. “Kiss me.”
And really, who is Eduardo to argue with that?
Read Part 2 here.
Author: kissoffools
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Rating: R
Summary: Meet Eduardo Saverin: economics major, all-around nice guy, and one of the newest pledges to the prestigious Porcellian Final Club. Meet Mark Zuckerberg: computer programmer extraordinaire, Jewish, and easily one of the least likely candidates to be asked to join a Final Club - any Final Club. And, as luck would have it, it's Mark's abysmal social skills that are going to grant Eduardo a one-way ticket to a red Porc blazer. That is, if he can perform a little magic. A "My Fair Lady" AU for the Facebook world.
Disclaimer: Solely based on the fictional characters from David Fincher's The Social Network. Has nothing to do with their real-life counteparts! Moving along!
Notes: Written for thesocialbbang. Word Count: 15,427. Big thanks go to alexthegreat, who gave me this idea in the first place! And even bigger thanks go to my lovely beta astro_frog5 - without her, this fic definitely would not have happened. Love to everyone!
And please go check out the beautiful art made special for this fic by alexthegreat! It so works with the story, and I'm so excited about it. Thank you, Alex! ♥
Fade in.
That’s how most movie scripts start - or at least, all the ones Eduardo has read. It’s simple, classic, and the perfect way to indicate to an audience that something’s about to happen. That’s how his film prof put it, anyway. Eduardo knows, has always known, that a film minor is an unusual choice for an economics major. But then, Eduardo’s always been a little different.
It’s the fade in that tells the audience you’re about to start your story. And later, when Eduardo looks back on everything that’s happened, he realizes that this is where their fade in belongs.
This, Eduardo realizes, is the start of their story.
The parties at AEPi, Eduardo has come to realize, are possibly the shittiest parties in existence.
He’s not sure what it is that truly makes their parties suck. Maybe it’s that not very many people actually show up - and the attendance is easily seventy-five percent male. Maybe it’s the crappy music that no one can really dance to or the lukewarm refreshments. Maybe it’s that they still string crepe paper across the walls, as if this was middle school instead of Harvard. Or maybe it’s the lame themes - in the previous year, they’d had Fall Harvest and Winter Social and Valentine’s Hop and something stupid called Abundance of April that Eduardo hadn’t even bothered turning up for. The first party of the new fall semester is aptly named Back To School, and it sort of makes Eduardo want to poke out his eyeballs.
But no matter the individual problems with the parties at AEPi, Eduardo always shows up. He has fewer friends than he’d like - “Why don’t you ever invite your friends home for the summers?” Eduardo’s father asks time and time again from behind his newspaper, and Eduardo is too mortified to tell him “I have no friends.” - and it’s better than staying in and doing econ readings. At least, that’s what he tells himself before he actually arrives.
Two hours in, Eduardo is sort of thinking of bailing - drinking alone over an article about quantitative easing, back in his dorm at Eliot, would almost be better than this - and he goes so far as to pull that Dustin kid he’d met earlier aside to ask him if he knows of anywhere better to spend their Friday night.
“If I knew anywhere better, would I be here?” Dustin’s smile is wry and he shrugs his shoulders as he takes a pull of his beer. It sucks, but what can you do?, his expression says.
And then a guy Eduardo has never met before barrels into Dustin’s side.
“Woah, dude.” Dustin reaches out a hand to steady the guy’s shoulder. He’s jittery. “You okay? Aren’t you supposed to be out with Erica?”
The guy shakes his head. His gaze is distant, as if he’s focusing on something beyond Dustin’s head. “She had to study. There’s no beer back at the dorm.”
“So?”
“So I need beer.” His eyes finally seem to focus and return to the here and now, and it seems to register with him that Dustin isn’t alone. “Oh. Hey,” he says, raising a hand in something that half resembles a greeting of acknowledgement.
“Hey,” Eduardo says, because what else does he say to the weird kid wearing sandals in October?
“These parties suck,” he says to Eduardo, and Eduardo can’t help but grin a little bit. At least everyone knows it.
“Do you know anywhere else -”
“There’s nowhere else,” the guy says, shaking his head. “Not unless we could turn into hot girls or Final Club members. Which reminds me. Beer.”
The guy turns back to Dustin, who rolls his eyes and points him in the direction of the refreshments. The beer’s only supposed to be for the seniors, the 21-and-up crowd, but no one at the party seems to care very much. They never do.
Eduardo watches the guy hurry over to the table and collect four, five, six beers. Then he turns abruptly and heads out of the room, juggling the bottles of beer carefully in his arms. Eduardo notices he never spoke to anyone else.
“That’s Mark,” Dustin says, nodding towards the double doors. “He’s a little intense.”
Eduardo laughs. “I’ll say. So nowhere better?”
“Nowhere better.”
“Shit.”
“Yup,” Dustin says cheerily.
***
Eduardo doesn’t give Mark another thought that night. He’s sound asleep by the time Facemash.com launches, but he reads about it in the Crimson the next morning. “Blogging and coding while intoxicated,”, the article says, and Eduardo can’t help but shake his head, thinking of six beers cradled carefully in his sweatshirt. “He’s a little intense”, Dustin had told him. Eduardo has a funny feeling that intense doesn’t even begin to describe Mark Zuckerberg.
***
Two weeks later, Eduardo heads to Mount Auburn Street in a freshly-pressed suit jacket and tie. His knees shake as he walks and he tries his best to look as if he belongs there.
He wasn’t expecting the invitation from the Porcellian to be slipped under his door. Not this year, not when he’s a junior and they usually only rush sophomores. He’s not sure why he’s caught their eye all of a sudden - maybe word’s gotten out about the thirty grand he’d made over the summer by betting oil futures. Maybe it’s all an elaborate prank. Who knows? He just hopes it isn’t the latter. He’d phoned his father immediately after opening the invitation, and calling to say, “Oops, never mind” was not something he wanted to do.
The night is chilly and the wind’s picked up a little when he reaches the nondescript entrance of the Final Club. There’s just one person outside, a tall and intimidating Porc member in a red blazer, and he raises his eyebrows when Eduardo approaches.
“Name?”
“Eduardo Saverin.” He tries to hide any trace of a shake in his voice.
The guy gives him the once-over and Eduardo stays still, waiting. Then he jerks his head towards the door.
“Through the bike room, on the left,” he says. He doesn’t ask for Eduardo’s invitation, and Eduardo isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. He hurries past the bodyguard before he stops to think about it.
The reception room is large and filled with people. The walls are thick, deep wood, the kind that’s been standing for centuries. Heavy red curtains hang from the tall windows at the far end, and there’s a bar with girls in short skirts serving brandy and whisky and all sorts of expensive liquors. There’s a sea of boys in black jackets, their hair all styled within an inch of its life, and here and there are dots of red - actual Porc members in their red member’s blazers. They’re the ones Eduardo’s going to have to impress if he wants to wear a jacket like that himself.
He beelines immediately for the nearest Porc member, ordering himself to be confident, be cool, act as if he belongs. The guy is tall, taller than Eduardo, and solid - he’s clearly an athlete. His blond hair is neat and tidy and he’s wearing an easy smile, but Eduardo can’t shake the feeling that this guy could crush him in a second if he chose to. Lovely.
“Thanks for the invitation,” Eduardo says, holding out his hand and silently commands it not to tremble. “Eduardo Saverin.”
“Cameron Winklevoss,” the guy says, and Eduardo raises his eyebrows. He knows that name - there’s an athletic complex somewhere on campus with that name over its doors. He thinks, anyway - he hasn’t made visiting athletic complexes a habit. This guy is clearly someone important.
Cameron flags down a waitress - this place has waitresses, holy shit - and she appears with two beers in her hand almost at once. Cameron accepts them with an easy smile and passes one over to Eduardo. He takes a sip at once, grateful.
“I know you. The oil futures kid, right?”
Eduardo nods. Someone at the Porc actually knows who he is. That sounds like as good a start as any.
“That’s me.”
“Eliot House, Economics major, AEPi.”
“AEPi?” The deep voice from behind Eduardo startles him, and he feels a little foolish when he jumps. A mirror image of Cameron moves into view and comes to stand beside him, and Eduardo blinks in surprise.
“My brother, Tyler,” Cameron says, and Eduardo’s suddenly grateful that he hadn’t said some stupid version of ”Wow, twins?”. “The Jewish frat,” Cameron says as an aside to Tyler.
Tyler shoots Cameron a look and Eduardo wonders if they’ve forgotten him. “The one that Facemash kid belongs to? He was in the Crimson.”
“Zuckerberg.”
“The little shit,” Tyler says, not altogether fondly. “Do you know him?”
It takes Eduardo a second to realize the question is meant for him. “Oh… no.” He’d read the Crimson article - it seemed as if everyone on campus had seen it. Farm animals. Connections are everything at Harvard, Eduardo knows this, and like hell will being connected with Mark Zuckerberg be a good thing. Not here at the Porc, anyway.
“That’s too bad.”
“That could have been fun.”
Eduardo blinks. “What?”
Cameron throws an arm easily over Eduardo’s shoulders, and Eduardo suddenly has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This does not sound like it’s going to end well.
“Come on,” Cameron says. “Let’s go have a chat.”
***
One of the most important moments in any movie is when the main characters meet for the first time - Eduardo doesn’t have to be a film student to know that. When Harry Met Sally. When Romeo Met Juliet. When Bridget Jones Met Mark Darcy. Without those moments, Eduardo knows, there’d be no movie at all.
He never knew that When Eduardo Met Mark would be important, too.
Mark is Dustin’s roommate, Eduardo remembers. So if I find Dustin, I’ll have to find Mark eventually.
Fortunately for Eduardo, Dustin is fairly well-known in the Jewish circles around campus. He only has to stop two guys he knows from his Psych class when they pass him on the quad, and he’s directed to Kirkland. It’s easy enough to slip inside without a pass-card - thank goodness for too-trusting freshman - and Eduardo wanders the halls, trying his best not to look like a burglar or a rapist or some other sort of deviant. Suite 3C has M D C scrawled across the door’s whiteboard in messy handwriting. Bingo.
It isn’t until he knocks that he remembers he’s pretending to come here for Dustin, and he doesn’t have an excuse. They aren’t exactly the kind of friends who drop by each other’s rooms just to hang out. Hey, man, is your socially-moronic roommate here? I want to turn him into a project for my benefit. Hope that’s cool. Eduardo has a funny feeling that one won’t fly.
But then it’s Mark who pulls open the door to the suite, and Eduardo’s thrown.
“Hello,” Mark says, puzzled. “Can I help you?”
“Um. Is Dustin here?” Eduardo asks. Well, that’s better than nothing.
Mark shakes his head, but doesn’t offer anything else. Eduardo pauses for a moment, uncertain.
“Oh,” he says. Well, he can’t exactly turn around and leave now. He came here for a reason, and that reason didn’t really have anything to do with Dustin, anyway. He can make this work. Hopefully. “I just wanted - I’m Eduardo. We met last week? The party at AEPi?” He offers his hand and wonders why he’s phrased it all as a question. For some reason, Mark makes him nervous.
Mark stares at him blankly, and it’s more than clear that Eduardo hadn’t registered on Mark’s radar at all that night. And now Eduardo’s just a tool in a suit with his hand in the air. Wonderful.
“Sure,” Mark says, as if he isn’t really sure what to do with that. “Mark.” He does, however, shake Eduardo’s hand. So that’s something.
“Mark,” Eduardo repeats, more stalling than anything else. What the hell is he supposed to say next? He barely knows this kid. And Mark clearly isn’t looking to make friends. He never should have agreed to this. Fuck the Winklevosses.
“Yep.”
And then Eduardo spots a folded copy of the Crimson on the coffee table behind Mark.
“You’re the Facemash guy, right?” Eduardo tries to keep the eagerness and guilt out of his voice. He knows that this isn’t right. Eduardo’s good at keeping his nose out of trouble and playing it safe, and this assignment from the Winklevoss twins promises neither. But the deep red of a Porcellian blazer flashes through his mind, and Eduardo presses his lips together. He can see himself bringing it home over winter break, modeling it proudly for his parents. His mother would cook them a celebratory dinner, and maybe his father would even come home from the office early enough to eat with them. Maybe, for once, they could be like a normal family. Eduardo really wants to bring that blazer home.
Mark nods again. “Yeah. That’s me.” Nothing more. The guy is clearly not a conversationalist. This is going to be more work than Eduardo anticipated.
“Did you get in trouble?”
A shrug. “Three months academic probation.”
Eduardo whistles softly. “They had to make an example out of you, I guess.”
“That’s what Dustin said. Did you want me to give him a message, or...?” Mark’s fidgeting, shifting on the balls of his feet just slightly, but Eduardo notices. Mark wants him to leave.
Eduardo quickly shakes his head. “I’ll catch him later. So everyone’s talking about you, you know that?”
Mark gives him a wry smile. “My dream come true.”
“You pissed a lot of people off,” Eduardo presses, hoping that Mark isn’t the type to punch someone he’s just met in the face. “Not everything people are saying is nice.”
Mark stares at him and Eduardo hurries to recover, unsettled by the blank look on his face. Does the guy ever emote? “Not that it really matters. I mean, who cares? It probably won’t even end up affecting you that much unless you’re going for a Final Club.”
There, at least Eduardo’s managed to work the topic around to the Clubs. That’s something. And Mark’s actually looking at him with interest now. Clearly Eduardo’s hit something there.
“Really,” Mark says, but there’s less complacency in his tone now. Eduardo can hear it.
“Yeah. I mean - why? Are you interested?” Too perfect.
There’s a flicker of intrigue on Mark’s features for a second. Just a second, and then it’s replaced with the same blank mask as before. It’s Eduardo’s first hint that Mark is not actually a robot. That he, too, cares about something.
“I’ve heard they can open a lot of doors,” Mark says, and god, could he be more awful at faking disinterest if he tried? Eduardo has a feeling that Mark holds a lot of people at bay, very rarely giving any outward sign of excitement - but it’s there. Eduardo can see it.
“Oh, absolutely,” Eduardo agrees enthusiastically. He pauses for a moment, as if he’s contemplating an idea that’s only now occurring to him. God, he’s starting to feel like a dick. Here’s something that Mark Zuckerberg actually cares about and Eduardo’s going to play him like a fiddle. This is why he doesn’t take dares. “Actually - I might be able to help you. If you’re interested.”
Mark’s eyebrows arch up skeptically. “What?”
“You know the Porc?” Eduardo asks, and hurries on at Mark’s no duh expression. He doesn’t want the guy to think he’s an idiot. “I’m punching this month.”
There’s jealousy in Mark’s eyes; Eduardo can see it. It’s bizarre, how unreadable Mark can be at one moment, Eduardo thinks, when he’s so transparent the next. That must be awfully confusing for his friends, poor guys.
“Congratulations,” Mark says, in a tone just too forced to be sincere.
“Well, I was thinking. What if I could get you a chance to punch, too?”
If Mark was a dog, his ears would have perked up. “You would do that for me?”
Eduardo shrugs.
“You’re not even a member. Isn’t recruiting over?”
“Not totally.” Eduardo’s lying through his teeth by now. “They’ve been known to take late recruits - recommendations at the end of the month. Or if we can’t get you in this year, we could try for next. We might have to work for it a bit, but I think we could do it.”
“Work for it?”
“Look. Facemash pissed people off. Your Crimson interview made you sound like a condescending asshole. And I don’t think they allow pants with holes in them past the bike room.”
Something in Mark’s face changes yet again. His eyes narrow and turn cold almost at once, and it feels dangerous. Like there’s some inner menace hiding under the curls. The whole effect is more frightening than Eduardo would have expected, and part of him wants to take a step back. He’s getting the feeling that Mark is not the best person to mess with.
“The Porc is full of pretentious frat jocks,” Mark says, and Eduardo’s surprised at the sudden change of heart. Mark is obviously taking Eduardo’s words more seriously than he’d anticipated.
“Whatever,” Eduardo says with a shrug, because it sort of seems like he’s fighting a losing battle at this point. Maybe he can find Mark in a few days, apologize, and try again. He obviously has something Mark wants - he just has to find the right approach. “It was just an offer.”
He makes it down one whole flight of stairs before he hears the quick smack-smack-smack of sandals on hardwood.
“So if I let you buy me new pants and coach me or something, you’ll help get me into the Porc?” Mark calls down from the top of the landing. He’s leaning against the railing and looking far more eager than he probably wants to.
Eduardo turns and looks up at him. He’s got Mark now, he knows it. He’s in. “Absolutely.”
“You don’t even know me.” There’s a why there, Eduardo knows. But Mark doesn’t ask, doesn’t elaborate, so Eduardo doesn’t have to lie again. Thankfully.
“Let’s do dinner,” Eduardo says, offering Mark a smile. “How about Kirkland, at seven? We’ll figure out the logistics then.” It’s much easier to push forward with the actual details than it is to sit around and dwell on what a shitty thing he’s doing.
He’s afraid Mark’s going to press the issue, going to ask again, but he doesn’t. “Okay,” Mark agrees. “Sure.” And there, it’s back to stoicism. The kid’s got more ups and downs than a yo-yo.
“See you then!” Eduardo calls up the flight of stairs. Then he turns, pushes on Kirkland’s heavy front door, and bangs out into the crisp early October afternoon.
Game on.
***
For the first few days, Eduardo observes.
Not in a creepy way - it’s not as if he’s hiding in the bushes and watching Mark on his way to class. He’s pretty sure that wouldn’t go over very well. But he eats with Mark and Dustin and their friend Chris in the dining hall, he hangs out with them in their suite at Kirkland, and more often than not, he walks with Mark to class or to the store. He basically plans his days around observing Mark in his natural environment, and it’s worth it because he discovers two very important things.
One, Mark is not a bad guy. He’s funny in a dry sort of way, and he’s intelligent and he’s surprisingly kind once he gets comfortable around someone. And two, Mark is hopelessly and absolutely socially inept.
On the way back to Kirkland one evening after a movie night, Eduardo catches Mark’s arm. Dustin and Chris are up ahead, arguing about Ewoks or Daleks or Hobbits or whatever those weird creatures were in the movie they’d just watched, so he figures it’s as good a time as any to talk.
“You need help.”
Mark tilts his head, a faintly amused smile turning up the corner of his lips. “Really.”
Eduardo shakes his head. “I’m not trying to be mean, Mark, I’m just saying. Final Clubs are selective. You need to be the best.”
“And right now, I’m not.” His tone is light.
“You’re a good person, Mark. You just need some polishing.”
“Right. You mentioned something about that,” Mark says. But he doesn’t seem fazed at all - it’s as if the whole thing is a fascinating social experiment that Mark’s decided to participate in, all at his own convenience. It’s a far cry from their first meeting, Eduardo thinks, and he isn’t sure what to make of it.
“It’s fine,” Eduardo encourages. “Just a few adjustments. Manners, speech, stuff like that.”
“Speech?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “So it’s like I’m Eliza Doolittle.”
Eduardo laughs, surprised. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Mark doesn’t seem the type to be able to reference movies at all, let alone musicals. They may have more in common than Eduardo realized. “But there will be no singing.”
The corner of Mark’s mouth quirks up. “Deal.”
“We’ll have the Porc boys hanging off your every word in days.”
Mark is definitely two seconds away from dissolving into laughter. But he presses his lips together and gathers his composure, rearranging his features back to neutral before nodding.
“Then let the makeover commence.”
***
“Outside fork first.”
“What?”
“Outside fork for salad, middle fork for the entrée, smallest fork for dessert. How is that difficult?”
“I challenge you to find somewhere on the Harvard campus that’s going to serve us meals with place settings this classy.”
“The Porc does,” Eduardo says, and that shuts Mark up.
Eduardo crosses his arms on the dining hall table, watching Mark as he shovels salad into his mouth. It’s hard to keep his nose from wrinkling in disgust. Mark may be a lot of things - intelligent, funny, able to know what’s wrong with a computer in a second - but classy, he is not. Eduardo doesn’t want to cast aspirations on his parents, since he’s never met them, but… where the hell was Mark’s mother when he learned how to eat by himself?
“Is that vanishing salad?”
Mark pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”
“If you don’t down it all in thirty seconds, does it disappear on you?”
Mark looks like he has a few choice words for Eduardo, but says nothing.
“Sit up straight. Take your time. Actually lift your fork to your mouth. And elbows off the table.” Eduardo feels like he’s talking to a four year old. If this is anything to go by, Hepburn’s version of a makeover may just have been easier.
Mark scowls just a bit, but sits up and slows down. He takes smaller bites, too, which Eduardo didn’t even have to tell him to do. Maybe he’s a faster learner than Eduardo expected.
“And chew with your mouth closed.”
Mark stares at Eduardo for a second. He doesn’t look happy. “Elbows off the table,” Mark says finally, nodding at Eduardo's arms, and then goes back to eating.
Eduardo slides his hands into his lap guiltily.
***
“Do we really have to do this?” Mark tugs at his tie - the only one he owns, much to Eduardo’s horror. It’s yellow with a cornflower blue fleur-de-lis print, and it’s awful. Eduardo wants to slap the designer, and also whoever told Mark it brought out his eyes.
“Yes,” Eduardo insists. They’re in the corner of Eliot’s common room, the big one on the first floor, with a party in full swing around them. It had been Eduardo’s idea to take Mark to his dorm’s first party of the fall semester - set him out into the wild, as it were, and see how he handles being around actual people. Actual women. Eduardo’s seen him in one-on-one settings - conversations in the dining hall or in the library - and knows Mark’s no Casanova, but he’s rarely overtly offensive, either. So he wants to see how Mark handles a crowd.
Eduardo straightens his tie and claps Mark on the shoulders.
“Go,” he urges. “The girl over there. By the snacks. She’s alone and she looks shy - she’ll be easy to talk to.” Mark throws him one last-ditch, plaintive look, and Eduardo crosses his arms.
“Go.”
So Mark does.
Eduardo smiles kind of fondly as he watches Mark edge up to her. It’s actually kind of sweet - Mark picks at the food on the table first, slowly working his way over to the girl while keeping his eyes downcast. And the girl is actually watching Mark with something that, if Eduardo isn’t mistaken, could very well be interest. When Mark finally looks up, he smiles and steps over to her. Eduardo inches closer, nodding to his housemates and people he’s never met before, all the while keeping his eyes on Mark and the girl.
He’s halfway across the room when he sees her smile drop. She crosses her arms. Shit. Eduardo drops all pretense and heads straight for them.
“No!” Mark’s saying hurriedly as he falls into earshot. “I didn’t - I wasn’t saying that. I’m just saying that it’s good. I mean. If you weren’t here, those chips would feel all neglected and alone. I wasn’t calling you fat -”
“Hi,” Eduardo swoops in, clapping an arm around Mark’s shoulders and extending a hand out to the girl. She’s offended, he can tell, and eyes him with suspicion. “I’m Eduardo. You’ve met my friend Mark. And you are?”
“Alice,” she says, shaking his hand. Her grip is loose, as if she can’t wait to let go of him.
“Alice,” he repeats, his smile as warm as he can possibly make it. “And you’ve met Mark here.” Her lip practically curls up in disgust.
“Hi,” Mark says, and his tone is somewhere between confused and sheepish. Eduardo squeezes his shoulders a little. Poor bastard.
“Alice, would you excuse us? I need Mark’s help for a second.” Relief crosses her face. “And that’s a lovely dress, you know. Stunning.”
He hauls Mark away before he can say another word.
“Ow!” Mark yelps when they’re back in their corner, and Eduardo lets go of him. “Don’t manhandle me like I’m a child.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing!”
Eduardo raises his eyebrows.
“Fine. I was trying to - I don’t know. I was trying to be friendly. So I told her that it was great she was there - the chips would be lonely if she wasn’t keeping them company.” He waves his hands around a little helplessly.
Eduardo does everything in his power not to put his head in his hands. “Why would you say that?”
Mark shrugs. “I thought I was - you know. Flirting.”
“Flirting.”
“I don’t…” Mark trails off, and there’s something in his face that tempers the frustration building in Eduardo’s chest. He’s in over his head. Eduardo’s known the guy the better part of a week now, and he’s never once seen Mark realize he can’t handle something.
Eduardo sighs. “The party was a bad idea,” he admits. “Come on. I think we can still catch the end of Shark Week if we hurry.”
It’s not until they’re alone, walking through the cool night back to Kirkland, that Eduardo sees the guilt lift off Mark’s shoulders. It’s not until then that he realizes, Mark wanted to do well.
***
“Do you really think we need a visual list?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like you think I’m a child.”
Eduardo draws a straight line, right down the middle of the words Acceptable and Not Acceptable, and doesn’t bother with an answer. Mark’s gone back to his cocky, assured, blunt self; there have been no more traces of the uncertainty and anxiety that surfaced at the Eliot party. But Eduardo saw it. He knows it exists, now. And that’s something.
“Women,” Eduardo starts, waving a ruler in the air, “are delicate creatures. Skittish and wary. One wrong move with them and they’ll run the other way faster than you can imagine.”
“You make them sound like deer.”
“They sense things like emotions and vibes far more easily than you or I would,” Eduardo continues, ignoring him. “So when you’re trying to pick one up, you need to be aware of not only your words, but your tone. Your body language. Everything around you. If even one of these is off, she won’t want anything to do with you.”
Mark’s hand raises lazily in the air. If it was possible to inject contempt into an action, Mark would be the master. “What are you doing?” Eduardo asks, surprised.
“Teacher, I have a question.”
“Shut up.”
“Why am I taking advice from you?” Mark asks, and Eduardo bristles. “Aren’t you single?”
He doesn’t mean to snap, but “Which one of us is already punching the Porc?” comes out of Eduardo’s mouth before he can stop it. There’s a flash across Mark’s face, and Eduardo can’t tell if it’s jealousy or resentment before it vanishes.
Mark shuts up.
Eduardo guides him through his dos and don’ts, things like “Do compliment what she’s wearing, but make sure you mean it otherwise she’ll think you’re lying,” and “Don’t fidget or avoid eye contact - she’ll think you’re hiding something.” It’s an exhaustive list, even Eduardo can admit that, and when he finishes it, he props the whiteboard up against the dresser in Mark’s room.
“Is it even worth it?” Mark sinks down onto his bed, surveying the long list of rules. “Girls, I mean. All these rules, all this trouble. Have you met one yet that’s worth it, Wardo?”
Eduardo stares at the rules too, eyes glancing over “Talk to her for a few minutes before offering to buy her a drink, or she’ll think you’re just interested in sex, even if you are,” and “Don’t spend too much time looking at her; glance at a couple other girls that pass you while you’re talking to avoid her thinking you’re desperate for her attention”, and shakes his head.
“No,” he finally says. “I haven’t.”
***
“This,” Eduardo demonstrates, gesturing to the space between himself and the closed suite door, “is the appropriate distance needed to hold the door open for someone.”
From where he’s perched on the arm on the couch, Mark’s eyes flicker over the space too.
“Any less than this is acceptable too. Any less than this and you’ll look like a dick if you don’t.”
“Okay,” Mark says, and Eduardo has to force himself not to let his surprise show on his face. He isn’t used to Mark being this agreeable.
“But if someone’s this far away -” Eduardo takes two giant steps backwards, narrowly avoiding tripping over a pair of Dustin’s old sneakers, “- then don’t bother. It’ll just make them speed up and they’ll probably be annoyed with you.”
“So only hold doors sometimes,” Mark repeats. “Not when someone’s too far away. Otherwise they’ll get mad. And it doesn’t matter who the other person is?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t have to know them?”
“No.”
“And they won’t try and walk with me or make conversation about the weather?”
“Not unless you do know them.”
Mark pauses for a moment, considering all this. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Eduardo repeats. This is the most accepting Mark’s been of any lesson so far, and quite honestly, it’s throwing Eduardo off a little. He’s used to having to put up a bit more of a fight.
“Yeah. It makes sense. I wouldn’t walk with someone I didn’t know, either. I rarely walk with people I do know.”
“Why aren’t you fighting me on this?” Eduardo doesn’t want to impede their progress - this feels like a breakthrough, it really does. It’s different, but it’s nice. He doesn’t want to push Mark back into being disagreeable and grumpy about each new lesson.
Mark shrugs.
“You fight me on everything,” Eduardo presses.
“My mom used to try and teach me to hold doors open,” Mark says, picking at a scab on his arm as if he was barely paying Eduardo any mind at all. “She tried for years before she gave up. She always used to say it’d be a miracle if I learned how to think about another person.”
It’s the first time Eduardo’s ever heard Mark talk about his mother. He looks down at Mark, poking away at his skin, and wonders, How could she give up on you?
Two hours later, after a rousing game of Halo, Mark and Eduardo head down to dinner. Eduardo’s walking a little ahead of Mark, talking about AEPi’s awful parties, and they’re just inside the Kirkland cafeteria when he hears, “Thank you.”
It’s a quiet voice, a girl’s, and she moves past Eduardo with a stack of books in her arms and a smile on her face. Eduardo turns, confused, just in time to see Mark let go of the cafeteria door. And, to Eduardo’s surprise, Mark’s smiling too.
Go figure.
***
“I don’t smell.”
“You kind of smell.”
“Are you my mother?”
“No,” Eduardo says, rolling his eyes, and leans in to sniff the air around Mark’s shoulder. “But you still smell. When was the last time you took a shower?”
“He never showers!” Dustin calls from the living room, where he’s blowing things up in Call of Duty.
“I do too,” Mark says. He takes a second to toss a look of contempt Dustin’s way. “I just finished a 36-hour coding tear. I needed to get the problems finished for my Origins class, and it wasn’t until hour eight that I realized I was doing them wrong. I’ve been a little busy.”
Eduardo shakes his head. “And if I wasn’t here, would you go down for dinner like this?”
Mark looks down at his hoodie, his jeans, his flip-flops. “Probably.”
“And would you go to the movies like this, if someone invited you after?”
“No one ever invites me to the movies.”
“But would you?” Eduardo has to press on if he doesn’t want to focus on the way Mark’s words pang in his chest.
“I guess so.”
“Shower,” Eduardo says, “right now.”
“I need to eat!” Mark argues, standing up.
“You’re going to draw flies if you go to the cafeteria like this.”
“Flies aren’t actually attracted to body odor,” Mark says. “That’s a myth.”
He shuts up when Eduardo drops a towel on his head.
“Fine.” Mark’s exasperated, but Eduardo doesn’t care. He marches right behind Mark to the bathroom and stands outside the door when Mark closes it in his face.
“I’m not going anywhere until I hear that water running!” he calls, and he’s sure Mark would be flipping him the bird if the door was still open. When he hears the shower sputter to life, he nods, satisfied.
“The Porc will never punch you if you smell like you just climbed out of a sewer!” he adds, yelling to be heard over the sound of the water, and his chest clenches involuntarily. Sometimes he forgets he isn’t doing this just to hang out with Mark. He always remembers eventually, though - and when he does, the bitter taste of guilt is more than enough to make him want to forget again.
***
“I cannot believe you’re making me do this.”
Eduardo huffs out a little laugh. He’s finding it harder and harder to get exasperated with Mark these days, despite his complaining and his petulance and his goddamned stubborn demeanor. Eduardo’s actually starting to like Mark - a lot. He’s opinionated and annoying, but he’s also funny. He also has these little moments - unremarkable things, things that no one but Eduardo would pick up on - and Eduardo thinks that somewhere, somehow, they’ve actually become friends. He and Mark - friends. Go figure.
“You cannot go to the party looking like that,” Eduardo says, veering off from the middle of the sidewalk as they arrive in front of their destination.
Mark pauses, his gaze dropping down to his clothes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Eduardo rolls his eyes and pulls open the heavy door. “Get in here.”
The store is cool and well-lit, soft pot lights shining down onto the sales floor. The suits seem to gleam, the lines crisp and colors fresh, and Eduardo can’t help but smile. This is the type of store he’s comfortable in - the type he’s been visiting since his Bar Mitzvah back in Miami - and he’s hoping he can convert Mark, too.
But Mark is hanging back, fidgeting awkwardly near the door, and Eduardo sighs. This may be more work than he thought.
“You can come in,” he calls. “I promise the dress shirts won’t hurt you.”
Mark flips him the bird and shuffles forward.
A salesman with a shiny golden nametag reading Daniel descends on them almost at once. He’s all smiles and smooth gestures, and he even manages to suppress a grimace when he takes in Mark’s wardrobe.
“This is his normal attire?” he asks Eduardo, and Eduardo nods. Daniel gives Mark a little smile. “Oh, dear.”
Mark fidgets while Daniel takes his measurements. He won’t smile and he won’t stand up straight, and he only lifts his arms half-heartedly when Daniel asks him to.
“Mark,” Eduardo warns, and he realizes that he probably sounds like Mark’s mother. Shit. “The most uncomfortable thing in the world is a suit that doesn’t fit. Trust me. Just… please?”
And Eduardo isn’t sure if it’s his words or his tone or the fact that Mark feels bad for him having to wrangle all of this, but Mark lifts his arms higher and straightens them, holding them out stiffly so that Daniel can easily run the tape measure from shoulder to fingertip.
Mark mostly stays quiet when Daniel and Eduardo comb through the racks. He hangs back, eyes downcast and not even looking at the things they’re pulling for him. Except that when Daniel pulls a baby pink dress shirt off the rack and holds it up for Eduardo’s opinion, Mark mutters, “No pink,” and Eduardo thinks maybe he’s paying more attention than he’s letting on.
Finally, Daniel ushers them back to the fitting rooms and lets them be.
“I’ll give you some time,” he says smoothly, and sweeps out at the jingle of the front door bell.
Eduardo crosses his arms and turns to face Mark head on. If Mark’s going to start being difficult, it’ll be now.
Mark stares in dismay at the jackets and pants and shirts and ties hanging from the rack Daniel had set up. “Do I -“
“Yes,” Eduardo says firmly, and that’s that.
Mark spends so long putting on the first suit that Eduardo starts to wonder if there’s a window back there for him to escape through. Eduardo sits on the plush white chair in front of the three full-length mirrors and checks his watch.
“Are you ever coming out of there?” Eduardo finally calls.
There’s a string of vehement swearing, and Eduardo can’t help but chuckle.
When Mark finally unlatches the door and stomps out in front of the mirror petulantly, Eduardo blinks. Mark’s hair is unruly, sticking up in the back, and he isn’t smiling. He tugs at the sleeves of the crisp white dress shirt as if he’s trying to make them long enough to hide his hands, and he shuffles from foot to foot. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror.
But the suit fits perfectly. It’s snug in all the right places, tailored just right, and it adds a sense of sophistication to Mark that Eduardo has never seen before. He looks trim and stylish and better than Eduardo ever could have imagined.
And that’s the moment.
“What?” Mark asks, and Eduardo realizes he’s staring.
“Oh! Nothing,” Eduardo says quickly, and his cheeks heat up. Shit.
Mark turns back to the mirror, finally frowning at his reflection. “Does it look that bad?”
“No!” Eduardo says quickly, and he actually gets to his feet before he realizes how eager he sounds. Get it together, Saverin. He takes a deep breath. “No,” he repeats.
Mark’s expression is unsure. “No?”
“It looks - really good,” Eduardo manages, and it’s really the best he can do because fantastic and suave and sexy are not really the type of adjectives he should be using, no matter how much they fit.
He steps in front of Mark, taking a moment to adjust Mark’s collar. There’s no tie and he’s left two buttons undone, and Eduardo has to will himself not to look at the patch of collarbone Mark has left exposed. This is not about hormones and feelings and bare skin, Eduardo thinks. This is about the Porcellian, and if this is going to work, it needs to be treated like a professional business relationship. A professional business relationship.
It is not professional or businesslike to fantasize about ravishing your coworker.
“Yeah?” Mark asks. He still looks uncomfortable - they’d have to get him used to wearing the suit before the party rolls around - but he no longer looks like he wants to die, so that’s something.
“Yeah,” Eduardo agrees, stepping back to let Mark look at himself in the mirror again. “The fit is good and it’s classic - it’s exactly what you should be wearing.”
This time when Mark looks at himself in the mirror, he has a little smile on his face.
***
Every movie has a midpoint - a game-changer, Eduardo remembers his professor calling it. Some point where everything changes, some point where new things are introduced and end up altering the world as everyone knows it.
Eduardo never would have pegged Sean Parker as their game-changer.
Mark doesn’t want to go - wants to stay in, code a website or whatever it is he does with his time when Eduardo isn’t around - but Eduardo insists. They’ve done the manners, the social skills, the clothes. The Porcellian dinner party is two weeks away, and they need to make sure they’re as ready as they think they are.
It’s time, Eduardo thinks, for a trial run.
Eduardo makes sure he picks a safe, low-key environment - a speaker at the school, nothing fancy. Nothing that requires alcohol or food or excessive socializing. Just enough to get Mark out into the world and get him used to doing things a little differently.
But Eduardo sees Mark’s hands shake as he ties his tie, and his heart goes out to him. Poor guy.
Mark doesn’t seem as worried, though, once they arrive at the lecture hall. He stands up straight and moves through the crowd surprisingly easily - no trademark shuffle. He holds the door for a girl and tells her she looks nice, and Eduardo just about falls over. By the time he and Mark are settled in their seats, about a quarter of the way back from the stage, Eduardo’s thoroughly impressed. By some small miracle, they may actually end up pulling this off.
Sean Parker steps up to the podium, arms wide as he grins at the applauding crowd. Eduardo’s done a little reading on the guy - Napster, Plaxo, the whole kit and caboodle. He’s young, still in his early twenties, and he moves across the stage with ease as he talks. The entire room is silent. As is so rare in a lecture hall, people are actually listening.
And Eduardo’s listening too.
Except.
It’s just that there’s something off about the guy, Eduardo thinks. He’s spinning tales of parties and girls and deception and lies and corruption, and it all sounds a little… unbelievable. Like it’s been amped up for the audience, for dozens of audiences over time, so much so that Sean’s started to believe every word. It’s like Sean thinks he’s some sort of untouchable, someone above the businessmen with their suits and their contracts and their decorum. It’s enough to leave a bad taste in Eduardo’s mouth, and he’s fairly sure he’s scowling.
He nudges Mark, discreetly leans over and whispers, “Can you believe this guy?”
“I know,” Mark says quietly, and it isn’t until Eduardo turns his head that he sees the reverence on Mark’s face.
He spends the next few minutes watching Mark watch Sean. Mark’s focused, he’s paying attention, and he’s listening. He’s practically hanging off every word that comes out of the guy’s mouth. Eduardo doesn’t have to watch long to realize that Mark, too, thinks Sean Parker is untouchable.
Eduardo has never seen Mark put so much attention on another human being before, and he feels a hot burn start in the pit of his stomach. Every sentence from Sean seems more ludicrous than the last, and Eduardo’s somewhere between wanting to laugh out loud and get up and walk out.
Eduardo doesn’t have to meet Sean Parker to know that he hates this guy.
And yet, when the applause finishes and the lights go up, that seems to be exactly what Mark wants to do.
Eduardo hangs back and watches Mark, watches him half-walk, half-run his way up to the stage. Sean’s shaking hands with professors, somehow still commanding the floor after the lights have come back on, and Mark climbs right up on that stage and hurries over to Sean. He watches Mark stick out his hand to shake, sees the way Mark makes eye contact when he introduces himself. His eagerness, the new confidence he’s somehow picked up in the past few weeks should make Eduardo feel proud. But he sees the smile on Sean’s face and his stomach churns harder.
It takes a minute for Eduardo to move into earshot.
“It was nothing,” Mark’s saying, and Eduardo blinks. He was unaware that Mark possesses anything resembling modesty. “Just a stupid website I put up for entertainment. I was drunk -”
“And the site got how many hits?” Sean’s arms are crossed and he’s leaning forward with interest. Eduardo steps up onto the stage too, stands just behind Mark’s shoulder.
“Twenty-two thousand,” Mark says, and Eduardo stares. Is that a blush?
Sean whistles, long and low. He’s impressed - Eduardo can tell. Eduardo doesn’t want him to be impressed. Sean Parker is some rich kid from Palo Alto, a fuckup of the first degree who disguises it with big talk and a knack for good ideas. Mark doesn’t need to impress him.
“In two hours?” Sean says.
“In two hours.” This time it’s Eduardo speaking up, leaning around Mark to stick out his hand. “Eduardo Saverin. President of the Harvard Investors Association.”
“Hey man,” Sean says. His eyes move to Eduardo for a second - half a second, if that - before they’re focused squarely back on Mark. Eduardo kind of wants to punch him squarely in the jaw. “You were drunk and coded an interactive website in one night that crashed the entire Harvard network.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” It was a huge deal, Eduardo thinks, and you know it.
“It sounds like a pretty big deal to me,” Sean says. His eyes flick over Mark, up and down, quick as can be. But Eduardo sees. He notices. When Sean meets Mark’s eyes again, there’s a new look there. There’s interest. Eduardo has to fight himself not to let his hands ball into fists. You weren’t even there.
“Well,” Mark says, and fidgets back and forth.
“You’re a rogue,” Sean says, “like me. Someone working within the system to beat the system. I see a lot of myself in you, you know.” There’s a proud, smug smile on Sean’s face and Eduardo has to fight to keep from laughing out loud. Who the fuck is this guy?
“Really?” The hopeful tone in Mark’s voice pokes at Eduardo’s chest.
“Absolutely,” Sean says. “Listen. I’m in Boston for the rest of the night, and I’d love to hear what else you’re working on. Let’s grab some dinner and talk. On me.”
Mark almost falls over himself to say yes. “Wardo, you want to come?”
No, Eduardo doesn’t want to come. He doesn’t want either of them to have anything more to do with Sean fucking Parker.
Sean looks at Eduardo as if he’d forgotten he was even there. “Well, sure,” Sean says, “he can come. You have any start-up ideas, Wardo?”
No one else has ever called Eduardo that before, and he hates the sound of it in Sean’s mouth.
“Eduardo’s really good with money,” Mark says. “And dealing with adults. Way better than me.”
In the right light, Sean’s smile could have been mistaken for a snarl. “That’s great. You need that to get ahead in this world.”
There’s something so patronizing about Sean’s tone, something that so clearly says I don’t want you here that makes Eduardo bristle. He has to get out. He can’t go to dinner with the two of them - can’t sit there and listen to Sean belittle his very existence over a plate of spinach dip. He can’t do this.
“Thanks,” Eduardo says, taking a step back. “But I should go. Midterms are coming up and there’s a calculus test that’s going to kill me.” It all sounds so childish next to stupid Sean Parker and his ventures and his girls and his parties til dawn, and Eduardo hates himself a little for being so intimidated.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” The look on Sean’s face says it’s anything but. “Maybe next time.”
“You sure, Wardo?” Mark asks, and there’s a second where Eduardo sees something move across Mark’s face. Maybe worry. Maybe panic. Maybe the belief that he can’t do this, can’t talk to someone this big and important without Eduardo by his side. But it’s gone almost before it registers, and it’s easier to pretend he never saw it at all.
“Yeah!” The voice coming from Eduardo is so jovial that there’s no way anyone believes him. “I’ll catch you later.”
His blood boils as he leaves the lecture hall.
***
Eduardo spends the next three hours in his room determined not to think about Mark. He tackles some of the calculus sets his professor assigned earlier in the week. He calls his mother and hears all about his father’s newest business deals. He decapitates as many zombies as he can in Evil Dead. He reviews everything he’s learned for punch month (three lies john harvard daniel chester) even though he likely won’t need it again. He stares at the ceiling and thinks about classes and parties and girls and everything that has nothing to do with Mark Zuckerberg.
He fails miserably.
They should have stayed at Kirkland, Eduardo thinks. They should have stayed in and ordered pizza and scammed the delivery guy out of a tip, should have played Zelda until their fingers bled. They never should have gone to the stupid lecture and Mark never should have worn the goddamn suit. They should have stayed holed up in the dorms, in Mark’s world. It may be simple and quiet and smell vaguely of socks, but it’s safe.
There is nothing safe about Sean Parker, and maybe that’s the thing that grates on Eduardo most of all. He’s pulled Mark out of his world, brought him into this whole crazy situation where things are new and different and scary. And Eduardo needs - wants - needs to keep Mark safe while he’s there.
Eduardo’s on his way to Kirkland almost immediately, thinking P\please be home, please be home the entire way.
Mark is home.
“Sean thinks Facemash could do well if it were integrated into a bigger site.” Mark’s babbling almost at once. His suit jacket’s tossed into a rumpled heap on his bed and his tie hangs down onto the ground. Eduardo doesn’t care. “It needs a lot of start-up cash and some better servers than just the Harvard network, plus a clearer concept for the whole thing, but Sean thinks it’s definitely a tangible venture. You want a beer?”
Eduardo takes the beer wordlessly, keeping it closed.
“Sean knows what he’s talking about. It’s a really intense business with a steep learning curve, especially for someone so young, and it’s hard to believe he’s already mastered it. He says he really thinks I can -”
“Sean Parker’s a dick!” The words explode from Eduardo before he realizes he’s planning to say them.
“You think so?” Mark’s lips curve up into some semblance of a smile.
“Yes, I think so.” Eduardo sets his beer down on the table with a thunk because now that he’s started, like hell is he going to stop before he’s finished. “He’s a chump, Mark. He’s totally paranoid and bombed out of two huge companies in spectacular fashion. He’s dangerous.”
Mark repeats “dangerous” in a tone that suggests he’s biting back laughter.
“He’s completely taken by you because of your suit and your smile and your manners and he has no idea that it isn’t who you are.”
Mark tilts his head. “And who am I?”
“You’re… I don’t know. You’re Mark,” Eduardo says with an exasperated little sigh, as if it’s obvious. “You work for thirty-six hours and then crash for fifteen, and you never shower and your sweatpants look like they could have a life of their own. You’re brilliant and you’re arrogant and you’re kind of an asshole, and you’re good at Xbox and you’re funny and you eat tuna more than any normal human and you’re - yeah.”
“And Sean Parker wouldn’t like that.” Mark’s eyebrows rise, and there’s more disbelief in his tone than Eduardo would have expected.
Eduardo snorts. “Don’t be stupid.”
“But you do.”
“I -” Eduardo pauses. Opens and closes his mouth a few times without any sound coming out. Finally, he shrugs. “Yeah.”
And that’s when Mark kisses him.
Eduardo doesn’t know what to do. His eyes stay open and his arms sort of stick out from his body at weird angles, shock running through him. He and Mark have never talked about this - never even hinted at this - and they’d planned out how to pick up girls at parties. It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense. But Mark keeps kissing his stunned mouth, his teeth biting down on Eduardo’s bottom lip almost as if to wake him up. Before Eduardo can think any more about the whole thing, before he can pull back and say stop, no, what?, he’s gripping Mark’s shoulder. And he’s kissing Mark back.
Maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t have to make sense.
There are fingers tangled in hair and teeth and shirt buttons and someone’s panting and before Eduardo quite knows what’s happening, he has Mark crowded against the wall of the suite. And his fingers are pulling at Mark’s shirt.
“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” Mark says, pulling back from the kiss. His lips press against Eduardo’s jawbone. “Well. Maybe a little.”
“I -” But Eduardo can’t say I wasn’t, can’t argue it, because he was. He hadn’t known what to call the big ball of anger in his chest when he’d stormed through Mark’s door, but it was jealousy. Plain and simple.
Go figure.
“Don’t feel weird,” Mark says, as if it’s a basic instruction, and his lips creep closer to Eduardo’s ear. “I already knew, even if you didn’t. I saw your face when I put on that stupid suit.”
“Aren’t you perceptive.” The final word’s a gasp as Mark tugs on Eduardo’s earlobe with his teeth.
“Not usually.”
Eduardo makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I thought you were straight,” he manages to say.
Mark pulls back to look at him, and Eduardo immediately regrets opening his mouth in the first place. “Why? Because I don’t look like a big fairy queen who likes shopping and TLC marathons?”
“No, it’s just that - I don’t know, I always assumed.”
“When you really think about it, there’s no logical reasoning for strictly being attracted to one gender.”
“I don’t think logic usually plays into attraction.”
“It used to.”
“Maybe when humans were in danger of dying every other minute.”
“In today’s society, with radiation and high-speed cars and all sorts of technological advances, I’d say we’re still in danger of dying every other minute.”
Eduardo sighs. “You were saying.”
“The ultimate goal when it comes to one’s love life is to meet, copulate, and reproduce with the most healthy, vital, compatible partner, essentially. Right? So why cancel out half the potential partners in the world strictly based on anatomy? It’s simple Darwinism.”
“I don’t think Darwinism was about logic.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still a logical process.”
Eduardo cannot believe that he has Mark pressed against a wall with his shirt unbuttoned and he’s talking about Darwinism.
“You know, we can’t copulate.” Eduardo gestures in the general area of their crotches. “We don’t exactly have the right parts to produce offspring.”
Mark hesitates, apparently mulling that one over for a moment. Eduardo actually feels a little bad for a second, because he’s actually standing here kissing Mark and now he’s crushed his theory. He’s fairly certain you’re not supposed to poke holes in a guy’s personal philosophy if you’re interested in getting into his pants anytime soon.
But Mark finally shrugs. “Kiss me.”
And really, who is Eduardo to argue with that?
Read Part 2 here.