Rating:

General

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

The Social Network

Relationship:

Eduardo/Mark

Tags:

None

Stats:

Posted on:

2016-02-25

Words:

488

The record lies – the book lies – the movie lies. Eduardo walking out of the Facebook offices with the shattered pieces of laptop at Mark’s feet isn’t the last time Mark sees him, before the lawsuit starts. It would be a cinematic masterpiece if it were, the denouement scene, the end.

But after Sean’s drug bust – after Mark is tired and sore limbs and aching eyes and for the first time in a long time, does not want to go home and code, but sleep for a long time –

He steps onto his front porch, precarious and tired. He doesn’t notice until he opens the door, and the lights are on.

Eduardo is sitting in the living room, staring into space.

Mark freezes on the spot. His name – Wardo – threatens to fall from his lips – but Mark has an inkling of a feeling he’s not allowed to call him that anymore. He isn’t sure what to say.

“I thought you would’ve gotten on the first flight out of California by now,” he blurts.

It’s near midnight – the shadows under Eduardo’s eyes are daunting. His gaze flickers to Mark, almost like he’s surprised to see him here, even though – even though this is Mark’s house. Eduardo has a key and Mark doesn’t know what he’d ever expected Eduardo to do with it, after today. Throw it away, maybe.

“I haven’t been – ” Eduardo’s voice is steady. He meets Mark’s gaze, once. Then he stands up, quick.

“Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound it; the word comes off more as a sharp formality. The way he eyes Mark is like he’s trying to scare Mark into looking away, so Mark does. “This is your house. I’ll go.”

Mark nods. “Yeah,” he says, because he doesn’t blame him – he’s not surprised – Eduardo shouldn’t be here. They both know this, after the months and months Eduardo wasn’t here before, and now neither of them expect him to be here now. Eduardo never wanted this, never wanted him the way Mark did.

Eduardo heads toward the door. His briefcase is slung over one shoulder, his suitcase clutched in the other hand and trailing after him. The sound the wheels make against the hardwood is the only sound in the house.

He stops next to Mark. “Bye Mark,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

Mark’s skin itches. He nods.

Then – a movement so sudden and in a flurry like a punch – Eduardo leans forward. His lips meet the corner of Mark’s, foreign and brief, something Mark’s never tasted before.

Eduardo steps out of the house and slams the door shut behind him.

Mark’s fingers unconsciously drift up to his face. He can barely feel where Eduardo’s lips had ghosted over his. His head is buzzing something with he can’t place, lingering more than desire and regret.

He does not sleep well for years.