Snippet: Feed
Title: Feed
Pairing: Eduardo/Mark
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: TSN and its characters are not mine.
Summary: A snippet of Eduardo's and Mark's relationship from Harvard. WARNING: Boys with issues.
1. Mark Zuckerberg does and does not want to join a Final Club.
He looks at this concept the way one might look at a celebrity: with grudging adoration. On one hand Mark respects these Final Clubs for embodying prestige and every trait he believes he doesn’t have, and on the other hand, he resents these clubs for the same reason. Like most of Mark’s feelings, this ambiguity is relative to who he’s feeding the story. To his suitemates, he doesn’t give a fuck about those elitist assholes. To Erica, his girlfriend who isn’t a girlfriend, he would swallow nails in order to get in a Final Club.
So after Erica broke up with him, Mark decides that he hates these Final Clubs. Definitely. So this is the story he feeds Eduardo for the night.
They sprawl out on Mark’s bed, feet dangling off the bed and heads resting against the wall. Mark’s neck aches but he doesn’t care, not when Eduardo is here, not when he’s drunk on beer and the rush of successfully putting up Facesmash, a revengeful glee that he pisses a lot of people off.
“Erica’s a bitch,” Mark says, his head against Eduardo’s shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of Eduardo’s aftershave, and it’s really nice even though he wouldn’t say that out loud. “She could go screw everyone on the rowing crew for all I care.”
Eduardo chuckles. Mark likes it because he could feel the vibration of Eduardo’s drunken happiness under his cheek.
“You already said that,” Eduardo leans his head back against Mark’s, and that feels even better. “Not the row crew part, but, you know, the other part.”
“She probably slept with the doorman to get us in the bar,” Mark said bitterly, and Eduardo, good old Eduardo, agrees with him, not bothering to berate Mark for his assholery because post-breakup allows for some leeway. The more mud he throws on her image, the less painful their breakup felt, like he’s better off without her. “She probably dumped me so that it’ll be easier for her to fuck those guys who row crew.”
Eduardo must not be that drunk because he picks up on this right away. “Do you have something against guys who row crew?”
“Fuck guys who row crew,” Mark mumbles. “Fuck the Final Clubs.” The more Mark repeats this to himself, the truer it becomes. Those elitist bullshitters. Girlfriend stealers. Fuck them.
“Why do you hate these Final Clubs?” asks Eduardo, and a defensive note in his tone makes Mark stiffens with apprehension. “Do you want to join a Final Club?” Mark means to say it mockingly, trying to depreciate the idea as much as he could, but the possibility has his stomach churning.
“What?” says Eduardo. “I was just surprised because I thought you said the other day-”
“I was with Erica,” Mark cuts him off. He doesn’t want to be reminded of that particular memory.
“What does Erica have to do with anything?”
“That’s not important,” It’s not, what’s important right now is Eduardo’s possible fixation on Final Clubs, a fixation that Mark doesn’t know about until now. “Oh, so you just spontaneously decide to hate the Final Clubs now just because Erica isn’t here?”
“Wardo, you already know that I dislike them,” says Mark, and this is why he hates being reminded of that day, when Eduardo was walking with both Mark and Erica from Kirkland and they happened to breach this topic. Mark had tried to keep both worlds and both sides of his ambiguous feelings separate and he didn’t like it when they mix. And then Erica was there and thanks to her, Eduardo saw what Mark didn’t want him to see. That’s not important. It’s not. It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t feel guilty.
“I thought I knew,” Eduardo drives the knife home, and no, Mark isn’t going to feel guilty about this, not now.
“Do you want to join a Final Club?” Now it is Eduardo’s turn to look uncomfortable.
“I don’t want to,” Eduardo replies slowly, as if he knows he is treading on dangerous territory. “But I wouldn’t mind trying.”
Mark feels betrayed. “You want to join a Final Club,” Mark accuses, all the hurt and anger from his break up with Erica begins to boil, bubbling up his throat.
“No, I didn’t say that,” Eduardo hastily says when Mark lifts his head from Eduardo’s shoulder. “I said I wouldn’t mind trying, Mark!” He tries to reach for Mark, but Mark pulls away from him. “Mark, they probably wouldn’t let me in no matter how hard I try anyway.” Mark feels a little better at that, only a little though because Eduardo completely misses the point. It doesn’t matter if Eduardo gets in a Final Club or not, it matters that he wants to join one. It matters that he wants to leave his loser friend for something better. Like Erica.
“Whatever,” Mark shrugs, all the easy and warm drunken camaraderie evaporated, leaving him cold. He tries not to meet Eduardo’s eyes.
“Mark, I swear to you,” Eduardo says. “Look at me.” Mark does, only because he wants to prove that he isn’t affected by any of this. He gives Eduardo his best blank stare, challenging Eduardo to change his mind otherwise. “I swear to you,” and here Eduardo lowers his chin so that all Mark could focus on are his eyes. He does this thing with his facial expression that is supposed to reassure Mark. “I don’t want to join a Final Club. At least, not willingly.”
“Right,” says Mark, feeling a little miffed because now Eduardo is babying him. Pitying him. Mark doesn’t want pity.
Eduardo sighs audibly, and then they fall into a chilly silence. Mark doesn’t like how this conversation turns, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s not…he’s not going to give in, if that’s what Eduardo is hoping.
“Mark,” Eduardo says at last. He sounds tired. “I don’t like it, but my father would want me to try at least.”
“Alright,” says Mark.
“You understand, don’t you?” And then Mark turns to look at Eduardo, and he knows that he’s a goner.
“I know,” Mark replies, giving in; the anger begins to fizzle out. He knows about Eduardo’s father, and he’ll give in even if he doesn’t understand.
“Good,” Eduardo nods. “Good,” he repeats softly, and they fall back into silence once more. They remain silent. Mark tugs desperately at Eduardo's presence next to him for comfort, and perhaps Mark is being an emotionally needy and selfish bastard right now, but he doesn't care. As long as Eduardo is with him, he'll be fine. They'll be fine. Eduardo won't leave him. They're not going to fall apart. As long as he continues to feed Eduardo the right thing, and as long as Eduardo feeds him back.
MARK Then I guess that would be the first time somebody’s lied under oath.
Pairing: Eduardo/Mark
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: TSN and its characters are not mine.
Summary: A snippet of Eduardo's and Mark's relationship from Harvard. WARNING: Boys with issues.
1. Mark Zuckerberg does and does not want to join a Final Club.
He looks at this concept the way one might look at a celebrity: with grudging adoration. On one hand Mark respects these Final Clubs for embodying prestige and every trait he believes he doesn’t have, and on the other hand, he resents these clubs for the same reason. Like most of Mark’s feelings, this ambiguity is relative to who he’s feeding the story. To his suitemates, he doesn’t give a fuck about those elitist assholes. To Erica, his girlfriend who isn’t a girlfriend, he would swallow nails in order to get in a Final Club.
So after Erica broke up with him, Mark decides that he hates these Final Clubs. Definitely. So this is the story he feeds Eduardo for the night.
They sprawl out on Mark’s bed, feet dangling off the bed and heads resting against the wall. Mark’s neck aches but he doesn’t care, not when Eduardo is here, not when he’s drunk on beer and the rush of successfully putting up Facesmash, a revengeful glee that he pisses a lot of people off.
“Erica’s a bitch,” Mark says, his head against Eduardo’s shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of Eduardo’s aftershave, and it’s really nice even though he wouldn’t say that out loud. “She could go screw everyone on the rowing crew for all I care.”
Eduardo chuckles. Mark likes it because he could feel the vibration of Eduardo’s drunken happiness under his cheek.
“You already said that,” Eduardo leans his head back against Mark’s, and that feels even better. “Not the row crew part, but, you know, the other part.”
“She probably slept with the doorman to get us in the bar,” Mark said bitterly, and Eduardo, good old Eduardo, agrees with him, not bothering to berate Mark for his assholery because post-breakup allows for some leeway. The more mud he throws on her image, the less painful their breakup felt, like he’s better off without her. “She probably dumped me so that it’ll be easier for her to fuck those guys who row crew.”
Eduardo must not be that drunk because he picks up on this right away. “Do you have something against guys who row crew?”
“Fuck guys who row crew,” Mark mumbles. “Fuck the Final Clubs.” The more Mark repeats this to himself, the truer it becomes. Those elitist bullshitters. Girlfriend stealers. Fuck them.
“Why do you hate these Final Clubs?” asks Eduardo, and a defensive note in his tone makes Mark stiffens with apprehension. “Do you want to join a Final Club?” Mark means to say it mockingly, trying to depreciate the idea as much as he could, but the possibility has his stomach churning.
“What?” says Eduardo. “I was just surprised because I thought you said the other day-”
“I was with Erica,” Mark cuts him off. He doesn’t want to be reminded of that particular memory.
“What does Erica have to do with anything?”
“That’s not important,” It’s not, what’s important right now is Eduardo’s possible fixation on Final Clubs, a fixation that Mark doesn’t know about until now. “Oh, so you just spontaneously decide to hate the Final Clubs now just because Erica isn’t here?”
“Wardo, you already know that I dislike them,” says Mark, and this is why he hates being reminded of that day, when Eduardo was walking with both Mark and Erica from Kirkland and they happened to breach this topic. Mark had tried to keep both worlds and both sides of his ambiguous feelings separate and he didn’t like it when they mix. And then Erica was there and thanks to her, Eduardo saw what Mark didn’t want him to see. That’s not important. It’s not. It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t feel guilty.
“I thought I knew,” Eduardo drives the knife home, and no, Mark isn’t going to feel guilty about this, not now.
“Do you want to join a Final Club?” Now it is Eduardo’s turn to look uncomfortable.
“I don’t want to,” Eduardo replies slowly, as if he knows he is treading on dangerous territory. “But I wouldn’t mind trying.”
Mark feels betrayed. “You want to join a Final Club,” Mark accuses, all the hurt and anger from his break up with Erica begins to boil, bubbling up his throat.
“No, I didn’t say that,” Eduardo hastily says when Mark lifts his head from Eduardo’s shoulder. “I said I wouldn’t mind trying, Mark!” He tries to reach for Mark, but Mark pulls away from him. “Mark, they probably wouldn’t let me in no matter how hard I try anyway.” Mark feels a little better at that, only a little though because Eduardo completely misses the point. It doesn’t matter if Eduardo gets in a Final Club or not, it matters that he wants to join one. It matters that he wants to leave his loser friend for something better. Like Erica.
“Whatever,” Mark shrugs, all the easy and warm drunken camaraderie evaporated, leaving him cold. He tries not to meet Eduardo’s eyes.
“Mark, I swear to you,” Eduardo says. “Look at me.” Mark does, only because he wants to prove that he isn’t affected by any of this. He gives Eduardo his best blank stare, challenging Eduardo to change his mind otherwise. “I swear to you,” and here Eduardo lowers his chin so that all Mark could focus on are his eyes. He does this thing with his facial expression that is supposed to reassure Mark. “I don’t want to join a Final Club. At least, not willingly.”
“Right,” says Mark, feeling a little miffed because now Eduardo is babying him. Pitying him. Mark doesn’t want pity.
Eduardo sighs audibly, and then they fall into a chilly silence. Mark doesn’t like how this conversation turns, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s not…he’s not going to give in, if that’s what Eduardo is hoping.
“Mark,” Eduardo says at last. He sounds tired. “I don’t like it, but my father would want me to try at least.”
“Alright,” says Mark.
“You understand, don’t you?” And then Mark turns to look at Eduardo, and he knows that he’s a goner.
“I know,” Mark replies, giving in; the anger begins to fizzle out. He knows about Eduardo’s father, and he’ll give in even if he doesn’t understand.
“Good,” Eduardo nods. “Good,” he repeats softly, and they fall back into silence once more. They remain silent. Mark tugs desperately at Eduardo's presence next to him for comfort, and perhaps Mark is being an emotionally needy and selfish bastard right now, but he doesn't care. As long as Eduardo is with him, he'll be fine. They'll be fine. Eduardo won't leave him. They're not going to fall apart. As long as he continues to feed Eduardo the right thing, and as long as Eduardo feeds him back.
MARK Then I guess that would be the first time somebody’s lied under oath.