talking in code
title: talking in code
pairing: Dustin/Mark, unrequited!Mark/Eduardo
author: reogulus
rating: PG-13
wordcount: ~500
disclaimer: Not mine, not true, not used for profit.
summary: Mark lets Dustin write on his white boards when Eduardo is gone.
notes: if you take longer than four hours to write a drabble, the story deviates from "kirkland dorm details appreciation" to "simply angst". lesson learned.
Palo Alto is waiting for them tomorrow, but Harvard has already left them alone.
The AC is down, and Mark turned the lights off. Street lamps weave thin shadows of trees and poles into grotesque shapes on the skeletons of beds and shelves.
The empty cans and bottles line up on the coffee table. Red Bull, orange juice, Mountain Dew and beer, the cocktail of what everything really comes down to. Dustin doesn’t pretend to understand the marlins and the trout and the appletinis because they have no place on this table. They are as irrelevant as he is.
Dustin wipes his forehead with the front of his t-shirt before draining his lukewarm beer and putting away the bottle. He feels Mark’s eyes on his neck, but he doesn’t look back. The air is humid, muted with thoughts they don’t bother to share now, thoughts they already exchanged after Chris told them he won’t be spending the night at Kirkland.
The blinds are drawn all the way up, exposed exactly the way Mark hates. The rooms are vulnerable, gaping holes save for the corner bed where their baggage lie. Not his dorm, not his college, not his life for the past two years, just holes, now.
Holes, he can leave behind.
“I want to take the white boards.”
“No.”
“I’m not supposed to. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Mark doesn’t speak. His answer is in the rhythm of his breathing, the tiny slosh of his beer when he takes a swig, the creak in the couch when he shifts in his seat. This is the language they speak, all the symbols and sounds translate to one meaning. In binary code, in scribbles on post-its, in the colour of their eyes, in stretched silences where Dustin learns to never ask about Eduardo when Mark kisses him.
Because he can write on the white boards. He just can’t keep them.
Mark leans in, but stops short before reaching Dustin. Instead he picks up the last Mountain Dew on the table and sets down the unfinished beer. He takes a long drink and hands it to Dustin, who only takes a sip.
The sugary tingle lingers on Dustin’s tongue. The can is warm and slippery with sweat on Mark's hand and his. He throws his head back, dazed by the heat. There are dark spots on the ceiling looking back at him. In his periphery, Mark licks his lips.
Dustin holds the can out to Mark, keeping his voice even. “What about the white boards, then?”
Mark doesn’t take it, nor does he answer. His faraway gaze holds nothing beyond the window in his old room. The windowpane is pushed up, without symbols or numbers. Dustin sets down the Mountain Dew and waits.
Sure enough, Mark pushes him down swiftly and mumbles in his ear.
“Leave them be.”
pairing: Dustin/Mark, unrequited!Mark/Eduardo
author: reogulus
rating: PG-13
wordcount: ~500
disclaimer: Not mine, not true, not used for profit.
summary: Mark lets Dustin write on his white boards when Eduardo is gone.
notes: if you take longer than four hours to write a drabble, the story deviates from "kirkland dorm details appreciation" to "simply angst". lesson learned.
Palo Alto is waiting for them tomorrow, but Harvard has already left them alone.
The AC is down, and Mark turned the lights off. Street lamps weave thin shadows of trees and poles into grotesque shapes on the skeletons of beds and shelves.
The empty cans and bottles line up on the coffee table. Red Bull, orange juice, Mountain Dew and beer, the cocktail of what everything really comes down to. Dustin doesn’t pretend to understand the marlins and the trout and the appletinis because they have no place on this table. They are as irrelevant as he is.
Dustin wipes his forehead with the front of his t-shirt before draining his lukewarm beer and putting away the bottle. He feels Mark’s eyes on his neck, but he doesn’t look back. The air is humid, muted with thoughts they don’t bother to share now, thoughts they already exchanged after Chris told them he won’t be spending the night at Kirkland.
The blinds are drawn all the way up, exposed exactly the way Mark hates. The rooms are vulnerable, gaping holes save for the corner bed where their baggage lie. Not his dorm, not his college, not his life for the past two years, just holes, now.
Holes, he can leave behind.
“I want to take the white boards.”
“No.”
“I’m not supposed to. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Mark doesn’t speak. His answer is in the rhythm of his breathing, the tiny slosh of his beer when he takes a swig, the creak in the couch when he shifts in his seat. This is the language they speak, all the symbols and sounds translate to one meaning. In binary code, in scribbles on post-its, in the colour of their eyes, in stretched silences where Dustin learns to never ask about Eduardo when Mark kisses him.
Because he can write on the white boards. He just can’t keep them.
Mark leans in, but stops short before reaching Dustin. Instead he picks up the last Mountain Dew on the table and sets down the unfinished beer. He takes a long drink and hands it to Dustin, who only takes a sip.
The sugary tingle lingers on Dustin’s tongue. The can is warm and slippery with sweat on Mark's hand and his. He throws his head back, dazed by the heat. There are dark spots on the ceiling looking back at him. In his periphery, Mark licks his lips.
Dustin holds the can out to Mark, keeping his voice even. “What about the white boards, then?”
Mark doesn’t take it, nor does he answer. His faraway gaze holds nothing beyond the window in his old room. The windowpane is pushed up, without symbols or numbers. Dustin sets down the Mountain Dew and waits.
Sure enough, Mark pushes him down swiftly and mumbles in his ear.
“Leave them be.”