This 5+1 fic was not supposed to be this long but... it is. So, uh. Yeah. LADIES. Also, like, every aspect of this fic is self-indulgent. There is not a single word in this that is not self-indulgent. Including the first 3k words, which is just porn (the other 23k of this is not porn, in case you want to know.)

Thank you to Cathy for watching me write this and cheering me on :3 AND thank you as always to Christie for being my trusty cheerleader :D

I'm not even going to pretend that this isn't a birthday present to myself. It is.

Now with a playlist/artwork!

Art by Cathy

[ four ]

Eduardo wakes up draped around Mark, not quite spooning, and, according to Mark if she were awake, not quite cuddling either. Eduardo’s legs are tangled in the sheets mostly, but her feet are sticking out and cold. She tucks them back in, twisting between Mark’s ankles. Mark doesn’t stir. A smile Eduardo won’t remember slips onto her face, before she rests her forehead to Mark’s (who is donning a soft open mouthed snore) and falls back asleep.

The next time she wakes up is to the familiar sound of clacking. It’s been familiar for years (and unfamiliar for some), and she smiles again, this time one she might remember later when she’s back on her futon in Singapore and trying to think of things to make her adjust to the jetlag and fall asleep.

She bats her arm to the obvious source of the noise and makes a sound.

“Mark,” she complains.

“Here.”

A mug of coffee appears before Eduardo’s face. She blinks before accepting it; peering over her blankets and she can see that Mark hasn’t removed her eyes from her computer screen. She is typing one handed though, and Eduardo’s long learned to celebrate small victories.

“Thanks,” she murmurs before taking a sip. Then she sits up and pecks Mark’s cheek. “Did you wake up without me?”

“I always wake up without you.” Mark keeps her eyes on her computer, though when Eduardo fondly tucks a curl behind Mark’s ear, she leans into it.

“Mm,” says Eduardo, pecking Mark’s cheek again. And then her ear, and then her chin, and then her neck.

Mark squirms. “Wardo,” she whines, though Eduardo doesn’t stop, kisses around her collarbone because Mark’s typing is slowing down and it’s not like Eduardo wouldn’t notice. She kisses around her clavicle until she’s practically sitting in Mark’s lap, her computer lopsided behind her on the bed, far out of Mark’s reach like they’re not even pretending anymore. Mark is pouting.

“I was doing work,” she says.

“It’s the weekend,” Eduardo points out.

“You do work on the weekend.”

“Not today,” says Eduardo.

Mark raises her eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a line?”

Eduardo kisses the corner of Mark’s mouth. “Is it working?” she teases.

Mark kisses back with no less enthusiasm than her, tangling a hand in Eduardo’s long unruly hair, trickling the other down her spine. Eduardo makes a delighted noise in her mouth, tucking her own hands under Mark’s loose hoodie. Mark tastes like milk and sugar and toothpaste, and soon kissing Eduardo hard enough that both of them jump when Mark’s laptop suddenly falls to the carpeted floor. They both look down.

“The hard drive looks safe,” Mark says pragmatically.

Eduardo laughs and nuzzles her nose against Mark’s cheek. Mark whines, leaning in to bridge the gap between their mouths again. She slides both of her hands under Eduardo’s shirt, first around her back before cupping her bare breasts beneath her loose sleep shirt. Whining in Mark’s mouth, Eduardo pushes them forward so Mark is lying flat on her back with Eduardo hovering over her, Mark’s thumbs still fingering over her nipples.

“When are you going to move in?” Mark asks quietly, despite the promising call of sex.

Eduardo kisses her earlobe. “Soon, Mark, be patient,” she says. “This is still newish.”

“Five months newish,” Mark grumbles, but her hands come around to grip Eduardo’s hips, sliding back and touching Eduardo’s ass. “Do you actually enjoy flying eighteen hours once every few weeks?”

“As long as I get to see you.” Eduardo’s lips work down the column of Mark’s throat, undeterred as Mark’s knobby fingers squeeze her ass when she nips at the more sensitive skin. “Do you want to shut up and fuck, or what?”

“So demanding,” she hears Mark say, and there’s a smile audible in there. Eduardo grins into the curve of her girlfriend’s neck.

Their mouths meet again, Mark still gripping the back of Eduardo’s tiny shorts as Eduardo’s fingers go to the edge of Mark’s boybriefs. She tucks her thumb under the cloth, dragging it down slowly as their tongues tangle hotter, hips rocking slowly against the other. Eduardo runs a hand down the front of Mark’s chest, against a hard nipple, making Mark gasp and bite and plead. “Wardo,” she gets out, when Eduardo’s knuckles brush against her crotch through her underwear, just where her skin starts to get sensitive.

Relenting, Eduardo tears her mouth away from Mark’s, moving down, kissing her belly button, then the top of her thigh. Eduardo had wondered about Mark’s thighs ever since college, mostly after she’d learned that Mark used to be the captain of the fencing team at her old high school. Mark’s thighs are pale and thick and firm, pinking when Eduardo bites at the inside. Mark goes, “Fuck, goddammit,” her legs twitching on either side of Eduardo. Eduardo kisses around her bite mark, tracing at the edge of Mark’s underwear again.

“If this works out, I’ll come back to the US eventually,” she murmurs against Mark’s skin. “I promise.”

Mark is busy looking loopy-eyed above her. “What?”

“I said, I’ll come back for you.” Eduardo kisses the top of her thigh, where it meets her hip. “I promise.”

“That’s great, but can you eat me out now?” Mark babbles.

That’s far too tempting for Eduardo to say no to. She kisses Mark’s thigh again and whispers, “Okay,” before finally, finally tugging her underwear down, to see where Mark is red and wet.

Eduardo has done this before, particularly in the first few weeks when everything was still new and Mark had stayed over for nearly an entire month in Singapore—but Eduardo never gets tired of this, her, Mark. She runs a gentle finger over where Mark is dark and dripping, sifting through her soft hair. “God, Mark, look how wet you are,” she croons. “You want me that badly?”

A stifled moan escapes from Mark, before she glares down at Eduardo. But it’s half-hearted at best and, unconcerned, Eduardo thumbs over Mark’s clit. Mark’s knee jerks up, almost hitting Eduardo in the face. Eduardo just touches her barely, watching as Mark struggles to suppress her moans and writhes.

“What do you want, Mark?” Eduardo whispers. She bites at Mark’s knee propped up next to her. “How much do you want me?”

“F-Fuck, Wardo,” Mark bites out, as Eduardo’s finger just teases at her entrance, stroking in small circles. “Please.”

“Hmm?” Eduardo watches Mark’s face, color high in her cheeks. Mark bites at the back of her own hand.

“Wardo, I-I want—” Eduardo’s finger slips in another millimeter and Mark works hard at grinding her hips down to get more, and Eduardo holds her back. “Need you,” Mark gasps out.

And. Fuck. “Yeah, okay,” says Eduardo, giving in, before dipping her head forward and wrapping her lips around Mark.

It doesn’t take long to urge the first orgasm out of Mark, Eduardo lapping at her with her tongue, sucking and kissing her clit while her one finger moves steadily, brushing over her g-spot once in a while. Eduardo is dripping down her own thighs, but getting Mark to come is so good that she hardly cares. As Mark winds down, shoulders relaxing, Eduardo continues licking her up, buried in her taste.

Mark taps Eduardo’s shoulder. “Wardo,” she says.

Eduardo doesn’t answer. She crooks a finger inside Mark again. Mark sighs, but taps Eduardo once more.

“Wanna make you come again,” Eduardo mumbles against her.

“That sounds good,” says Mark, “but I want to make you come, too.”

Eduardo proposes, “In the shower,” nose brushing through Mark’s light curls and a little south.

“Shower,” Mark repeats. She gasps again when Eduardo brings her finger out, licks up two and slides them into her again.

“Shower,” Eduardo agrees, and that’s the end of that conversation.

She starts with slow, evenly paced thrusts, watching as Mark slowly unravels above her, not quite yet falling apart. Her blunt nails drag across Mark’s g-spot, and she’s so beautiful. Eduardo kisses at Mark’s red and throbbing clit. Mark’s thighs are trembling around Eduardo’s hand—she’s not quite there yet, but Eduardo knows neither of them want her to be.

Eduardo slides up and kisses Mark on the mouth again. Mark keens desperately; when Eduardo rises up just a bit, Mark goes with her, searching for more. “Fuck, fuck,” she’s whispering against Eduardo. Her eyes are so glassy and dilated and hot that Eduardo can’t help but pick up the pace. Her fingers glide into Mark, breathing ragged and rough as she drives into Mark deeper. She can feel Mark’s g-spot with nearly every push and Mark has gone still, eyes closed, lost and tight and wet around Eduardo’s fingers.

Eduardo doesn’t realize she’s muttering, “Come on, come on, Mark,” urging her over the edge as her fingers grow cramped and soaked. Her other hand, pressed across Mark’s waist, tightens when Mark flails, chanting, “Fuckfuckfuck,” and Eduardo swipes a tongue over the inside of Mark’s thigh. Eduardo pulls away and mumbles, “Come on come on come on,” and Mark cries out, tangling her fingers into Eduardo’s hair and pushing against her as she shakes around Eduardo’s fingers, coming undone and undone and undone.

Breathless, Eduardo slips her sore fingers out. A whine escapes Mark’s lips, and Eduardo can see her clench at the loss—it’s ridiculously hot and Eduardo can’t really feel anything south from her hips, so turned on. After a moment, Mark smiles up at her lazily, which really does not help.

“Happy now?” she asks Eduardo.

Eduardo perches up to kiss her. “Not nearly enough,” she says.

Mark hums against her cheek. “I remember you saying something about a shower?”

Shower sex sounds tiring now—on the other hand, it has the promise of naked Mark and at least one orgasm for Eduardo.

“Yup,” she says, rolling off and landing on her feet.

Mark takes her hand, letting Eduardo drag her off the bed and into the bathroom. Eduardo begins to take off her clothes, but once Mark’s naked (as she only had to throw off her shirt—poorly aimed into the sink) she kisses Eduardo, even though Eduardo’s only barely gotten her shirt off.

“C’mon,” says Mark, wrestling with the bottom of Eduardo’s thin t-shirt. “I have to match you on that incredible orgasm now.”

Eduardo laughs. “Oh? I didn’t realize this was a competition.”

“It’s not, I’m just trying to get you naked faster.” Mark bites at Eduardo’s shoulder through the cotton.

Eduardo shivers and smiles. “Alright, alright, you win,” she says, throwing her shirt into the sink with Mark’s.

They step in, Eduardo checking the water to make sure it’s warm before pulling the nozzle. Mark leans in, kissing her lightly when Eduardo turns back around, even though the water is pattering on both of their faces. Eduardo laughs against her cheek.

“Let’s do actual washing first,” she tells Mark.

“Actual washing is overrated.” The pads of Mark’s fingers skate down Eduardo’s sides.

“We can’t have shower sex without an actual shower first.”

“You know there aren’t any rules to shower sex,” says Mark, but she takes the loofah anyway and pours a hefty amount of soap on it.

They scrub each other down first, before sifting shampoo through each other’s hair. Mark has this sensitive spot behind her ear which makes her honest to god giggle when Eduardo scrubs there. Eduardo snickers, and Mark accuses, “You did that on purpose.”

Eduardo rubs her thumb over Mark’s skin again. Another giggle escapes from Mark’s mouth. She tosses some foam at Eduardo’s cheek in retaliation.

Once they’re all washed up, the warm water is coming down thinner, though it hardly matters when Mark presses into Eduardo’s space to kiss her again. Her hands are on Eduardo’s breasts, thumbs caressing her nipples.

Eduardo lets out a small moan into Mark’s mouth. “Hey,” she says.

Mark pulls away, smiling at her. She squeezes Eduardo’s tits. “Hey,” she says back.

Eduardo pretends to glare, but Mark just kisses down Eduardo’s neck, still massaging at Eduardo’s breasts. Eduardo’s always been aware that she’s not exactly flat chested, and doesn’t really mind it at all, especially when Mark’s holding and squeezing her like this.

(Though it makes it hard for her to shop for blazers—hers are custom-made and tailored.)

Her skin tingles as Mark bites and nips a trail of kisses down to her breasts. Mark squeezes them together, burying her face between them. Eduardo giggles, both at the feeling and—”Mark, are you really doing this right now?”

“Shut up,” Mark mumbles against her left tit. “Let me have this.”

“I’m not complaining,” Eduardo says, voice growing faint when a hand goes between her thighs. Mark’s mouth wraps around one of Eduardo’s nipples. Eduardo gasps, arching her back as the edge of Mark’s teeth scrapes along the nub. A finger dances at the edge of where Eduardo is hot and slick, Mark mouthing at her breasts with purpose. Eduardo groans and groans—”Mark“—and Mark goes to her other breast, giving it the same treatment.

Eduardo’s knees are shaking, swelling under Mark’s mouth. “I don’t think we should do this standing,” she manages to get out.

“Ugh,” says Mark, but lets Eduardo slide to the shower tile anyway, back and head against the wall, ass cold and knees spread for what Mark likes to do best. Mark eyes her for a moment. Eduardo’s tangled hair sticks to her cheek, breasts big and nipples hard.

Eduardo grabs for her, but Mark dives between her thighs immediately.

“Love this,” she says, kissing at Eduardo’s hip.

“Mm,” says Eduardo.

Mark’s hair is stringy and curly, burnt gold and dangling at her shoulders. “Love you,” she says to Eduardo, rubbing her palms under Eduardo’s thighs.

Eduardo’s heart skips. “You too,” she starts, but then Mark puts her mouth on her and Eduardo loses track of everything else.

Mark had first given her head about a week into this relationship (ten months since the apology) (seven years and then some since the sorority party.) Eduardo had come so fast that Mark was smug for days. Eduardo had always thought Mark would be good with her mouth—thought about it more than she’d like to admit—and Mark had dated Erica and probably in those five years between. But it’s still—earth-shattering, the way Mark flicks her tongue like this or kisses inside Eduardo like that. Her fingers spread in a v around Eduardo, and Eduardo grabs Mark’s damp hair for leverage, partly because Eduardo likes it and mostly because she knows Mark really, really likes it.

Mark moans against her, into her, and Eduardo shivers at the vibrations. It’s not like she hasn’t been hot and numb for the past hour or so, so Eduardo comes with a violent shake, yanking at Mark’s hair, moaning brokenly, “Mark.”

Mark licks her all up when she’s done. Hand falling from her hair, Eduardo peeks through her eyelids as Mark licks her clean. Eduardo is stiff and fucked out and damp in weird places, and it’s perfect.

She drags her up when Mark seems satisfied with herself, kissing the corner of her mouth. “This isn’t a line this time, but I’m really hungry,” Eduardo says.

“Ugh.” Mark presses her elbows into Eduardo’s knees to straighten herself up. “Basic human needs.”

“C’mon, I know you ate breakfast already.”

Mark shies away from where Eduardo pokes Mark’s belly. “Ugh,” she says again, smiling.

They get up; in Mark’s room, Eduardo steals some of her clothes from the closet, though Mark doesn’t protest. The t-shirt is a little tight around the shoulders and shorts longer than Eduardo’s conventionally feminine ones. Still, the only inconvenient thing about it is when Eduardo asks if Mark wants to join her downstairs and Mark says, “Unless you want me to jump you in the kitchen, I’m going to stay here.” And Eduardo likes sex with Mark a lot; but she is really, really hungry.

In the foyer is still Eduardo’s suitcase. She’d just gotten into town yesterday and Mark had pried her inside and up, mumbling something about sleeping better with Eduardo around. Mark had worked late last night—well, she works late almost every other night—so Eduardo had arrived at her house on her own, tired from the red-eye but happy to see Mark yank her in and hug her, even smell her. (Eduardo had teased Mark about that.)

Eduardo places a hand at her hip as she waits for her toast to cook. She munches on it, finding an apple in the fridge and Mark’s half-empty glass of water probably from earlier this morning. Eduardo drinks from it and swallows down her toast, as easily as she does in her own apartment.

When she finishes her apple, she looks around. Mark’s home had always seemed a little lonely, though Eduardo had thought she was projecting at first. But she can see a home in it, too—herself in it—filling the spaces where Mark’s counters are empty and mantelpiece barren. It’s terrifying.

Eduardo thinks of Mark asking her to move here again, and hopes in the long run she won’t regret any of this. Mark.

Back upstairs, Mark is on her laptop. Predictably. Eduardo climbs over her and onto the bed.

Mark squirms. “Wardo—I’m in the middle of a—”

“Please don’t tell me you actually wired in the moment I left.” It’s meant to come out teasing, but Eduardo regrets it the moment the words leave her mouth.

Mark peeks up at her from beneath her eyelashes. “You know I’m perfectly capable of multitasking,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Eduardo, grunting as she lands on the other side, “but you know your emotive quality when you multitask is the same as a wall’s.”

Mark is silent for a moment. Eduardo sits upright, hoping she hadn’t said anything wrong.

After a second, Mark places her arm around Eduardo’s shoulder, touching Eduardo’s cheek. She pushes Eduardo’s head down onto her own shoulder.

Eduardo laughs from the awkward angle. “What are you doing?”

Mark huffs. “Inviting you to cuddle,” she says.

Eduardo pulls away to grin at her. “You call that an invitation?”

Mark’s cheeks turn pink. “Do you want to cuddle or not?” she asks, glancing away.

Eduardo rolls her eyes. “Invitation accepted,” she declares, and stands up on the bed. Mark yelps as Eduardo climbs behind her this time, making her away toward the headboard. She kicks Mark forward a little.

“Wardo—what the fuck—”

Plopping down behind her, Eduardo answers, “Now we’re cuddling.” It’s not the most comfortable position when she sprawls her legs around Mark’s, Mark’s back pressed against her chest. She wraps her arms around Mark’s middle. Mark squeaks.

“You squeaked,” Eduardo says with awe.

“I did no such thing,” and Mark’s blushing, too. “And this wasn’t my idea of cuddling.”

“You get to code and I get to hold you.” Eduardo nuzzles her nose at the back of Mark’s neck. “We both win, don’t we?”

She hears Mark mumble, “I don’t know if I can focus like this.”

“Go play with your laptop.” Eduardo nods towards Mark’s computer screen before burying her face into Mark’s neck, smelling the shampoo washed on the both of them. She tightens her arms wrapped around Mark’s chest. Eduardo isn’t that much bigger than her so there’s a little bit too much shoulders and elbows; but, as Mark says, “Don’t be condescending,” and Eduardo laughs against her skin, she thinks she could want this forever.

[ plus ]

On their way back from the Kirkland dining hall, Mark hopes that Eduardo won’t want to or will just conveniently forget to go back to her room, and end up studying at Mark’s instead. They don’t even talk much when they study; Eduardo likes to mumble to herself, which is kind of funny when she’s dressed in her pantsuit on Mark’s bed; but otherwise it’s generally uneventful because Mark is working on a problem set most of the time anyway.

Still. Mark doesn’t analyze it, this thought. But she does want Eduardo to come over. So when Eduardo kind of hovers at the fork between Eliot and Kirkland, Mark says, “I have a lot of homework, I’ll be up all night,” and then Eduardo says, “I need to get some reading done anyway.” They head to Kirkland, the way to Eliot as usual less familiar with the rhythm of their footsteps.

By the time they get back to Mark’s suite, Dustin is already in—Chris has a GSA meeting and it’s easier for Mark and Eduardo to go straight from their afternoon classes to dinner together, with or without anyone else. Mark’s not picky. Besides, Dustin seems to be pretty happy destroying monsters on her Xbox.

“Wardo!” she calls. “Wanna play?”

“I’ve got,” Eduardo says, and gestures to her backpack, smiling as she follows Mark into her room.

Mark can see Dustin playing from here, but she fires up her desktop instead. “I’ll probably be up for a while, so don’t worry about staying for too long,” she says without turning around.

“You’re always up for a while,” Eduardo points out. Mark can’t see it, but there’s definitely a smile in her voice.

Mark ignores her and starts on a problem set. Behind her she can hear the rustle of Eduardo’s bag, the thump of a book being heaved out, and the gentle swish of Eduardo making herself comfortable on Mark’s bed. She always sits straight legged and crossed at the ankles, book propped in her lap, maybe like someone had taught her that was the only proper way for women to sit in pantsuits. Mark’s pretty sure it’s the only way to sit in them.

As Eduardo does her reading, Mark works. Despite being able to multitask, Mark loses track of the time quickly and doesn’t notice she’s gone through three problem sets already before she checks the time and realizes it’s past eleven. And also that the steady sound of pages swooshing has stopped; in fact, most of the noises behind her have stopped except for a subtle snuffling.

Mark peeks over her shoulder. Eduardo is curled up on her bed—somehow having moved slowly southward this whole time—and is, yes, asleep around her open textbook. She looks gentle and tense all at once like she usually does, but here her long wavy hair is in ringlets around her shoulders and mouth, and she is drooling a little on Mark’s mattress.

Mark shouldn’t find that cute. She shouldn’t.

Eduardo continues dozing, weirdly innocent. Mark does her best to fight a smile even though the only other person in the room with her is unconscious. The common room has long been dark and both Dustin and Chris have already turned in for the night. Eduardo’s face is lit only by the bright light of Mark’s computer (it says a lot that everyone’s learned to sleep with it on) but even that is enough for Mark to continue staring, a little bit longer.

She’s a late worker, but sometimes she can be pretty practical, so she turns back to her monitor and shuts it off. The hard drive hums softly in the background, but Mark ignores it in favor of pulling Eduardo’s textbook off her bed, grabbing for the blankets at the end, and draping them over Eduardo. Eduardo breathes deeply but doesn’t stir. Mark watches as Eduardo burrows under her blankets like she belongs there. She shakes her head, clearing the thought from her mind. There’s another set of blankets under her bed, which she grabs before dragging herself to the common room couch.

Eduardo wakes up disoriented, mostly because the sunlight is unfamiliar and so is the firmness of her mattress. In fact, she’s pretty sure it’s not her mattress at all.

And this isn’t her blanket. It’s Mark’s.

She jolts up, almost expecting to wake up with Mark lying next to her. When she finds that she is in fact alone on the tiny twin bed, she’s not sure if she’s more relieved or disappointed. Eduardo rifles her fingers through her hair, tangled but not too terribly.

Her pantsuit is a bit wrinkly; and, from having slept in it all night, Eduardo feels stiff, but it’s nothing that going back to her own dorm won’t fix. That, among other things, is why Eduardo is glad Eliot is so close to Kirkland. She brushes herself off before getting out of Mark’s bed (something she tells herself firmly that she won’t think about, among the scent lingering on her from Mark’s sheets.)

When she gets into the common room, she sees Chris standing there, arms crossed, staring at something on the couch. That something happens to be Mark, who is asleep with a blanket wrapped around her, snoring lightly.

Eduardo freezes and puts the pieces together. Chris spots her and raises her eyebrows.

“I see,” she says to Eduardo. “This might be the nicest thing Mark’s ever done.”

“Mark’s probably done nicer things,” says Eduardo, trying (again) not to think too much about it.

Chris shakes her head. “For anyone else, I doubt it,” she says. She gives Mark one last look before heading to the bathroom.

Eduardo heads back to Mark’s room, picking up her things from beside the bed, ignoring the draft that she must imagine coming from the bed. Mark wouldn’t—doesn’t want to spend the night curled up around her. She didn’t.

Eduardo resists the terrible urge to kiss Mark’s forehead before she leaves.

[ one ]

After Erica Albright breaks up with her, Mark hacks into the BU student records and stares resentfully at Erica’s file. She’s a biotech major and has a flawless record, no better or worse grades than Mark gets. (Admittedly Mark can barely hold the perfect SAT score over anyone who cares more about natural sciences or art history. Not like Mark thinks that excelling at either of those are indicative of intelligence.)

Erica’s smart, and can hold her own when a guy hits on her, and has a nice face and nice boobs. It’s why Mark had liked her so much—aside from the boobs, which had been a bonus. And it’s not Mark’s fault she had been so stressed with her OS homework that she’d said something wrong and only realized when it was too late. Though, Mark supposes bitterly, people don’t just break up with people just because one insinuates another’s school is inferior because it doesn’t have final clubs. Mark doesn’t even like the misogynistic nature of the Harvard final clubs, but there really is no denying that it has a far more prestigious history than BU. But there has to be something else.

She doesn’t know what it is. Maybe if she messed with Erica’s student records, she might find out.

She’d been so blind with anger that on her way back to Kirkland, she’d texted Eduardo about it. This slips her mind until hours later, when it’s about two in the morning and Mark is drunk with drowsiness and blue light staring and, okay, the beer she’d dug out at the eight o’clock hour in the hopes that it’d soften the breakup blow (it didn’t)—when Eduardo opens the door to the suite. She’s in her ubiquitous pantsuit. Her eyes go to Mark immediately.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks.

Dustin, from mixing her screwdriver, says, “Mark’s been staring at her computer all night.”

“Shark week’s on!” Chris calls cheerfully, in the common room.

Mark lifts her head up. Eduardo’s hair is tied into a plait, perfect as always, and her eyes are warm and concerned as she approaches Mark’s desk.

“You okay?” she says softly.

Mark lifts one shoulder.

Eduardo peers down at Mark’s computer browser, still open on Erica’s profile.

She says, “Wanna go back to my dorm and get drunk?”

Mark studies her desktop screen for a second, before biting her lip and shrugging.

“Okay,” she says.

Eduardo hadn’t been resentful when Mark and Erica had started dating; when all your friends are lesbians, it’s something that tends to get out within the first month, especially if one Saturday night freshman year you all end up drunk and Dustin shouts something about being willing to make out with everyone in the room. (The rest of them did not share the sentiment.)

Besides, Mark and Erica made a cute couple, from what Eduardo had heard. Even if it had lasted for only two weeks. Eduardo’s long figured that Mark is out of her reach, on a completely different level, and Erica must’ve been there too. It’s useless having a crush on Mark, really, but also hard to help when Mark is cute even when she scowls.

Eduardo doesn’t say this as they enter Eliot. Mark hadn’t spoken at all on the way here even though Eduardo is sure she wants to; Mark does a better job tearing down boys than girls. Mark is lightly swaying as they head toward the stairs.

“You’re drunk already,” Eduardo says.

“A few hours ago,” Mark admits. “I’m mostly just sleepy.”

Eduardo chuckles, “That’s a first,” and Mark’s frown is friendlier. Eduardo is glad that she can make Mark feel better, if only just a little.

In her dorm, she grabs two beers from her mini fridge and nudges one into Mark’s hand. Mark sits on Eduardo’s bed, accepting. She looks weirdly naked without her fingers on a computer keyboard, but it’s probably for the best so she doesn’t do anything stupid.

And Eduardo likes this too, though she likes all versions of Mark. At least this one will focus on something that isn’t a computer screen. Eduardo’s barely seen her all week with all the OS homework Mark’s had and was hoping for something more cheerful. Mark sitting on her bed without a laptop in hand is better than nothing, though.

This, she does say out loud.

“I didn’t realize you missed me so much.” Mark’s tone is dry, but Eduardo knows where to find the flattery in it.

“Of course,” says Eduardo, sitting down next to her. She takes a pull of her beer. “Where would I be without your cunning wit and irreplaceable intelligence?”

“Still ranking ugly chess boys, probably.”

“Hey.” Eduardo nudges her, grinning. “You’re saying this to a chess girl.”

Mark looks at her. “I’ve never met an ugly chess girl,” she says.

Eduardo watches as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, after a moment. She doesn’t actually want to hear about how much Mark liked—likes?—Erica, but Mark does like ranting at Eduardo, so it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice.

Mark stares fixedly at her drink. “I thought we were gonna get drunk,” she says.

“Well,” says Eduardo, “I’ve never really tried to comfort you after a bad breakup before, so you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

“It wasn’t that bad of a breakup,” says Mark.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?” says Eduardo.

Mark shrugs. “Are you trying to get me to admit it?”

Her gaze is intent, and close. Eduardo drinks to distract herself. They’re sitting close enough to touch but Eduardo wouldn’t dare—her bed has a lot of room for them. To sit.

She drinks again.

One beer each becomes two, two becomes three, and Eduardo comes back once more with a bottle for each of them in her hands. Mark has her eyes closed, rocking back and forth slightly, dark golden curls over the top of her omnipresent hoodie. She’s not much to look at, admittedly, with all that and her flip flops and khaki shorts—but there’s something, something about her that makes Eduardo’s stomach flip, especially when she’s so calm and drunk like this. Mark is intense and intriguing and draws people in, and Eduardo is so swept away that sometimes she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

But then again, she thinks bitterly, Erica had probably felt like this, too.

Mark opens her eyes. Eduardo thrusts a bottle into her hand and joins her again. Maybe she sits a bit closer.

Accepting, Mark says, “This is good.”

Eduardo watches as Mark clumsily gets her beer open. “What’s good?”

Mark gestures vaguely. “This. You said you wanted to comfort me, and this is—” She gestures again with the hand holding the bottle cap.

Eduardo plucks the bottle opener out of her other hand and pretends she isn’t blushing. “I’m glad to be of service,” she says wryly.

Mark just scoffs at her and takes a long gulp of her beer. And Eduardo doesn’t usually watch the way Mark drinks, but maybe the alcohol is getting to her more quickly than usual because she can’t stop watching the pale hollow of Mark’s throat, sharp underneath her hoodie, the motion of her neck even when Mark finishes. Eduardo has to take several pulls of her own beer, trying to focus more on the fizzing sensation running down her own throat.

To her surprise, when she sets her bottle between her knees again, Mark tips toward her, resting her head on Eduardo’s shoulder. “Did you ever want to be in a final club?” she asks Eduardo.

Eduardo tries to focus on the question, even though Mark never initiates contact. She never touches anyone at all, really. (Eduardo had assumed she and Erica engaged some sort of Mark special form of intimacy.)

“Not really, for obvious reasons,” Eduardo says. “Why?”

“Nothing, I was just…” Mark trails off. Eduardo wishes she could see the look on Mark’s face. “I know I usually say the inappropriate thing on purpose, but sometimes when I don’t, I…”

She’s not making any sense. Eduardo’s stomach tightens, regardless, at the thought of Mark being anything less than sure of herself. “You always have a reason for everything you say,” she assures her. “Do you want me to tell you that everyone makes mistakes?”

Mark snorts and rolls her head to look up at her. “I don’t make mistakes,” she says.

Eduardo cuffs her lightly upside the head.

They’re warm already from all the drinking and body heat (Eduardo doesn’t want to be optimistic and call it cuddling), so it’s fine for Eduardo to imagine that this is normal as she drinks and Mark’s head lies on her shoulder, quiet and unmoving. Eduardo thinks she’s fallen asleep for a moment, until Mark buries her face in Eduardo’s shoulder and mumbles something incoherent.

Eduardo nudges her. “Did you really expect me to understand that?” she teases.

Mark lifts her head up, glowering. Eduardo knows not to take it personally.

“No, I didn’t,” Mark says.

“Well, I know you just said something,” Eduardo says. “You might as well say it again.”

She doesn’t know what she expects, but it certainly isn’t –

“I said that sometimes I think about kissing you.”

Mark’s cheeks are bright red. It definitely isn’t from the alcohol.

“I hadn’t meant to say it then,” she says. “Or now.” Her tone turns sort of thoughtful.

Everything is warm already, from the beer and Mark and now—this. Eduardo’s tongue feels stuck to her throat as Mark’s words catch up to her—replay in her head, like a wonderfully broken record.

Mark seems to take her silence as something else. “We can pretend I didn’t say any of that,” she adds after a moment, and lets herself fall against Eduardo again. Like she’s refusing eye contact; like that might stop Eduardo from properly reacting.

“Hey, hey,” Eduardo says gently, lifting Mark’s face back up. She’s warm here, too, and bright, and won’t meet her eyes. “Mark, hey, look at me,” she says.

Mark breathes against Eduardo’s wrist before her eyes flutter back up. And fuck, her gaze is so blue and bright and hazy, so so close to Eduardo’s own. This is the last thing Eduardo remembers before she’s closing her own eyes, holding Mark’s chin and pressing her lips to hers.

Mark’s mouth is soft and hot, slightly damp. Eduardo for some reason is surprised; she makes a soft sound into Mark’s open mouth. Somewhere in her head it registers that Mark is kissing her back, though it doesn’t feel important—it’s already so natural, so easy. Eduardo’s thumb slides up from Mark’s chin to stroke along Mark’s bottom lip. Mark, in turn, lets out a gentle sound Eduardo didn’t know she was capable of making, drawing the tip of Eduardo’s thumb between her lips before nudging it out of the way, aligning their mouths back together.

They move slowly, rhythmically. Mark tastes like beer and warm mouth and Eduardo wants to get lost in her forever. Her thumb goes along Mark’s flushed cheeks, and Eduardo tries not to kiss Mark too much or too little all at once. Then Mark’s tongue licks hotly at the roof of Eduardo’s mouth and everything feels like it’s on fire and Eduardo dives, dives back in.

They gain momentum, Mark’s hands going to Eduardo’s shoulders, rolling around the edges as she sits up straighter. She drags her tongue back, teasing against Eduardo’s lip, and Eduardo leans in hungrily, chasing after her. She brings Mark back in in increments, wanting Mark all over her, to be all over Mark. She barely notices the small breaks in between, barely remembers to catch her breath.

Mark pants against her, prying them apart again. “This isn’t rebound,” she breathes.

“I—” Eduardo’s head is dizzy. “What?”

“I’m not—” Her words are slurring. “This isn’t because of—my breakup,” Mark stumbles out. She’s not completely coherent, but she sounds determined anyway, like this is the most important thing in the world. “I just—I didn’t think—”

And Eduardo doesn’t want to think anymore either, with the way Mark is looking and not looking at her, wet and pink and kissable. So Eduardo sweeps forward and kisses Mark again and they topple down onto her bed, lost in their hands and hair and hoodie strings, beer bottles left forgotten on the floor. They kiss and kiss until their lips are tired and their hands are lazy and the weight of so much—what’s happened and what will come and right now—grows heavy all around them. Eduardo falls asleep practically in Mark’s arms, her taste still lingering on her tongue. Her dreams are filled with sleepy, sloppy make outs.

And when she wakes up, Mark is blinking at her under the lights they’d left on yesterday. Her mouth is red, bruised. Eduardo has never wanted her more.

She pretends that she doesn’t remember anything after her second beer last night.

Mark pretends it doesn’t hurt.

[ two ]

Facebook gets more attention than any goddamn final club, which is the breaking point in Mark’s decision not to come back to school next year. In addition to the immense amount of work it takes, even with Dustin, to make sure that the code can take the massive amount of traffic and users it gets—there’s also the concern of the servers and patching up bugs and make it better than it already is. Mark doesn’t think about it when she tells her parents, rents out the house in Palo Alto, and emails Sean Parker.

Eduardo is less enthusiastic. Mark thinks it’s kind of lame, since she’s supposed to be the CFO, but whatever. Sean Parker—who humiliated the music industry with Napster, who’s a Palo Alto tech mogul—knows what’s up far more than Eduardo does. And she—Sean—is a goddess among the men-dominated hacking field, so Eduardo can calm down with her paranoia or whatever whenever Mark mentions she’s got a new email from Sean and Eduardo rolls her eyes and sighs.

It’s pretty hypocritical of her, actually. Eduardo had gotten an internship at the Lehman Brothers for the summer, which is her excuse for not coming out to Palo Alto with Mark. Mark’s stomach does a nasty twisty thing that she doesn’t analyze too much—Eduardo’s the goddamn CFO and if she doesn’t actually do her goddamn job, Mark won’t be apologetic if Eduardo ends up getting left behind.

(Except, she doesn’t think about that either. That gives her the nasty stomach twist too.)

(And sometimes Mark thinks of the half-drunk kisses that she’s not quite sure really happened, and—)

So the beginning of the summer is boring and productive, with Sean finding them within the first few weeks and then looking after everything else while Mark codes. Every once in a while, Mark expects Eduardo to walk through the door with her bags, announcing that she’ll be spending the next few months here too, kicking Mark’s chair when Mark falls asleep at her desk, sunbathing in her swimsuit by the pool. But the twelve long weeks are Eduardo-less, Mark falls asleep at her desk a total of something-hundred times, and even though the pool gets used by the rest of them, Mark’s still never seen Eduardo in a bikini.

Not that that’s important to anything.

Finally, after the short emails and clipped phone calls, Eduardo agrees to fly out for at least a day in early August. It’s better than nothing; Mark puts her phone down and resumes coding, getting lost in the lines already.

The next time she wakes up, it’s to a loud banging. Mark sniffs and blinks awake. Her room is dark. It had been light before she fell asleep, she’s pretty sure. She remembers fuzzily deciding to trudge to bed, though she doesn’t know how long ago that was.

The banging is still going on somewhere outside.

“Someone get that,” Mark calls. Her voice is raspy and weak and she’s not sure it carries. She waits. The din stops eventually.

She gets up from her desk, stretching in her Philips Exeter shirt and pajama pants. She flicks on the light, seeing her mattress and, in a half-asleep daze, imagining Eduardo curled up in it. The mattress isn’t perfect—it’s literally just a mattress and a sheet—but it’s Mark’s bed, which is what matters.

Yawning, she trudges out, thinking about getting something to drink. She slows at the sound of shouting in the living room; one of the voices is Sean’s.

“—you’re just on your way to bagging Snookie’s Cookies, I can feel it.”

“Stop it,” Eduardo snaps, as Mark cracks open the door.

Mark blinks at her. Eduardo is soaking wet for some reason. Her long hair sticks to her cheek and neck, and her already black pantsuit looks even blacker.

“Wardo,” Mark says happily.

Eduardo swivels around. “Mark,” she says. “You were supposed to pick me up at the airport.”

Oh. Mark cocks her head. “What time is it?”

“Midnight, or three am in New York, where I just flew in from.” Eduardo scrubs at her face.

Sean, from leaning against the wall, rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Eduardo barks out.

Mark wants to echo Sean’s sentiment, but she’ll probably get a similar response from Eduardo. Instead she says, “Wardo, you’ve gotta see what we’re working on—the Wall—we’re just calling it ‘the Wall’—Dustin, bring it up—”

“Dude,” Dustin says from her desk, pointing in Eduardo’s direction. “Probably not the time.”

“What? It’s—”

Dustin jerks her head.

Mark swivels back around, to see Eduardo seething, teeth gritted. The way she is taking in the house—everything—is visible in her dark, glittering, furious gaze.

“What exactly have you been doing?” she demands.

Mark squints at her. “You’ve had a long flight,” she says, after a moment.

“No,” says Eduardo, “I had a long wait on the Tarmac at JFK, then a long wait at the passenger loading and unloading zone at SFO, and in between that was my long flight!” Her voice gets louder with every word. The Stanford girls getting high on the couch stop playing their video game.

“I’m the business end of this company,” Eduardo’s shouting, “and she,” thrusting a finger in Sean’s direction, “is a houseguest living rent-free on a generous grant from the Eduardo Saverin foundation!”

Sean looks put-upon. “Wardo—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Wardo,” Sean says again, ignoring her. “Give Mark a break, c’mon. She’s just had a 36-hour coding tear, she needed to nap, she probably still needs her sugar—you know how she is without her sugar—”

“Wanna talk to me alone for a minute?” Eduardo interrupts, staring straight at Mark.

Her gaze is dark. A chill runs up Mark’s spine. She straightens up and follows Eduardo into the hallway, as Eduardo clenches her jaw, rubbing her knuckles together. Mark doesn’t know if that means she’s upset or annoyed. She shuts the hallway door behind them.

Eduardo is facing the other end of the hall, rubbing her temples. Mark asks Eduardo’s back, “How’s the internship? How’s New York?”

When she doesn’t look at her or answer, Mark adds, “How’s Christy?”

Eduardo spins around. “How’s the internship?” she repeats. “Mark, Jesus, I—I quit on my first day. I told you that.”

Mark nods slowly. “I do remember you saying that.”

Eduardo walks to the other end, still rubbing at her face. Her long hair is stringy and her skin is a pretty golden under the dim light, rather than Mark’s which tends to look gross and sallow.

“So,” she repeats. “How’s Christy?”

Eduardo reaches the end of the hall. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says into her hands.

Mark tilts her head. “Why not?”

“I just said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mark starts toward her. “Wardo—”

“We broke up, okay!” Eduardo’s hands drop from her face. Her expression is wrecked suddenly; Mark wonders if she’s been crying. Eduardo doesn’t cry at anything, except sometimes at big weird storms.

Mark frowns. “Was it a—Did she break up with you?”

Eduardo’s eyebrows twitch. “No,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate further.

“Well then, that’s—I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to talk about it, then,” says Mark.

Eduardo explodes. “You’re fucking using the money I gave you to let Sean Parker buy weed for underage girls,” she shouts, “and you want to talk about my dating life?”

“Well what do you want to talk about, then?” Mark demands. “At least Sean’s the one setting up meetings—”

“She’s setting up meetings?”

“—and Wardo, look, the connections, the energy, it’s all here—”

“Without me knowing anything about it?”

“You’re in New York!” Mark shouts.

“I’m in New York riding the subway fourteen hours a day,” Eduardo says desperately, “setting up meetings with advertisers—”

“Which I didn’t ask you to do,” Mark shoots back.

Eduardo scoffs. “And I didn’t ask you to come out to California, so I guess we’re even.”

“They’re not even close to being the same, and you know it,” says Mark. “Do you really think I want my CFO on the other side of the country, meeting with guys who wouldn’t take a businesswoman seriously?”

Hurt pulls over Eduardo’s face. “Hey—”

“I want you out here—”

“And it’s not always about what you want! Mark—” Eduardo rubs at her eyes. “You know the Winklevosses are sending me those fucking lawsuit letters too—?”

“And Sean says we’ll handle them, calm down—”

“I’m not exactly up to fighting twin sisters shaped like buildings,” Eduardo snaps. “And their—Narendra—”

“It’s a joke, no one will take them seriously, whatever.” Mark frowns at her. “Wardo, seriously, you’re just—I need you here, I don’t want you to get left behind.”

In the yellow light, Eduardo’s eyes narrow. “‘Left behind,'” she repeats. “What does that mean?”

Mark shrugs half-heartedly. “I don’t know,” she says, even though she does; their meeting with Peter Thiel is supposed to be tomorrow—Mark is hoping Eduardo will stay long enough to attend—”I just—Eduardo, you’re supposed to be a part of this company—”

“I haven’t forgotten, thanks—”

“Well you’re acting like you have!” Mark spits out. “Sean’s here—the interns are here—even Dustin’s here. And what have you done?”

Eduardo stares at her for a long moment. Mark tilts her chin up defiantly.

Then, like a bowstring sagging, Eduardo slumps, scrubbing at her face again. “Whatever,” she says. “Where can I sleep for the night?”

Mark’s stomach jumps, despite—she’s more awake now, and her bedroom’s right there. It feels a little bit like she should tell Eduardo to sleep on the couch, but it’s not like they’re actually sleeping together (in any sense of the phrase) so she swallows that down.

“I have a—we don’t have a lot of mattresses, but my bedroom’s right there—” Mark points.

Without looking at her, Eduardo says, “Great.” She shoves the door open, throwing her bag to the ground, taking her suit jacket off and scrunching her nose at the ruined fabric in disgust. Her white shirt underneath is see-through and damp. Mark’s mouth goes dry.

Eduardo glances at her. “Can you get me a towel?” she asks, like they didn’t just spend the past several minutes yelling at each other.

Mark does, getting one from the bathroom and tossing it at Eduardo. Eduardo catches it and dries herself off. “Fuck, this is going to be,” she’s muttering to herself, yanking her pants down.

Mark quickly exits the room.

Back in the living room, Sean’s on the phone again while the Stanford girls returned to the Xbox. Mark tries to overlook Sean’s weird mingling with college girls—Mark’s around their age too, after all—because even though Mark knows Sean sleeps with girls as well, that doesn’t mean—well, she’s Sean Parker, so it’s not like it matters.

Dustin is typing steadily at her own desk, slowing when Mark comes up to her.

“You and Wardo alright?” she asks worriedly, chewing at a strand of her red hair.

Mark shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says; she’s not lying, she tells herself. “Let’s see the Wall again.”

“Mark.” Dustin pokes Mark’s shoulder. “Despite your aversion to feelings, I know you have them.”

Mark scowls at her. “What are you talking about?”

Dustin pokes her shoulder again.

Mark jabs her back.

“Ow,” Dustin whines, rubbing at her own arm. “Message received, message received. Bringing up the Wall now.”

Mark spots a few broken strings in Dustin’s code, which is denser than Mark’s liking but still functional. If they get the angel investment tomorrow, though, they might not have to worry about the price of server space anymore. Mark thinks bitterly of Eduardo again, the unbidden hurt at Mark’s last question—it’s never about the money for Mark, when Eduardo just won’t come out here.

She and Dustin talk code (and then Star Wars) for a bit before Mark yawns in the middle of a sentence. Dustin chuckles and pushes Mark around. “Go to sleep you workaholic,” she says. “I know you barely slept before Wardo came.”

“Ugh,” says Mark. “You’re turning into Chris.”

“She keeps us sane,” Dustin points out; it isn’t untrue.

Rubbing her eyes, Mark makes her way back to her bedroom. She belatedly forgets that she’d invited Eduardo to sleep in it with her until she opens up the door, to see Eduardo sprawled on her full-sized mattress, out cold. She’s in her underwear and her white button-up still, hand under her shirt. Mark peers through and sees that Eduardo’s bra is still on. She’d probably meant to take it off.

It wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in a bra. (Mark wears sports bras usually, and only when she socially has to.) Mark chews on her bottom lip before deciding, hesitantly kneeling down beside Eduardo’s unconscious figure. Her fingers trace up the back of Eduardo’s shirt—Mark shivers—careful not to touch much skin as to not wake her up, though her warmth is tempting. Mark finds the back clasp of Eduardo’s bra and, with both hands, undoes it, falling loose at her sides. Mark’s eyes drift across her face, to her hair wrangled across her face, her tense eyebrows, her full lips puffing out in small breaths.

Mark gets into bed with her, shutting out the light and feeling a bit weird with a sleeping Eduardo in the dark. It’s strange to curl around her (the way Eduardo’s lying is taking up two-thirds of the bed) after their fight just now, after the past ten months or so, after Erica had broken up with her. It’s like something has been wedging them apart and Mark doesn’t know what it is; Eduardo says she doesn’t remember that night, so Mark doesn’t know what she’d have to be distant about. And then Eduardo accepted her offer to be Facebook’s CFO and Mark had thought things would be normal again, but now it’s—Mark doesn’t know.

She’s careful not to touch Eduardo too much, only light brushes that can look like an accident if either of them wakes up. Eduardo breathes softly next to her and Mark imagines being wrapped around her, falling asleep to the imaginary sensation.

She doesn’t wake up when Eduardo kisses her on the forehead in the morning, heads to the bank, and then flies back out to New York.

[ three ]

“Is she coming today?” Mark asks.

Her assistant, without looking up, shakes her head. “Good morning Mark,” she says instead.

Mark huffs and goes into her office. It’s glass so people can see when she’s glaring at them, though usually she’s glaring for other reasons, or just to intimidate them. Most of the interns aren’t fazed by her scowls; but it’s fun sometimes to watch the boys at the very least scurry around.

Today, though, she’s scowling for an entirely different reason. This happens about four times a year; at first the shareholder’s meetings were something she didn’t consider very much. Years have passed since the depositions, and it’s not like Mark had expected someone she screwed out of her company and then had sued her for it to come to the quarterly shareholder’s meetings. You don’t miss much by not coming, anyway. They always send out transcripts and files and novelty pens after.

But it’s been years. At this point, Mark grumps to herself, she could’ve come to at least one. Enough time has passed that their schedules don’t intersect anymore, and even though Eduardo’s in Singapore, whenever shareholder meeting season rolls around Mark—hopes.

Not today. The meeting is dull, and Mark texts Dustin the whole time, who’s at the other end of the table, though only for this. Dustin left ages ago for her own startup, and Mark is proud that she had gotten her into programming, even though Dustin will never give her credit for it. Mark misses occasionally when Facebook was just a dumb project in a college dorm, with Dustin shouting out stats every few minutes, Chris whining about schools that hate doing stories about Harvard, Eduardo observing and rambling from the common room couch.

Mark doesn’t need a new CFO again, but she just sometimes wants –

“Mark!” Dustin greets her afterward, a flurry of red hair. “You coming to lunch today?”

“No.” Mark always declines Dustin’s offers to lunch; meals with Dustin can go into the two hour area with how much she talks. It was more amusing before Mark was tired all the time from being a CEO.

Dustin pouts. “Aw, but we’re getting seafood today!”

Mark waves her off, going back to her office. There’s a sandwich on her desk there, anyway, which is probably from Mark’s assistant. She nibbles at it. Tuna.

She turns her desktop monitor on.

Losing herself in code has gotten easier over the years—Mark doesn’t have anything else to get distracted by anymore. Especially alone in her office, where her biggest interruption is feeling like her assistant is glaring at her through the door for typing and sitting in one position for too long. These days Mark doesn’t have to mumble things to let anyone know she’s paying attention. It’s better at first, especially during the depositions, but—later—after—she began twitching at the excessive silence, alone time. So she started to pretend that someone’s talking to her somewhere in the background, and she hasn’t stopped ever since.

She types, working on an AI program, which is her project for the moment. There’s actually some media coverage on it, but Mark just thinks it’s cool and needs something to do. Plus, there’s not a lot of AIs made by women, so she figures she could contribute to that, too. Sean’s been helping her work out the more problematic issues in her code—Sean does most of her own business these days overseas, and though they haven’t been as close since the drug bust those years ago, they still email sometimes. Mark thinks it’s ironic how she and Eduardo, and she and Sean, fell apart around the same time—but at least she and Sean still talk.

The code comes along steadily through her fingers that Mark doesn’t notice two people walk into the offices outside at first. It’s when she feels like her assistant is staring fixedly at her—seriously, how does she do that?—Mark lifts her head up, feeling like something is different or wrong.

Leaning against a desk is Dustin, which is normal—she comes back to the offices sometimes on meeting days, even though she claims to not miss it. She’s talking (flirting) with an employee—and next to her, smiling—is –

Mark’s breath catches. Eduardo’s standing there in a modest black skirt and tucked in white button up, long black socks snaking up to her knee. Her hair is in a ponytail and one of her arms is across her chest as she listens to whoever’s sitting at the desk talk. Dustin seems a lot more into the conversation than she is.

A thousand questions are running through Mark’s head.

But most of all is the sharp tug of want at the sight of Eduardo—she looks so good. She rarely wore skirts at Harvard and she’s put on some weight and California suits her, painfully so. Or Singapore, Mark remembers, where Eduardo actually lives.

Before she knows it, Mark’s gotten out of her desk chair and striding across the bullpen, wishing she could close the gap faster without running. She has a brief flash to what it must’ve been like for Eduardo all those years ago—to see her across the office and storm over and smash her laptop with tears almost in her eyes, ponytail waving dangerously –

“Hi,” Mark says, and realizes she’s breathless.

Dustin peeks up and then quickly ducks her head down, to the nervous-looking employee.

Eduardo says, “Hi.”

“What—” Mark swallows. “What are you doing here?”

Eduardo glances at Dustin, before looking at Mark levelly. “I was in town.”

If you were in town, you’d have come to the shareholder’s meeting, Mark thinks. She’s a bit distracted by the way Eduardo’s loose ponytail rings around her neck, a strand sticking to her jaw. Mark wants to wipe it away.

She doesn’t. She says, “You’re never in town.”

Eduardo shrugs. “Sure I am. Dustin and I get lunch a lot.”

Mark turns on Dustin, who suddenly says, “Here, let me show you my old office!” and scurries away with Mark’s employee in tow.

A track of all the times Dustin’s asked Mark to lunch plays in her head. She opens her mouth, closes it, then—

“You could’ve said hi.”

“I could’ve said hi?” Eduardo says, raising her eyebrows.

Mark nods.

“Every time I came to California,” Eduardo continues, “I could just swing by the company you kicked me out of and say hi to you?”

Mark shrugs. “You won,” she says. “Both figuratively and in court.”

Eduardo’s cheeks darken then. “Fuck you, Mark. I come here for my friends, not for you.”

Something sinks low in Mark’s stomach. Her chest hurts suddenly.

She swallows again, shrugs again. “Fair enough,” she says. She waits for Eduardo to speak, trying not to care.

Eduardo watches her, the color fading from her own cheeks. Mark stuffs her hands in her hoodie, biting her bottom lip, tangling her fingers together. Of course Eduardo wouldn’t—they don’t owe anything each other now, with Eduardo over a billion dollars richer and Mark having lifetimes’ worth of $19,000. There’s nothing left to say.

“Well,” says Mark. She turns on her heel, heading back to her office. She ignores the heat on her back that doesn’t feel like her assistant’s. She ignores the gnawing sensation in her chest, in her throat. She ignores the stinging behind her eyes.

Eduardo doesn’t particularly like coming to Palo Alto. She rarely does, in fact, which shouldn’t be a surprise anyway since she’s relocated to Singapore. She gets emails on the regular steadily avoiding the topic, for which she’s glad.

Her email also gets the shareholders’ meetings messages, which she declines to every time. She’s not rude enough to answer with radio silence. (Plus someone would probably mention it and then she might get PI’d to “look after her wellbeing” or something.) She finds no reason to go when they get post-shareholder packages, anyway. Eduardo’s not missing much.

It all comes to a head when one shareholder’s email is conveniently followed by another one, from dmosc@asana.com. you should come by and hang out for lunchhhh w me sometime soon :D, and Eduardo does usually answer to Dustin’s calls for lunch. The first time had been shortly after the depositions when Dustin had apologized to her for not speaking to her in so long—she’d been afraid, during those two years, that Mark might note it as some sort of betrayal. After that it had become pseudo regular, since Eduardo had gotten—still gets along with Dustin and Chris as much as she had with Mark. Obviously it’s not the same, and if Eduardo were honest with herself she’d admit to being pretty bitter about it, but—they’re old college friends, Mark was the only one who did anything wrong, and Chris and Eduardo had graduated together (Chris had apologized late in that school year.) So it’s all water under one bridge, at least.

Eduardo once again declines the shareholders RSVP, but emails Dustin back with, Sounds good. When do you want to meet up?

Dustin replies a little later with the date window of the shareholders meeting. Eduardo’s stomach lurches, though she insists to herself it’s nothing.

So she has her assistant book her a ticket to SFO, and spends the week fretting and pretending she’s not fretting. She’s been having the slight suspicion that Dustin’s been inviting someone else behind her back, but that someone says no every time; Eduardo can tell by the vague disappointment that lingers on Dustin’s face whenever they hang out. She decides not to mention it as well. And the part of her that actually feels as disappointed as Dustin seems—well, Eduardo ignores that too.

Except today, Dustin’s face lights up toward the end of their lunch. “Hey,” she says, taking Eduardo’s credit card off the bill to replace it with her own. Eduardo tsks and tries to put hers back. “I have a friend I want to introduce to you, wanna meet her?”

“Dustin,” Eduardo tries. “Let me pay.”

“No, man, c’mon!” Dustin fights her with her card, then says, “My friend works for Facebook, so—”

“It wouldn’t happen to be—”

“It’s not who you think it is!” Dustin rushes. “I’m just saying, she’s at work right now, we can meet her and you can let me pay for lunch.”

“Or we can not meet her,” says Eduardo, trying to nudge Dustin aside again, “and I can pay for lunch.”

“Wardo,” Dustin whines. “I promise, I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just want you to meet a friend—she’s good with math, you’ll like her.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Dustin,” says Eduardo, “I don’t like everyone who happens to be good at math.”

“Just let me swing by the offices and say hi?”

Huffing, Eduardo leans back in her chair. “Fine,” she says, crossing her arms. “As long as I pay for lunch.”

“We’re both billionaires, it’s not like it matters,” Dustin says pointedly.

So after lunch, Eduardo lets Dustin drive her to the Facebook offices. It’s a different building than the one where—the one that Eduardo had seen last. She knows Facebook has moved around a lot, but now it has its own drive—Hacker Way, no doubt an executive decision—and a few low level buildings, a cafeteria, and one high-rise one. There’s a sunny grassy area in the middle that gives the whole thing a very friendly environment. Eduardo knows how not to get misled.

Dustin leads them into the larger building, chipper and chattering along the whole time. They get to one of the higher up floors, Eduardo glancing around the bullpen. She spots a large glass windowed office on the other side of the level but chooses not to say anything.

In her head, though, she’s totally glaring at Dustin.

Dustin introduces her to her previously mentioned friend, who’s nice enough—she does in fact focus with algorithms on the site, and Eduardo is appropriately impressed. She listens politely as Dustin and her friend talk, trying to ignore the heat she insists she imagines.

Of course, then Mark has to notice her through her stupid glass window offices—has to come up to Eduardo and actually say something. Appropriateness was never Mark’s forte; Eduardo shouldn’t be surprised.

“Fuck you, Mark,” she ends up saying. “I come here for my friends, not for you,”

Mark’s face visibly falls, but there’s—something else. She doesn’t bite back, just withdraws.

“Fair enough,” Mark says. Eduardo expects more to come, but Mark just shoves her hands in her pockets and rocks on her heels. Something like guilt passes over Mark’s face—it’s been long enough that Eduardo’s not entirely sure, but it’s something she’s rarely seen before.

Mark mumbles something before stomping back to her office, shoulders hunched. “Huh,” Eduardo mutters to herself.

She manages to find Dustin and, after saying goodbye to her friend, they head back out to Dustin’s car. “So,” Dustin says on their walk back. “How’s the old boss?”

Eduardo scoffs at her. “Don’t even pretend. You dragged me here because you knew Mark would see me.”

“Hey, don’t say I didn’t do anything to help you.”

“That wasn’t helpful at all.”

But later, Eduardo finds that this isn’t entirely true. After she’s back in Singapore and settled, she resumes her usual life of helping tech startups, yoga on the weekends, works on her spreadsheets, and, when she has the time, charting the weather. The weather usually helps Eduardo focus and clear her head, though during the depositions it had done the opposite; that was when she’d taken up yoga. She’s happy with her life now, especially since her father had forgiven her for the Facebook fiasco (which she’s glad for; her mother’s less upset now that she’s visiting Miami again.) He likes shit-talking Mark with Eduardo too, and Eduardo lets him, even if her mother does glare when it’s gone on for too long.

Actually, Eduardo’s pretty sure her mother has picked up on how she felt about Mark during school, but neither of them mentions so much around her father.

Things go by regularly for a few months. Eduardo goes out with friends and coworkers to nightclubs, works with app designers, gets sent recipes from her mother. It’s all very normal until she gets an email.

It’s not a shareholders meeting email, far too early for that.

The notification says From Mark Zuckerberg.

Eduardo has half a mind to trash it, unread. Her father would say she should. Her mother would say that she should do the opposite of what her father tells her.

She opens it up.

I’m glad I saw you the other day. You looked good.

Eduardo can’t even remember what she’d worn the day they’d spoken; but she can remember Mark, in her formless hoodie and khaki shorts, ever-present and the same as always. The tiredness that came with work and age, the slump of her shoulders when she’d walked away from Eduardo. Eduardo thinks of a fire dimming out, but—Mark hadn’t been that before. She’d been the sun, and Eduardo and everyone else orbited around her.

And trust Mark to refer to some day several weeks ago as “the other day.” Eduardo snorts to herself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s hittingReply.

Which day are you referring to? You might have to specify.

The next one comes a minute after hers.

You know what I’m talking about. It’s not like we’ve seen each other a lot lately.

I was thinking about deleting that, but it’s true and it’s late so I’m not.

A pang thumps in Eduardo’s chest terribly, despite everything. It’s been a long time, which she was okay with before—now, with these three emails, she sort of hates it.

She chews on her fingernails.

Late? Shouldn’t it be morning for you?

That depends on your perception of time.

And it shouldn’t be much of a surprise when the sudden want to just drop everything and fly back to California hits Eduardo—to the timezone, to talk to a turned away chair, to Mark. She bites her lip and bites her lip again.

Go to sleep, Mark, she sends, before shutting her laptop firmly.

She doesn’t let herself check her email for the rest of the night.

She’s well enough to let the dust settle. It’s hard for her to be nostalgic when it’s so much easier to recall everything that had gone wrong—she still remembers the day Mark had fired her, too clearly, when Eduardo had been in all-black pantsuit and her hair was gelled back and tied up and Facebook had one million members. She remembers, enough, the feel of Mark’s laptop in her hands, the not-satisfying-enough smash as it met the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Eduardo had felt far more broken than that, looking into Mark’s eyes and not seeing an apology, but a you had brought this on yourself, and I’m not sorry. She had seen it again during the depositions.

And Eduardo does know she’d made mistakes as CFO. She might not have paid attention enough. But then she remembers her stomach dropping as Mark had dropped her, into a canyon of heartbreak, and—you can’t just throw that away, walk up to that person again and say hi.

So when she sees more emails the next morning, all of Eduardo’s urges want to ignore it. Fuck being the better person; she doesn’t owe Mark anything.

But she opens them up out of curiosity.

There’s two of them, both sent in succession of the other, right after Eduardo had closed her laptop last night. The first one says:

I don’t want to go to sleep.

The second one is just: Eduardo?

Eduardo’s chest clenches again. She tries to ignore it. Her fingers are numbly typing out a reply; she hadn’t even realized she’d hit the Reply button.

Did you go to sleep at a decent time last night?

Mark’s response comes within the minute. Yes, I did. I went to sleep after I realized you’d left, too.

Eduardo closes her email, not having anything to say to that. She resumes her work, typing and glancing back to her email application every once in a while. It’s irritating but she can’t bring herself to close it; her eyes keep drifting to the Mark Zuckerberg in the sender field, Re: re: re: re: re:, the very beginnings of Yes, I did. I… trailing in and out of her eyesight.

After a few hours, she huffs. She opens a new email.

You looked like shit last I saw. Don’t you have an assistant or someone to take care of you?

In Palo Alto it’s past midnight, but Mark’s response comes anyway.

If that’s your way of asking me if I’m in a relationship, no, I’m single.

Eduardo’s cheeks heat up.

Of course I wasn’t asking that.

I was joking. Yes, I have an assistant. No, she doesn’t do anything that isn’t in her job description.

You’d think that would entail taking care of her boss.

I can take care of myself, Eduardo. Thank you.

It’s astounding how Mark’s voice can drip through the computer screen, clear as a memory in Eduardo’s ears. She tries terribly not to care about I’m single—that’s something she can figure out through a Facebook page.

Mark sends another email about an hour later.

I’m still awake, you know.

And Eduardo can read it for what it is—an invitation at another conversation. And if Eduardo’s being honest, she’s sorely tempted; conversations with Mark had always been fun, and stupid non-arguments like this still are.

But she remembers what it had been like falling into that canyon again, so she marks the message as read and sends their whole email history to the trash bin.

Another email comes about twenty-four hours later.

I suppose I should have prefaced our conversation with an apology. It was inappropriate. Which you know I usually don’t care about, but I do care about this.

I am sorry, Eduardo. I’m not expecting anything out of this, but I was sorry as soon as you left, and I should have said something. I don’t regret diluting you out and if I had to do it again, for the company, I probably would. But I’m sorry to have hurt you and I do regret losing you.

Dustin and Chris say this is a shitty apology. You always understood me better, but I understand if you feel the same.

– mz

Eduardo’s in an elevator with a protein shake in one hand and her phone in the other, open on her email that’s making her gut twist and turn. She gets out on her office floor, automatic, still staring at the email as she walks to her desk. The email is open on her palm.

She gets to her office, fires up her computer, pulls up the email on her desktop monitor. It’s still there.

Eduardo continues staring.

The thing is, she had imagined this happening for ages. And she’d thought it would be victorious—a relief—something that would feel like the world was falling into place again.

But she hadn’t bet on it happening, and she’s moved on, and now? Now it feels excessive, and too good to be true, except it’s here, and Eduardo doesn’t know what to think. She doesn’t know how to parse that Mark has—had always regretted about everything, when Eduardo has been playing her up as the devil in her head.

Mark made mistakes. She was young. So was Eduardo.

A client comes in and Eduardo has meetings all morning, so she easily shuffles the apology to the back of her mind and focuses on work. She eats lunch while lost in her spreadsheets, and then afterward with more app designers coming in to talk with her about funding.

It isn’t until she has a small window of free time later when she brings up her email again, not closed but minimized in her taskbar. She wants to reply—she knows she’s not obligated to, but she wants to. She opens a new message.

While I know we now live in the era of advanced technology, this feels a little cheap, doesn’t it? Sending an apology in an email?

To her surprise, a response comes within five minutes. It must be disgustingly early in California.

Do you really expect me to fly all the way out to Singapore just to apologize to you in person?

I’m not saying it wouldn’t mean anything.

And then—a couple of days later, when it’s the weekend and Eduardo is heading home from her yoga class, she comes up to her apartment landing to see a small figure hunched in front of her door.

Upon closer inspection, it’s a hooded figure, crouching on the floor, looking nearly asleep. Dark curls matted by her hood, a single backpack in her arms. Eduardo can’t fight the fond smile from creeping onto her face.

“Mark,” she says loudly.

Mark startles, stumbling from the balls of her feet and landing on the floor. “Eduardo,” she says, looking Eduardo up and down. “Where were you?”

“Yoga.” Eduardo gets her keys out, unlocking her apartment door. “So why are you here?”

When she walks in, she sees that Mark is still standing in the doorway, eyes glazed over. Eduardo’s briefly worried she’d fallen asleep on her feet again, but then Mark starts, glancing back up.

“You told me to come out here to say sorry.”

“I—well, okay.” Eduardo blinks. She had sent the email, and she had meant it, but she didn’t expect Mark to—right after she had sent the message. “Well can you give me a bit?” she asks Mark. “I have to shower, and change, and,” she gestures to her tank top and black yoga pants.

Mark nods. Eduardo goes to the bathroom, trying not to think too much about Mark being here in her apartment. Everything feels like she’s been transported to an alternate reality, or dreaming—she’s planned for tornadoes and hurricanes and storms, but not for Mark to be here with an apology on the tip of her tongue. Eduardo gets hot all over at the thought of Mark so close when she’s naked, which is ridiculous when Eduardo had showered before, in college, while Mark waited in her dorm room. She does not masturbate (though she’s tempted), and instead washes and changes into jeans and a loose short-sleeved button-up.

When she gets back to the living room, though, Mark has passed out on her couch again. Eduardo’s insides clench; Mark likely hadn’t slept much on the plane. Exhaustion hangs heavy under her eyes. Eduardo lays her horizontal on the couch and gets a blanket to cover her with. Mark makes a snuffling noise, but doesn’t stir.

What Eduardo thought might’ve been anticipation thrumming through her body fades, into something quieter, gentler. As she heads back to her kitchen, she thinks of Mark, of long red-eye flights, of front doors and rain and countries. A lingering bitterness remains—but here, now, she’s at peace with it.

Because she knows the apology will be coming soon. And Eduardo, taking tuna out of her freezer, making enough food for two, has already forgiven.

“So you and Wardo are on good terms again?”

“I don’t know,” says Mark, pushing her way out of the building.

“Well you’re not on bad terms,” Dustin says cheerfully. “If you were, you’d be grumpier.”

Mark ignores her, making her way to Dustin’s car. They’re supposed to hang out this evening because they still have video game nights like it’s college again. Chris is in town; she is once every few months, though mostly for work.

“Come on, Mark,” Dustin whines. She pokes Mark. She’s always poked Mark so much that it was her fault they have the stupid Poke feature on Facebook in the first place. “I wanna hear about your feelings.”

“You don’t usually want to hear anything that isn’t the sound of your own voice.”

“Point.” Dustin jabs a finger in her direction. Mark backs away by instinct. “But you don’t hate each other anymore.”

“I never hated Eduardo,” says Mark, climbing into the passenger seat.

“And did she ever hate you?”

Mark sits without answering.

“My point is,” Dustin says, going to the driver’s side of the car. She flings the door open and settles in. “It’s not like another world war would start if you two were in the same room together, is it?”

“What are you talking about? You knew I flew all the way out to Singapore to apologize,” Mark says, frowning. Then, “Wait, what?”

“Party for four!” is all the explanation Dustin provides before starting the engine.

At Dustin’s house, where these video game nights occur, the sofas are already occupied. “Hi,” says Chris, cheerful as always. Her pixie cut blonde hair might be even shorter, haloing over her freckles.

Eduardo waves from the couch.

Mark’s stomach does a dangerous swooping thing. Eduardo is in business casual—Mark recalls her mentioning in an email about a San Francisco meeting coming up soon—and her cheeks are rosy, eyes bright. She looks just as good as she had when Mark had gone to her apartment and she had come back from yoga class…

Mark swallows, and then swallows again.

“Mark just had a long day at work,” says Dustin, slapping Mark on the back, “so you’ll have to forgive her incompetence.”

“Shut up Dustin,” Mark mutters, going to set her backpack at Dustin’s kitchen table.

Following her, Dustin shouts, “Hey, I eat there!”

“Hardly.”

“Your sofa looks dirtier than your kitchen table,” Chris provides.

Eduardo snickers.

Dustin points at them. “Screw,” she says, “you all. I’m going to go order pizza and share it with none of you.”

“No meat,” Mark tells her.

“Get pineapples,” says Chris.

“You’re both disgusting,” says Dustin, before sprinting somewhere upstairs, tapping at her cellphone.

Mark goes to the living room, feeling out of place. Eduardo is typing on a Blackberry, smiling hesitantly when Mark comes in. Mark tries to return it. Maybe it comes out as a grimace.

“So,” says Chris. She’d gone and left Facebook to work for Obama in 2007; where everyone else had voted Mark to be the most likely to take over the world back in college, Mark had voted Chris. “You look shocked. Did Dustin not tell you we were coming?”

“She left out some details,” says Mark, sneaking a glance at Eduardo.

Eduardo smiles at her. “Which I don’t get, since she knows we’ve been talking.”

“Knowing Dustin, it was probably supposed to be a surprise,” says Chris. She adds to Mark, “I also heard you flew out to Singapore?”

Mark blushes. “It’s not much to mention.”

“I didn’t take you for a sap, Mark Zuckerberg.”

“It was really romantic,” Eduardo says seriously. “She swept me off my feet and serenaded me in public.”

Mark interjects, “I would never do that.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Alright, you two,” says Chris, rolling her eyes. “I’m just glad to know all is well in the world again.”

Mark’s heart leaps, and she smiles at Eduardo, who blinks, returning to her phone. Mark thinks maybe she’s going to return to whatever she’d been typing before, but instead Eduardo puts her phone to sleep.

Upstairs they hear a scrabbling, and then footsteps jumping down the stairs, revealing an eager looking Dustin. “This calls for a celebration!” she’s shouting, thrusting up a baggie clutched in her hand. She bounds into the living room. “Who’s ready to get lit?”

Mark snorts, slipping off the sofa to turn on Dustin’s PS3. Eduardo says, “Never say that again,” and Chris flat out ignores her.

“No one? Anyone?”

“You’re hopeless,” Chris says, snatching the weed from Dustin. “I’m gonna roll the joint.”

“Thank you, Chris,” Dustin sing-songs.

An hour or so later, the pizza has arrived, the beer has been opened, and they are all well on their way to high (Mark and Dustin have a better tolerance than Chris and Eduardo). On top of that, Eduardo is kicking all of their asses at Castle Crashers.

“I literally hate you,” says Dustin as her avatar dies on the battlefield. “Literal. Hate.”

“I appreciate it,” Eduardo slurs.

Mark’s avatar was the first to die; she watches as Eduardo smirks and wrestles with her controller, beating the shit out of Chris’s character. Her face is bright in the bluish light.

Chris whines from somewhere behind them.

Eduardo sets down her controller. “The princess,” she declares, “is mine! Give me the blunt.”

“Okay.” Mark hands her the joint from where she’d been holding it between her fingers. Eduardo sucks, all grey and hazy-eyed.

They’ve reached the point of the night where Mark doesn’t care if she gets caught staring.

She nabs another slice of pizza, chewing on the bread and cheese slowly. The yellow kitchen light swims into the dark living room. Chris is texting—she’s engaged to her girlfriend, they all know, and Chris is only supposed to be here for the weekend which is the only reason her Sean hadn’t come out with her. Mark is inclined to give Chris a pass on the texting; they’ve all moved on with their lives, without each other—but Dustin teases Chris about it every time anyway.

The blunt reaches Dustin, who goes, “Yo, Mark, hey.” Mark crawls over to her a little clumsily.

“What’s going on?” Eduardo asks curiously behind them.

“Mark and I get high a lot when you two are off being Silicon Valley haters.” Dustin waves at Chris and Eduardo respectively. Chris flips her off. “This just makes it easier on my stash.”

“What?” says Eduardo, as Mark kneels over Dustin’s legs.

Mark leans forward, all up in Dustin’s space. Dustin’s slippery red hair is sticking to her neck, and she shakes it back, opening her mouth in time with Mark’s. The smoke billows from between her teeth to slip between Mark’s lips.

Mark pulls back, holding and swallowing. She eases back delightfully light-headed.

“What the fuck,” says Eduardo.

Dustin grins. “And that’s how you do it!” she says, handing the blunt off to Chris who takes it without looking up.

Eduardo glances at Mark. Mark shrugs. “She gets bored a lot,” she explains. “And she likes to rant about legalization.”

“Listen,” says Dustin, “medicinal legalization here is only a victory we can hardly celebrate, I have some friends in Colorado who…”

“And she’s off,” Mark says to Eduardo.

Eduardo smiles thinly. “We should play Mario Kart,” she suddenly suggests.

Friendship with Eduardo had been easier back in school, but there’s only so much emails can remedy. In some ways, the email Eduardo had asked for her to come out to Singapore (and that she now insists that had been teasing) is right; it’s not like Mark wants to have a long distance relationship. Or friendship, which is a type of relationship, she tells Sean when Sean makes a comment about the statistics of long distance relationships working out. But as much as Mark’s heart skips whenever she sees a new email from Eduardo, there’s no denying that there’s justmore in person. More that Mark wants.

So several weeks later when Dustin invites Mark to lunch, Mark asks her directly, “Is Eduardo going to be there?”

“Look who’s become a real girl,” says Dustin, ducking at Mark’s whack. “Yes, she is.”

“Give me a few minutes,” says Mark. She finishes the line of code she’s working on before shutting off her computer monitor.

“That’s got to be the fastest I’ve ever seen you get off your computer,” says Dustin. “I’m impressed.”

“Where are we going for lunch?” Mark asks, instead.

Eduardo’s already there at the Thai restaurant, lighting up as they come in. Mark wants to think it’s because she’s here, but doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Hi,” she says, to Dustin and Mark. “This is new.”

Mark shrugs, sitting across from her. “You like new,” she says.

Eduardo’s mouth quirks. “So do you.”

“May I remind you all who set up this amazing lunch date?” says Dustin, and both Mark and Eduardo glance at each other and roll their eyes.

Eduardo seems comfortable enough as they discuss Thai and decide what to order. When the waitress comes by to take their orders, she says something to Eduardo in a language Mark doesn’t recognize. Eduardo laughs with familiarity and says a few words back.

Mark and Dustin stare at her as the waitress leaves.

“We were talking earlier,” Eduardo explains. “And I’d picked up some of the language in Singapore.”

And that’s kind of hot—at the same time, though, Mark’s chest burns inexplicably. Had Eduardo and the waitress been flirting? What if the waitress comes by again and she and Eduardo have their jokes that Mark can’t understand? And that Dustin can’t understand either, but that’s not as important.

“I’m learning Mandarin now,” Mark says to Eduardo quickly.

“Oh! I know some words too,” says Eduardo. “Not a lot, though.”

“I know some Spanish,” Dustin interjects.

“We could speak in Mandarin,” says Mark. “So Dustin can’t understand anything.”

Eduardo grins. “I’m not sure if the Singaporean dialect is very similar, but we can try.”

“You both suck,” Dustin says without any heat.

Conversation is light. Eduardo is sitting across from Dustin and Mark, all honey-colored under the orange light. Dustin keeps dialogue going when it feels like there’s nothing else to say, and Mark’s foot accidentally bumps against Eduardo’s at some point—”Sorry,” she mutters. Eduardo just smiles at her in acquiescence.

Despite everything, it’s perfectly easy for the three of them to talk and eat and talk some more. After food arrives and they’ve begun digging in, Eduardo ends up asking Mark, “Do you eat out a lot or have you actually learned how to cook?”

“Mom and Randi sometimes send me premade food,” Mark admits.

Eduardo snickers. “A happy medium,” she says. “I can send you some recipes if you’re interested.”

“Mark’s fridge is practically barren,” Dustin chimes in. “It’s sad. Not even baby carrots. It’s just beer and Red Bull.”

“And last week’s lasagna.”

“Oh, sorry.” A guilty expression passes over Dustin’s face. “I finished that last night.”

Mark sighs. At least Randi likes to visit over the weekend; they have sister dates, which lately has been them pretending other things are going on in their lives before twenty minutes later Randi’s asking and Mark’s talking about Eduardo.

Who, speaking of, is looking between Dustin and Mark, a suspicious expression on her face. “How often do you finish Mark’s leftovers?” she asks Dustin.

“Way too much.” Mark nibbles on a piece of broccoli. “I don’t even know how she gets in.”

Dustin nudges her. “You gave me a key, don’t pretend,” she says.

Eduardo is still watching them funnily. “So you can just walk in and steal Mark’s food?”

“I’m not a burglar, Wardo, don’t be silly,” says Dustin, ignoring Mark’s coughs of “yeah, right.” “There’s not that much to—well, you’ve never been there, right. Oh! We should have our next video game night there—!”

“No,” Mark says firmly.

“Why? Your house is practically empty anyway.”

“Precisely,” Mark mutters. It’s sadly true and she doesn’t exactly want Eduardo to see; she hadn’t even had a dining table for the first few years until her newly hired COO “strongly advised” her to get one. She uses her living room, office, bedroom, and bathroom enough. Everything else is pathetically bare.

Eduardo asks, “Don’t you bring people home?”

“If you’re insinuating what I think you’re insinuating,” Mark says dryly, “barely. Or, I usually go to theirs. It’s never anything—” She shrugs.

“Don’t you date?”

“Have you met me?” says Mark. Then: “Well, once or twice. But nothing—” She shrugs. It hadn’t worked out, obviously, and later Mark had told herself she’d expected as much, anyway.

Eduardo draws her elbows back, some unreadable expression on her face. She changes the subject to dessert and Dustin latches onto it right away. Mark tries not to read between the lines.

And it’s weird how easy it is, but—it is. They aren’t the same friends they are anymore, but Mark supposes that’s because she’s a billionaire CEO and Eduardo is in Singapore and they live separate lives now. There’s no meeting after classes or getting meals at Kirkland dining hall. And Mark doesn’t miss that life—Eduardo’s emails are less something to look forward to and more regular, and eventually they begin Skyping, when Mark is in her home office at night and Eduardo is getting ready in the morning. Sometimes Eduardo is only in her bra so Mark has to open some other app to cover the Skype window until Eduardo’s put a top on. (Mark doesn’t complain, or really let Eduardo know.)

She feels like she’s waiting for something, but doesn’t bring it up. Eduardo seems to visit Palo Alto more often, too, turning up by the Facebook offices—Mark’s memory now having more images of this instead of broken laptops—and meals with Dustin and whoever else happens to be tagging along. Once it’s Sean Parker, which had worried Mark at first; but Sean had avoided Eduardo’s eyes the whole time, especially when Eduardo caught the gist and asked Sean directly if she could pass the salt shaker.

“You don’t eat your fries with salt,” Mark says to her.

“Yeah, but it’s fun to see Sean all jumpy,” Eduardo says, grinning. Sean is talking to Dustin mostly. “I think she’s scared of me.”

Mark elbows her then. Eduardo’s smile goes soft, and Mark says, “You’re not scary.”

“Well I’m not trying to be, when I’m with you,” Eduardo says. “Hey Sean, here’s the salt shaker back.”

Sean takes it, not meeting Eduardo’s eyes still. When Eduardo fixes her gaze on the side of Sean’s face, Sean mumbles, “Thanks.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Mark murmurs to her.

Eduardo’s the one who elbows her this time.

They’re all out—she, Eduardo, Sean, and Dustin—to go to a nightclub. Sean and Dustin find each other tolerable enough that Mark has gone out with them together a number of times. Eduardo had just been in town—again—and Dustin had insisted on showing her around, so they all head out to the street after dinner.

The night is cool, enjoyably late autumn. They’re in the city, so it’s easy enough to find a club; Sean likes the ones with all the strippers, and they manage to find an LGBT one through the GPS on Dustin’s phone. Mark is not super enthusiastic, but Eduardo says, “I didn’t know you guys came out like this a lot.”

“Only if Mark’s in the mood.” Dustin pokes her. “She’s a funner drunk when she’s not at home.”

“I resent that,” says Mark.

Dustin sticks her tongue out.

“Mostly,” Sean announces, to no one in particular, “I need to get laid.”

Dustin echoes a similar sentiment, but Eduardo leans in to mutter to Mark, “Isn’t Stanford’s campus the other way?” She has a smirk on her face but Mark sends her a withering look.

Eduardo catches it. Her expression turns abashed. “Sorry,” she says. “She’s your friend, I know, but you know how I’m—”

“—still jealous?” Mark finishes.

Eduardo nudges her, but it’s teasing because she’s grinning now. “I never said I was jealous in the first place,” she says, and the subject drops.

The club is noisy and neon and bright. While Sean and Dustin go off to dance, Mark orders a milkshake and sits at the counter. It’s one they’ve been to before, though there are only so many clubs where the boys are more interested in each other than her. Mark likes this club because of that, and also because they put cherries on top of their milkshakes.

Eduardo follows her with a frown on her face. When Mark finishes ordering, Eduardo asks, “Aren’t you going to join them?”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t dance,” she says. “Obviously.”

“Then how do you—you know—”

“Go home with people?” Mark finishes, raising her eyebrows at Eduardo. “It’s not that hard at the bar—not everyone likes to dance, Wardo.” She nods down the bar, where conversations between women (and men and men) are already happening. “See?”

“Alright, I get it,” says Eduardo, waving her off and snorting. The strobe lights bounce off the walls, flashing around them. “Of course when you come out you just sit and wait for people to come for you.”

She sounds more fond than anything, so Mark knows not to take her too seriuosly. Her milkshake gets plopped in front of her, and she tips the bartender before plucking one of three cherries off. She sips through the straw as Eduardo orders her own beer.

They sit for a bit, drinking and watching the people around them. Eduardo bounces in her seat every once in a while.

“You can go out to the dance floor if you want,” Mark tells her, amused.

Eduardo shakes her head. “It’s okay, I’d rather be—”

“Yo, Mark!” calls Sean’s voice. They turn to see Sean with a pretty blond girl on her arm.

Sean glances at Eduardo, but speaks to Mark. “Strippers,” she says, nodding toward a curtained off area. “Private room.”

Eduardo’s expression turns sour as Mark slips off the stool. “Do we have to go?”

“She usually orders one for me, too.” Mark shrugs. It’s easier to hook up, and they tend to like Mark. Or Sean’s wallet. Or both.

Eduardo crinkles her nose.

“You don’t have to come,” Mark tells her.

“I’m not going to.” Eduardo seems disgruntled though, as Mark takes her milkshake and joins Sean.

The stripper Sean had ordered for her is pretty and dark, dancing on Mark’s lap and, when Mark has a cherry in her mouth, draws it out by the stem. Mark watches dry-mouthed as she ties it deftly into a knot and presents it to Mark. Sean whistles from the cushion beside her and Mark is, okay, turned on.

But then she thinks of Eduardo waiting outside. And even though the stripper definitely winks at her when they’re done and exiting the room, Mark is pulled more by the thought of Eduardo. She wonders if Eduardo can do that with a cherry stem.

She spots Eduardo by the counter with her arms crossed. Most of Mark’s milkshake is done, though there’s a cherry left. “Hey,” she says, nudging Eduardo with the empty cup.

Eduardo starts. “Hey,” she says, relaxing. “How was it?” Her eyes flicker behind Mark.

Mark shrugs. “It was okay.”

Eduardo observes her for a moment. “Your mouth is red,” she says.

It might be Mark’s imagination, but Eduardo’s eyes are incredibly black. “I was eating cherries,” she says, gesturing to her cup. She spoons the last one out with her fingers, licking the frosting off as she bites down.

Eduardo turns away when Mark looks at her again. “I think I’m going to go out and dance,” she says. Mark continues sucking at the cherry in her mouth. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Have fun.” Mark waves, before ordering a beer. Eduardo’s bottle is gone, which is a pity because Mark could’ve nabbed some from hers.

She finishes the maraschino cherry, toying with the stem as her beer arrives. No one’s approached her yet—probably because she was with Eduardo before she went with Sean. She wouldn’t mind getting mistaken as a couple with Eduardo, honestly. Eduardo doesn’t anymore, but back in school—before that drunken night—Eduardo was always Mark’s space, would sit so close that their thighs nearly touched. Mark liked it and had wondered why she’d stopped, but it was probably for some Eduardo reason, she’s sure.

Right now, Eduardo is big and carefree and dancing, first with Dustin who’s already dancing with some girl she met, then with herself, with strangers. She’s all limbs and chest and hips; Mark can see how Eduardo draws attention from onlookers, the women. One of them pats her ass and Eduardo laughs, pretending to be scandalized.

Mark nearly swallows the cherry stem in her mouth.

She returns to her drink, staring and gulping it down until it’s empty. Ordering another drink and milkshake, she tries to concentrate on how the club looks reflected in the ceiling above, not the dark dancing figure in the middle of the floor.

Some time passes—she’s not sure how much—before she hears, “Mark,” out of breath and happy.

Mark almost expects Eduardo to be with some other girl, saying that they’re going to head somewhere else and does Mark mind being alone for the rest of the night? But it’s just Eduardo by herself, grinning, dark hair messy and tousled, cheeks flushed.

Mark’s tongue sticks to her throat. “Hey,” she says. She’s chewing on a cherry again. “Having fun?”

“What? Oh.” Eduardo’s gaze darts up from where it had been somewhere near Mark’s chin, to her eyes. “Yeah.”

Mark lifts a shoulder. “Want to call quits for the night?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo says again, chuckling. “It’s—fun—but I’m not—” She ducks her head down, smiling at the ground. “Yeah.”

Mark has to remind herself to breathe; Eduardo’s in nothing special, short sleeved blouse and skirt and thigh-highs. But her eyes are bright with life and her blouse is four buttons undone and her cheeks are dark pink. Mark painfully, painfully wants to kiss her.

(And do more between those thigh highs and skirt, but she tamps that thought down immediately.)

Instead, she just says, “Let’s go bother Dustin, then,” and the two of them roam around to find Dustin and Sean.

On their way back, they take a cab (Dustin had smoked and hooked up with some girl in the bathroom; Sean has hickies all over her neck), Mark in the front seat and the three of them piled in the backseat. Mark’s a little worried about Eduardo and Sean at first, but then Eduardo actually asks Sean a genial question about investing, and Sean, though initially wary, launches into her current project, all hand motions and chattering. Dustin passes out against the window and Eduardo’s smile begins to look forced after a while, but she doesn’t say anything as the driver drops Sean off first.

At Eduardo’s hotel, Mark says, “Hold on,” to the driver before getting out. Eduardo’s hair is still messy and glittery from the club, dark and sparkling and beautiful like the rest of the night.

She says, “Mark?” when Mark comes onto the curb with her.

“Hi,” says Mark. “I’m saying goodbye.”

She fidgets. And then:

“You should, um.” Mark stumbles over her words. “I have a guest room in my house, if next time, you want to—”

“Oh,” says Eduardo.

Her expression is hard to read, but Mark will tell herself it’s a good one. “I—thank you, Mark,” she says. “I’m not sure if—”

“So we don’t have to pay as much for cab rides,” Mark rushes. “And so it’s—easier.”

“Dustin didn’t invite me to stay at her house,” Eduardo points out.

“Probably because it’s a sty.”

“It’s not that bad,” though Eduardo smiles, making Mark’s heart jump. “I’ll think about it,” she says to Mark. “Thank you. And goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Mark says.

She watches Eduardo go into the hotel building. A deep urge to say and do so many things at once fills her throat, but she ignores it and makes her way back into the cab. Dustin is still snoozing against the window, so Mark pays before lugging Dustin out.

Eduardo leaves town; but when she comes back about a month later, she sends Mark an email first. That offer to stay in your house still standing?Mark’s pulse beats erratically as she responds.

And so when Eduardo flies in again, Mark meets her at the airport, fingers knotted in her hoodie pocket as she waits outside the gate. Eduardo looks amazing as always—dark under her eyes but in long yoga pants and a light hoodie that looks comfortable enough. Mark nearly swallows her tongue as she says, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Eduardo smiles. “Can I trust your driving?”

It’s easy to pretend this is normal. “As if you have a choice,” Mark says, and delights in the sound of Eduardo’s laughter behind her.

Having Eduardo in her house turns out to be as natural as everything else, maybe even more so, like they’ve always been meant to share space together. It’s Eduardo’s first time being here so she looks around, clicking her tongue and not so silently judging Mark, which Mark doesn’t mind. Eduardo talks and Eduardo moves, another presence that makes the white walls feel more of life than lonely, even though Mark’s had Dustin here more times before. Eduardo does work at Mark’s kitchen table while Mark goes out for the day, and sometimes Mark comes back to Eduardo napping on the couch or smiling from her phone in a conference call.

And there’s still the tentative silences where Mark’s not sure if they know what they’re doing; but then Eduardo will tease Mark or Mark will point out a non-issue with Eduardo right back and they’re the same again. Mark has a guest room that Eduardo stays in, and Eduardo is so appalled by the state of Mark’s fridge that it doesn’t take her long to make herself at home. She drags Mark grocery shopping once and fills her fridge with actual food like raw vegetables and fruits and stuff. Mark’s mother is pleased the next time she visits.

They fall into a steady pattern after the first two times Eduardo stays over, even though it’s barely five days each. Mark finds herself dreading the day Eduardo has to leave the second time, so when a few weeks later Eduardo says she has a function in Chicago so could she stop by Palo Alto on the way? Mark is all too eager to have her over again.

“You guys are having sleepovers without me,” Dustin whines, when Mark tells her.

“We’re not thirteen, Dustin,” says Mark, finishing the noodles Eduardo had made last time. “And if you really want to, you can sleepover too.”

She doesn’t mean it, but she’s kind of expects it when Dustin crinkles her nose from where she’s playing on Mark’s Xbox. “Ew, and be around that much unresolved sexual tension? No way.”

Mark throws a hard-boiled egg at her head.

This time, Eduardo’s visit overlaps with the full weekend, unlike the previous two times that had taken place during the week. On Saturday, Mark wakes up to see Eduardo in her kitchen, and has no excuse to go to work and cut their conversations short. Eduardo looks at home with her loose hair falling over her cheeks, reading The Economist in a dark top and pastel capris. Mark busies herself with the coffeemaker Eduardo had bought.

“I didn’t know you started drinking coffee,” Eduardo says.

“I don’t,” says Mark. She throws the used grounds out; the pot is nearly empty, anyway.

Eduardo studies her for a moment. “Good morning,” she says. “What do you usually do on weekends?”

Mark shrugs, going toward the pantry. There’s pancake mix which she’s too lazy to cook. She heads for the freezer instead. “Nothing different,” she says. “I’ve been working on an AI lately, so I might work on that here too.”

Eduardo is still watching her. “Wanna watch a movie?” she asks.

“In theaters?”

Eduardo chuckles. “Well if you don’t want to, we can watch something you have,” she says; Mark had brought her unimpressive DVD collection to college, so she knows. “It’s been a while since I had a Star Wars marathon, anyway.”

Mark gnaws on her lip. It sounds oddly… date-y, which Mark wouldn’t be against, if she weren’t so sure that Eduardo probably doesn’t think of her that way. Still, she does have all the Star Wars movies on DVD and it’ll take a while to go through them, giving her an excuse to be in close proximity with Eduardo and not say anything.

“Sure,” she says.

So after breakfast, they go to Mark’s living room, Mark setting up the DVD and TV as Eduardo is fluffing the couch pillows. “You make no sense,” Mark tells her as she returns.

“Your pillows are sad,” Eduardo replies.

They sit next to each other; Mark has never liked too much physical contact, but the space between her and Eduardo feels like too much. She crosses her legs and tries to focus on the movie. Harrison Ford is almost getting killed by an alien. Mark’s knee feels sore all too soon, but she refuses to move it again.

Eduardo shifts, tucking her own legs under her, leaning against the armrest. That seems like a comfortable position enough—though if Mark were to mimic it, it would seem like they’re turning away from each other. Which would be weird. Mark puts both feet on the ground, resting her arms in her lap.

After a while, she begins to get stiff.

Neither of them are particular movie talkers, so they go through the first two movies in relative silence. Before Mark can put in Return of the Jedi, Eduardo says, “I’m hungry.”

“Oh.” Mark checks the time on her phone. “Right. Lunch.”

“Wanna order in?”

“Are you actually suggesting for us to eat something that doesn’t take an hour for you to cook?”

“Shut up.” Eduardo elbows her and laughs. “I’m too hungry to cook and wait.”

So Mark orders local Chinese, and they talk lightly about the movies, and Star Wars getting sold to Disney. The food comes, Eduardo digs in immediately, and Mark puts in the next movie.

It occurs to her twenty minutes in that this might not be a normal thing that adult friends do. Sure, Dustin comes over all the time, but they usually talk business or code or some stupid thing Dustin found on the Internet; if they watch movies, both of them usually have their laptops on their laps and aren’t paying much attention to each other. And Mark rarely has Sean over—they’re always out. But this—it’s like Eduardo is trying to fit back into Mark’s life, into an Eduardo shaped space—but it’s not just going out, or crashing at Mark’s place, or getting high with other people. They’re watching a movie and barely saying much and Mark feels, even more, like she is waiting for something. Anything.

They finish watching the original trilogy. Mark is ready to put in the first of the prequels, but doesn’t particularly want to get up from the couch. The floor is littered with the trash from their takeout, too. She should probably take care of that.

Eduardo shifts. Mark expects for a moment for Eduardo to pick them up, chide them for their messiness, ask Mark to put in the next movie as she throws them out.

Instead, Eduardo sits up again and plops her head on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark freezes. She knows Eduardo knows she doesn’t like touching. Maybe Eduardo just needs someone to cuddle up to? Mark’s never been that person (plus she’s really terrible at comforting people)—but—but it’s Eduardo—so –

“I have something to tell you,” Eduardo says quietly.

Mark can’t breathe. “Yeah?”

“Remember when—you know, that night when Erica Albright broke up with you?”

Of course.

“I lied,” Eduardo says quickly.

Mark blinks. What?

“What?”

Eduardo pulls away and glares, which Mark thinks is pretty unfounded. “I told you that I didn’t—don’t remember that night,” she says. “But I did—do. And I think about it a lot. I just didn’t—”

“Wait,” says Mark.

“Didn’t think that it mattered to you, or that it wouldn’t—I don’t know, I wanted so much that it seemed to good to be—”

“Wardo—”

“I didn’t mean to lie, okay, I just thought that if we could pretend—but I’ve thought about it a lot, ever since, even during the depositions and everything and—”

Mark can’t take it anymore, so she launches herself at Eduardo and kisses her. Their teeth bump and Eduardo makes a small noise; Mark adjusts to kiss her properly.

“Mark,” Eduardo murmurs against her.

Mark has a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, rising on her knees for more, more. Eduardo is receptive, lips moving; but as Mark kisses Eduardo tries to tug her elbow down. “Mark,” she says again.

Mark wants to shove them into the couch, kiss them until they forget how to speak. She’s ready to do just about that, actually, when Eduardo nudges her off gently.

Whining, Mark reaches for her again.

“Mark.” Eduardo’s voice is soft. “What are you—”

“Please.” Mark goes up to her, and Eduardo doesn’t fight this time as Mark peppers kisses at the corner of her lips. “Eduardo,” she whispers against her.

She’s sure that Eduardo shivers in her grasp. “I’m dreaming,” she hears Eduardo say.

Mark shakes her head, nosing Eduardo’s cheek. “You’re not,” she says, kissing her again. Her fingers go behind Eduardo’s neck, stroking the soft skin there. Her thumb runs over Eduardo’s pulse point, and Eduardo keens into her.

Mark presses Eduardo back into the couch, on top of her, kissing her. Eduardo goes with it, enthusiastically kissing back, hands shaking as she grasps Mark’s sides. But it’s all too short and quick when she pushes Mark off once more.

“Mark,” she says, hazy-eyed. “What are we doing?”

Mark bites at Eduardo’s jaw. “I was under the impression that we were making out to the Star Wars soundtrack,” she says, trailing her lips down.

“Mark,” Eduardo gasps. Then: “Mark, wait.”

She sits up, pushing Mark off. She’s gentle, but it pierces Mark’s insides, anyway.

“What?” Mark says.

Eduardo shakes her head. Her lips are bruised and shiny and wet, kissed out. A strand of long hair sticks to her face and she tugs it down.

“I—I want you too, Mark,” she says. “Really, I do,” she adds at the look on Mark’s face. “But I’m not sure I’m—ready for it yet. A relationship. With you,” when Mark opens her mouth.

Mark tries not to feel hurt. “Okay,” she says.

“I just—we’re working on other stuff, and our—friendship,” Eduardo stumbles over the word, “right now, so I think we should—not, do anything more. For now.”

“For now,” Mark repeats.

Eduardo gives her a small smile. “Yet.”

“Yet.” Hope is bubbling in Mark’s chest, even though Eduardo’s just rebuffed her. “Yet.”

Eduardo beams. She tells Mark to put in the next movie then, and Mark does, before joining Eduardo back on the couch. She sits closer and Eduardo pokes her with her big toe, smiling at her as the theme music blasts over Mark’s stereo speakers.

And it’s almost as good as kissing Eduardo again—not quite, but almost—but Mark will take it. Anything, for Eduardo.

Being friends with Mark again is torture.

Okay, it’s actually not all that bad, even though they can only meet up in person once every few weeks. Mark is, predictably, more open online (I miss you, says one of her messages, and when Eduardo brings it up the next time she sees her Mark goes beet red and says nothing) though she’ll send Eduardo brief smiles like she secretly hopes for Eduardo to miss them. They Skype, too, but not extremely often, since Eduardo’s at work or says it’s too late or too early. (Mark has no time that’s off-limits, apparently.) They do better with non-instant messages or short bursts every once in a while where they (Eduardo) happen to be awake and free at the same time.

Eduardo answers the phone while taking a bath once and says as much. Mark’s voice is strained when she says, “Oh, I’ll—uh—call you back.”

“It’s fine,” Eduardo says; she still has several minutes left to soak.

Mark hangs up anyway.

And on top of that—the distance thing—is that now Eduardo begins thinking about the second time they kissed. Over and over again. It was easier to put the first time in the back of her head because they’d been drunk and Mark might’ve regretted it in the morning.

But this time, there was Mark reaching for her, more of her, whining when Eduardo pulled herself away. And there’s a part of Eduardo, too, thatwantsso much—that wants to give in, that is fighting fiercely.

Eduardo knows, though, that it’s too fast. She’s not going to be in a relationship with someone she’s not sure she trusts anymore, and—she knows Mark’s trying, and she’s trying, but they’re not there yet. They’re allowed to wait and Eduardo is allowed to heal at her own pace. And Mark had said okay, respects that.

But God does it fucking suck. One of the rare times they Skyped, Mark’s hoodie was so loosely zipped that Eduardo could see skin underneath and was sure Mark wasn’t wearing anything under, not even a bra—she had to count to ten in her head then. And every so often when they’re in Palo Alto together (and a few times when Mark flies back to Singapore, unprompted) Mark’s gaze flickers down to Eduardo’s lips so often and so obviously, though she mumbles an apology when Eduardo notices. Which is also adorable.

Eduardo is suffering.

When she’s scheduled to come out to Palo Alto again (this time for pre-Hanukkah celebrations—totally justified), she emails Mark. It’s not a big deal—it’s just that she stays with Mark all the time, and while she appreciates the generosity and free living space, it doesn’t exactly alleviate all the times Eduardo wants to just wrap herself around Mark, especially when Mark comes back from work looking sleepy.

I’m staying at a hotel this weekend, Eduardo writes. No need to set up the guest room.

Mark is always online, so it comes as a surprise to her when a reply comes forty minutes later.

Did I do something wrong?

Eduardo responds as quickly as she can.

No, I’d tell you if you did. I just want to spend the weekend at a hotel, if that’s okay.

She scrubs at her cheek. The thought of Mark feeling guilty makes her stomach twist in knots.

Then:

Are you bringing a friend?

Eduardo almost wants to laugh, though the knot gets worse. She shouldn’t be happy at the thinly veiled jealousy—but.

I’m not, Mark, don’t worry. Actually the reason I want to be at a hotel is because I’m not bringing a “friend” and don’t plan on looking for one any time soon.

Sounds good, is Mark’s reply, and Eduardo can read the smugness all over the email. Book one close to me.

And Eduardo, because she’s Eduardo, does.

The pre-Hanukkah Hanukkah celebration is only in tandem with that she was going to visit her family next week anyway—her father still insists she’s too good for Mark, which Eduardo tries hard not to appreciate—and Dustin had reasoned that she should stop by Palo Alto too, even though none of them are particularly religious. Mark hadn’t protested and mentioned she wouldn’t mind seeing Eduardo again. And Eduardo couldn’t say no to that.

Mark meets her at the airport, to Eduardo’s surprise. “I was gonna rent a car,” Eduardo says, amused.

Mark shrugs. “I want to see where your hotel is,” she says, and the nonchalant act would be believable if Eduardo didn’t smile at her and Mark smiled immediately back.

She drives them to Eduardo’s hotel; goes up with her, too, even though Eduardo only has her small suitcase and briefcase. Eduardo pauses when they reach her room.

“Well,” she says. “This is my room.”

“803,” Mark reads from the door. “I can remember that.”

“Even if you don’t, I can text it to you,” Eduardo says. She pulls out her phone. Mark’s buzzes.

Mark pulls it out. “You did text it to me,” she says.

“I keep my promises,” says Eduardo.

She opens the door, shoving her things inside. It’s cozy enough—spacious. Hotel rooms are, usually, and Eduardo kind of feels stupid for forgetting, for needing to remember. She’s only just started staying with Mark for extended periods of time, and Mark’s house has even more room. It shouldn’t make much a difference, returning to a hotel again.

When she turns around, she sees Mark lingering by the doorway, looking lost.

“Okay,” Mark says. “I guess I’ll… go. Back home.”

“Oh,” says Eduardo. “Okay.” She ignores the part of her that is tempted to invite Mark in. “See you soon-ish?”

Mark waves vaguely. “Whenever.”

She leaves. Eduardo looks around her room, aware of the empty spaces, which is ridiculous since Mark is just one person. She takes out her laptop and fusses over work, ending up passed out at the computer desk. She slumps into bed when she wakes up disoriented; sometime later, she’s woken up by her cellphone blaring, answers without looking. Her mother’s voice asks her if she’s stateside yet.

“Mae,” Eduardo mumbles, flicking on the bedside lamp. “I was asleep.”

“I take that as a yes?” says her mother. “Querida, you should call your mother as soon as you land—”

“I would’ve,” Eduardo says dryly. “But I was surprised.”

“Oh? Let me guess, it was that Mark girl.”

Eduardo sighs. “You don’t have to call her that, Mae, I know you like her more than Father does—which isn’t saying much, really—”

“But was it her?”

Eduardo sighs again. “Yes.”

Her mother clicks her tongue, which Eduardo knows means disapproval. Eduardo lies back in her bed, pretending she doesn’t wish Mark was here with her. Afternoon sun washes in through the window, warming the white sheets, but lonely cold tickles Eduardo’s skin anyway.

“You know, Eduardo,” her mother says, “if you were to pursue a relationship, your father—well, I wouldn’t say it would go extremely well at first, considering it’s this Mark girl—”

“Mae,” Eduardo protests.

“I’m just saying,” her mother says defensively. “She broke your heart, statistics say there’s no telling she won’t do it again. You like math, you should know.”

“Thanks.”

“Querida, I just want you to have a good holiday, okay?” Her mother’s tone is gentle. “If you can’t trust your heart, trust your instincts.”

“I’ll trust whatever you say, Mae.”

“That’s more like it.” Her mother laughs. “I’ll tell your father you landed safely. Kisses?”

“Kisses,” Eduardo replies, before hanging up.

The day that follows sucks. Eduardo knows she’s in this hotel room because she wanted to be in a hotel room—but all she can hear is the clacking of her fingers against her laptop keys, and it’s terribly lonely. She can’t help it when her mind drifts to what Mark’s doing right now or if Mark goes on grocery runs on her own or if Dustin and Mark are off being—alone, as they apparently tend to do.

She grits her teeth and types, backspaces and types, backspaces and types again.

It’s a Friday, so she’s beyond relief when Dustin texts her in the late afternoon with, yooo video games at marks tonite HOLLA, and then, bring booze. Eduardo texts back, We’re not in college anymore, you can buy your own booze, and Dustin’s response is, but i’m already hereeeeee and mark and i are lazyyyyyy and ur in ur hotelllll u can get some on the wayyyyyyyy.

Please hit Dustin for me, Eduardo sends.

As she’s putting on her clothes, two texts come simultaneously.

Done.

why did you tell Mark to hit me DDDD:

She doesn’t think too much about Mark and Dustin being alone—there’s nothing she knows, despite supposed frequent shotgunning. Still, she leaves quickly and doesn’t waste her time getting beer, ending up on Mark’s front porch step barely twenty minutes later.

“Hi,” says Mark. She sounds breathless.

“Hey.” Eduardo raises her six-pack. “I brought booze.”

“Dustin was just being dramatic,” Mark says, rolling her eyes and letting Eduardo in. (“I was not! You drink that shit like water, Zuckerberg!”) “But thanks.”

Eduardo smiles and makes her way in. Dustin’s already cheerfully blowing things up on Mark’s game console, waving a hand from the living room. Eduardo badly wants to put her hand at the small of Mark’s back; she scratches her neck instead.

“Do you two have video game nights that often?” she says.

“Not as much as Dustin likes to pretend we do,” Mark says. “I don’t notice when she’s over half the time.”

“I heard that!”

“Which isn’t that often.” Mark shrugs.

Eduardo does believe her, but she can’t help the surge of possessiveness at the sudden realization that while she’s on the other side of the world, Mark is constantly surrounded by other people. Here. But Eduardo can’t up and leave Singapore even if she wants to—with or without Mark in the equation, there’s still work. And even with Mark in the equation, she can’t leave a country and move to a new one for a friend.

Well, hypothetically she can. She spends most of the evening watching Dustin play and Mark tap at her laptop—though Mark’s not as focused as she usually seems to be, since she keeps getting up for drinks or food (they had ordered a pizza) and talking to Eduardo. Eduardo tries hard not to think about kissing Mark (and about Mark kissing her back) so she keeps a steady stream of beer flowing, quickly tipsy and then borderline drunk.

“Dudes,” says Dustin, who might be more sober than the rest of them, “this is a pretty effing great Hanukkah.”

“It’s not Hanukkah yet,” Eduardo points out.

“Who says effing,” Mark mutters.

“I know you love me, Mark,” Dustin calls from across the living room. “Banzai!” Her character on screen—what the fuck is she playing, anyway?—leaps off a cliff and into a ravine.

Despite herself, Eduardo laughs. “Is there a blanket?” she says, looking around. “I’m chilly.”

“You’re always chilly.” Mark finds a fleece blanket for her anyway.

“You would be, too, if you were raised in the subtropics,” says Eduardo. “Thanks.”

“Mark’s warm all the time, though, it’s annoying,” says Dustin. “Tell her to stop wearing socks with sandals, Wardo.”

“Stop wearing socks with sandals,” Eduardo tells Mark.

“How effective,” Mark deadpans. “You’ve cured me.”

Eduardo’s eyes flicker down to her lips, in the blue light of the tv and Mark’s laptop. Mark notices—her own gaze drops—but she glances away and doesn’t say anything.

Eduardo does want to figure out how warm Mark is, but Dustin’s right there. It feels like no time passes, though, when Dustin suddenly stands up and says, “I don’t know about you, dudes, but I’m beat. Call the guest room,” she adds to Eduardo. She snickers to herself and marches out.

Then it’s just Eduardo and Mark and Eduardo may have had too much to drink. “You should’ve called the guest room first,” Mark says softly.

“I’ve stayed there enough,” Eduardo murmurs.

“You can stay there longer,” Mark breathes. “Dustin doesn’t need to live here—”

Her neck is pale and pretty and the tv is off so it’s just Mark’s computer light. It’s just Mark. She’s always had cheekbones that Eduardo wanted to bite and too much skin for Eduardo to think about touching and licking and the living room is so dark so maybe Mark won’t notice if Eduardo leaned down, kissed Mark’s neck.

Mark definitely notices. She gasps and her laptop shifts; she says, “Wardo.”

Eduardo nips at the junction between Mark’s neck and shoulder, soft soft soft. And so warm. She sucks, teeth scraping, moving slowly to Mark’s collarbone. Her fingers skate across Mark’s breasts, grazing over her nipples.

“Wardo—Wardo—”

Mark manages to wriggle from underneath her and pull away. “What are you doing?” she asks. Her eyes are dark.

“Fuck, Mark,” says Eduardo, diving for her again. “I just want—you—”

Her hands slip under Mark’s hoodie, thumbs tracing over her belly button, skating over her ribcage. Dustin had been right; Mark is warm all over. She massages Mark’s stomach, bites at her jaw.

Mark groans, and then her knees shift, blocking Eduardo’s access. Eduardo makes a noise of protest.

“You said you wanted to take it slow,” says Mark.

Eduardo shakes her head. “Fuck taking it slow,” she says. Mark is so beautiful splayed on the couch, laptop somehow still managing on her thighs dangerously. She wants Mark on her lap, wants to kiss her and fuck her and make her fall apart and—

“Eduardo,” Mark says, firmly. “I know you’re—we’re both drunk, but—I don’t want this to be a drunken mistake.” Her eyes are sad. “I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t happen again.”

Despite the blood rushing through her veins, something sinks low in Eduardo’s gut. “I,” she says, mouth dry.

Mark lifts her laptop, puts it on the cushion beside her. She takes Eduardo’s hand and entwines their fingers; she’s warm there, too.

“I do really want to,” Mark says, and her voice is thick. “I’m sure you do too, but you said you needed—time—and I want you to be absolutely sure and sober if you’re ever ready.”

“When I’m ready.”

Mark bumps against her. “When you’re ready,” she says. Then she chuckles a little. “It fucking sucks not having you here, though.”

“It does,” says Eduardo. She rests her head on top of Mark’s. Then: “I’ll stay here next time again.”

“Good,” Mark mumbles.

They fall asleep like that, hands interlocked, Mark drooping on Eduardo’s shoulder, leaning into each other. Later in the night when moonlight is still streaming through the sunroof, Eduardo wakes up sort of stiff and to Mark shuffling closer. Eduardo lays them horizontal and lets Mark collapse on top of her, draping the blanket over the both of them.

In the morning, she’s woken up again to the sound of snickering. Eduardo flits open an eye to see Dustin crouching in front of them, aiming her phone at them.

“This is amazing,” Dustin’s cackling.

“Dustin,” Eduardo whines.

Mark grunts unhappily on Eduardo’s chest.

“Mark is never going to live this down,” Dustin’s whispering to herself.

“I’m not going to let you live out of this house,” Mark mutters without opening her eyes.

Dustin ignores her, fleeing and still giggling to herself. Eduardo looks down to see Mark peer at her through the slits of her eyes.

“I’m still tired,” Eduardo murmurs. “And hungover.”

Mark sends her a sleepy smile that makes her chest flip. “Me too.”

They fall back asleep like that.

And it could be just that easy, if anything with Mark were that easy. Eduardo goes back to her hotel and then to Miami, where her mother gives her knowing looks while her father asks about her social life and what he thinks of her and Mark’s friendship again. He’s good-natured through it all, but when he says, “You can’t trust a lot of people, Eduardo—so you have to figure out who you can trust,” Eduardo doesn’t know if Mark can fall into that category yet. Time has passed, but even when she is around Mark (and sober) there’s an itch in the back of her mind ready to throw up a defense as soon as she needs it.

That doesn’t quite feel like trust.

After her holiday, Singapore welcomes her back with its regular humid winters. Eduardo goes on, buying presents for her friends who celebrate Christmas, working at her kitchen table on the weekends and when everyone else has off, knees tucked under her skirt. Emails from Mark and Dustin and Chris (and Sean, once) come as normally as they always do. New Years Dustin invites them all (not including Sean) to video chat, but Mark had apparently been roped into hanging out with her sisters for the whole day and night, so it’s just the three of them. Eduardo pretends not to be that disappointed.

She doesn’t have an excuse to go back to Palo Alto until the next shareholders meeting in late January, so when Mark signs off an email with see you soon, she figures it’s just Mark’s weird concept of time again.

Then a few days later, her phone rings just as she’s heading out of the office.

“Mark?” she says, packing her suitcase up. Mark doesn’t like calling half as much as she prefers texting or instant messaging. It must be important.

“Hi, Eduardo,” says Mark. In the background, Eduardo can hear something like a crowd and a PA system. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Eduardo says distractedly. A coworker nods at her and she barely nods back. “What’s up?”

“I’m here.”

Eduardo blinks. “Here? What do you—”

“In Singapore, in the Singapore airport,” Mark clarifies. “Come pick me up.”

“You—” Eduardo can’t help but laugh. “What are you doing in Singapore?”

Mark huffs. Eduardo’s sure she’s blushing. “It’s a surprise,” she mumbles. “That I’m sure you appreciate. Maybe. Hopefully. Come pick me up.”

“I—okay,” says Eduardo, chuckling still. “You know you usually send me your itinerary when you fly over, right?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” Mark says impatiently. “Think of it as a late Hanukkah present for you. Or me,” she mutters to herself.

“For the both of us, then.” Giddiness is bubbling in Eduardo’s throat—it’s just a dumb surprise, but it sounds like a gesture. Eduardo is sure she loves her—there’s no other reason to feel ridiculously happy. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. Stay put.”

“You’d think I would,” Mark says dryly, but she sounds like she’s smiling, too.

When Eduardo arrives, Mark is sitting on a bench, phone in her hands but eyes closed. Eduardo stops in front of her and says, “Hey.”

Mark opens her eyes. “Hey,” she says. “Surprise.”

“I came to pick you up, asshole, I’m not surprised anymore.” Eduardo grins, grabbing Mark’s backpack. “C’mon, you can sleep in the car.”

“You don’t have to carry my backpack for me,” Mark says, but follows Eduardo, anyway.

She does sleep on the ride back; and when they reach the apartment building, Eduardo doesn’t want to wake her up. Mark looks so peaceful; her lips are barely parted, and the line of sweat on her forehead is beginning to dissipate. Eduardo licks her lips and tells herself that no, she cannot carry Mark bridal style to her apartment. (Though admittedly she actually might be strong enough now.) She pokes Mark awake, who lethargically carries herself into the building, Eduardo still carrying her backpack. Mark leans her head on Eduardo’s shoulder in the elevator. Eduardo doesn’t have the heart to shove her off.

Mark’s stayed in her apartment enough times (read: three prior) to know where most things are. When Eduardo wakes the next morning she’s not surprised to see Mark eating her leftovers, her computer open on the dining table.

“You’re out of cereal,” Mark says, not looking up.

Eduardo snorts. “Thanks,” she says. She yawns, stretching. She’s in her sleep clothes—a camisole and boxer shorts—but doesn’t miss the way Mark’s eyes flicker to her when her shirt lifts a bit, exposing the skin of her bellybutton.

Eduardo scratches at her stomach, and decides to make pancakes instead. Over breakfast, Mark complains to her about some patch of code someone had screwed up, threatening to fire people. Eduardo grins and listens.

It’s oddly domestic, how Mark is just sitting there while Eduardo goes through her morning routine. Eduardo showers and changes into her usual work clothes (purple blouse and black trousers), fastens her heels on near the front door. With her briefcase in her hand and her other on the door handle she feels like she should… kiss Mark goodbye, or something.

“Bye,” she says, instead.

Mark lifts her head. She’s smiling. “See you later,” she says.

Eduardo thinks about her smile all day.

There aren’t any leftovers left in the fridge and this is sort of a special occasion, so after work on her way home, Eduardo picks up some takeout. She gets Red Bull and licorice, too; Mark gets antsy without her usual sugar sources. Eduardo doesn’t approve of it fully, but at least they’re consumables. And she knows Mark has been eating fruit more, so she does a bit of grocery shopping too.

Mark is napping on the couch when Eduardo comes back. Her hands are tucked under a pillow, legs curled underneath her. Eduardo watches her for a good minute, but Mark isn’t that scary when she’s woken up—she reminds Eduardo more of a tiny grumpy cat.

“Mark. Hey, Mark.” Eduardo shakes her shoulder.

Mark’s frown is instant. “Wardo?” she grumbles, eyes straining to open.

“I got us dinner.” Eduardo holds out the takeout bag.

Mark blinks. “Dinner,” she repeats.

Eduardo grins at her. “Come on, get up,” she says. “It’s worse when you’re jet lagged, I can’t spend as much time with you.”

She heads to the dining room and turns, finding herself alone. Mark is still on the couch, staring into space.

“Mark?” Eduardo says, concerned.

“Oh.” Mark shakes her head. “Yeah, I’m awake now.”

She joins Eduardo at the table and they have a cheerful dinner, mostly because Mark seems well rested and lively, peering into Eduardo’s takeout boxes and scrunching her nose at the spicier ones. “Wardo, I can’t eat these,” she insists.

“You can if you try,” Eduardo says, amused. She’d only gotten one meat option, for herself; the rest are relatively vegetarian.

“I know my limits, thank you,” says Mark.

“That sounds like a first to me.”

“Shut up.”

As they eat in companionable silence, Eduardo catches Mark’s eye every so often that Mark smiles down in her lap afterward. It looks a bit like she’s trying to hide it, but it’s cute so Eduardo doesn’t mind.

“You know,” Mark says, “Sean says long-distance relationships don’t usually work out.”

Eduardo snorts. “Good thing we’re not in a long-distance relationship then.”

“Friendships are a type of relationship, though.”

“You know what she meant, Mark,” Eduardo says. “Why do you bring it up?”

Mark shrugs. She looks uncomfortable. “I’m just—I don’t know.” Her fingers twist her glass on the table. “Is staying in Singapore in the long run for you?”

Eduardo gnaws at her bottom lip, trying not to feel put on the spot. “I don’t know, Mark,” she says. She thinks of her kitchen, which she loves; it’s comfortable for two people, but it’s just her.

“And settling down,” Mark continues. “My mom made me talk about it over Hanukkah—and you know I think the whole concept is bullshit—” she scoffs “—but we—”

“‘But we’?”

“Have something,” Mark emphasizes. “Like, I know I’m waiting for you, I just—would you know where to go from there?”

“I—” Eduardo pauses. It’s crossed her mind once or twice, but it’s so far away that she’s barely acknowledged it. “Can’t we figure it out when we get there?”

Mark’s gaze is heavy on her. She swallows.

“Sure,” she says, after a moment. “I was just—thinking out loud. But okay.”

“Okay,” Eduardo echoes. She nudges Mark’s foot under her table. “Don’t think too hard. I’m pretty easy.”

“One can take that a lot of ways,” Mark says wryly, and Eduardo laughs.

The next day is a weekend and Eduardo wants to make a pie—her mother had sent her a recipe, so she gets to work in the late morning. Mark wanders out of the guest room a bit later, saying, “It smells good.”

“That’s promising,” Eduardo says cheerfully. “I’m baking.”

Mark creeps into the kitchen, peering curiously over Eduardo’s shoulder. Eduardo is frosting the edges of the pie, concentrating so she doesn’t mess up the consistency.

“It also looks good,” Mark compliments.

“Thanks.” Eduardo finishes the end and beams at her.

Mark examines the tube in her hands. “You made the frosting?”

“Yeah, want to try some?” Eduardo pouts a dollop onto her index finger.

She’s not quite sure what she’s expecting from Mark; and without hesitating, Mark covers Eduardo’s finger with her mouth, closing her lips at the knuckle. Her tongue swipes and she sucks. Eduardo’s breath hitches.

“Tastes good,” Mark says when she pulls away.

Eduardo stares at her, pulse throbbing. “Yeah,” she says.

And Mark’s smirking, so she totally did that on purpose.

She stays for only a week, but it feels more like a month. On Sunday Eduardo and she sit in the living room, fiddling on their computers and not saying much, and it’s like home. Eduardo doesn’t even think about it when they move around each other or touch ankles. Their hips are close enough, nearly pressed together; and when Mark snorts at something on her computer, Eduardo leans over to see her screen.

“Dustin just linked me to about five air horn videos,” Mark tells Eduardo.

“And you’re watching all of them?”

“They’re funny.”

(Later Eduardo finds out that Dustin had sent them to her, too. They are pretty funny.)

And that segues into the evening, when Eduardo gets up because she’s hungry and Mark tells her to get her something too. And then they’re eating dinner and back at their laptops and sometimes talking until it gets late enough that Eduardo could fall asleep and Mark decides to head to bed, too.

Her flight out is the next day. At the airport, Eduardo says, “See you soon,” and waves goodbye.

Mark’s gaze flickers down Eduardo’s face, but she only says, “Bye,” before leaving.

And maybe she hadn’t caught onto the significance of Eduardo’s words, since only a couple of weeks later and Eduardo is walking into the Facebook offices, smiling vaguely at employees, finding the conference room where the shareholders meetings take place. Mark is in the middle of a conversation with a woman Eduardo recognizes as Facebook’s COO; she glances up once and then twice when Eduardo walks in.

“Wardo,” she says, not even excusing herself to her COO (who smiles resignedly—she must be used to it.) “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a shareholder, aren’t I?” says Eduardo as she unpacks her briefcase.

“You never come to these,” Mark says.

Eduardo shrugs. “I could start,” she replies.

Mark shuffles her feet “It’s really not that exciting,” she says.

“Okay.”

“It’s actually super boring.”

“I’d imagine.”

Mark tilts her head, gaze calculating. Eduardo meets it.

The meeting is, as Mark promised, utterly boring. Eduardo takes notes on her tablet anyway (“We have people who do that,” Mark hisses to her when she passes by), cursing a bit when it freezes and then blacks out, grinning to herself when Mark appears out of nowhere again and taps it a bunch of times before her notes are loaded again. (“Seriously, Wardo, we have people for this. And why do you even own a Cube tablet anyway? Wait—are you doodling?”) During Mark’s segment, she gets a text.

where’s your stuff anyway?

Eduardo looks up. Mark’s still speaking as if nothing has happened. One of her hands is in her hoodie pocket.

I had Dustin lend me her key to your house. Did you seriously type and send that without looking?

In a lull in Mark’s talking, where her CFO chimes in with something unimportant, Eduardo watches Mark discreetly tuck her phone out of her pocket before slipping it back in.

yes. Dustin knew you were coming and didn’t tell me?

It’s a surprise, Eduardo sends.

She’s pretty sure the whole room notices when Mark looks directly at her and rolls her eyes.

Later, they’re walking out together, and Mark says, “I told you it was boring.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” says Eduardo.

“Wardo,” says Dustin, who’s walking with them. “You gotta admit it was boring.”

Eduardo shrugs. “I’ve been in worse.”

“Of course you have.” Mark snorts. Then, carefully, she adds, “Are you going to Chris’s wedding?” Chris is set to get married in March; Eduardo had received the invitation a few weeks back.

Eduardo nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Mark shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Just wondering if you have a date,” Dustin stage whispers.

Mark elbows her. “Dustin, shut up,” she mutters.

Eduardo smiles at her anyway. “No, I’m not bringing a date,” she says to Mark.

“Good,” Mark says instantly.

Dustin snorts.

“Neither am I,” Mark adds.

“Good,” Eduardo says.

“You two,” says Dustin, rolling her eyes. “Why aren’t you dating already? You literally just admitted—just admitted—”

Mark says, “We admitted things a long time ago, Dustin.”

Dustin squawks. “And I wasn’t informed?” she demands.

“Keep up,” Eduardo says to her, and grins at Mark.

They get lunch together; Mark chews them out for breaking and entering into her home though Dustin puts up a pretty good case for how it had been perfectly legal. Later, Eduardo and Mark head back to the Facebook offices—Mark wants to give her a proper tour—as Dustin heads back to her own company.

“This is the entertainment room,” Mark says, gesturing to the said entertainment room. Some interns are playing the Wii and one of them yells that she beat Mark’s Wii tennis high score. Mark flips her off.

Eduardo’s shown all their many conference rooms, the HR floor, Legal, Jobs, Security-Privacy, Graphics, Accessibilities, Apps—Eduardo actually knows some of those employees, having worked with them before. There’s a whole team behind everything, which is incredible when Eduardo can still clearly remember those two weeks where Mark was coding nonstop in the CS lab and her dorm.

“You’re overwhelming,” she tells Mark when they stop in the cafeteria.

Mark gives her a funny look. “I’m supposing that’s a compliment.”

“I don’t—” Eduardo laughs a little, in disbelief. “I just remember you whining about art history back in college, sometimes.”

“I can still do that,” Mark offers. “Randi almost dragged me to the MOMA on New Years.”

Eduardo elbows her. “How do I know you?”

“It probably has something to do with that night you invited yourself over after that sorority party and never left.”

Eduardo smiles, and Mark smiles back, full beam. Eduardo momentarily forgets how to breathe.

Mark admits, “We are really old,” and Eduardo snorts.

“Not that old,” she says, picking up an apple from the salad bar.

“Pretty old.” Mark plucks an apple for herself. “Chris getting married sounds foreign to me.”

“Probably because she’s been fighting for it so long,” says Eduardo. Chris had been hard at political work for the past several years. Eduardo thinks she deserves it.

“I think about it, sometimes,” Mark says softly. “Getting married.”

Eduardo’s heart hammers against her chest. She doesn’t say anything.

They pay for their apples (the cashier is confused and delighted at her boss buying nothing but two apples) and Mark says, “Spend the day in my office.”

“Okay,” says Eduardo, “but you’ll need to promise to be my tech support when I need it.”

“So as long as you don’t break my laptop again,” Mark says.

And it doesn’t hurt. Eduardo doesn’t know if she or Mark is more surprised, even more so when they both burst into giggles.

She stays and leaves; she comes back in late February. She’d thought about coming overlapping Valentine’s Day, but that would’ve been obvious and she and Mark might accidentally get drunk and do something ill-advised, like making out again without talking about it. Or, even worse, Mark would want to go out and get laid and Eduardo will have to stay overnight while Mark’s in her room having sex with someone else. It sounds implausible but she knows Mark has a sex drive (plus that night in the ladies’ room with Christy and Alice that they rarely talk about.)

So late February is safe. It’s starting to warm up already in California, though drier than Singapore. Mark is happy to see her as always, even nudges their knuckles together when they walk through the airport. They’re not holding hands but it’s close. Eduardo nudges her hand back.

They get dinner on the way, talking to keep Eduardo awake (she’s generally better at adjusting her jet lag than Mark is), watching Firefly until Eduardo nearly dozes off; Mark pokes her to send her to bed. Eduardo wakes up atrociously early several hours later, checking her phone as she swings her legs out of bed.

She has a new email from Chris.

Did you know that Mark cancelled a conference in DC this weekend just because you’re in town?

Eduardo doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s eight in the morning on the east coast, but it’s a Saturday. What are you saying? And why the hell are you awake?

And according to her assistant, she cancelled for a function in Dublin back in October because of you, says Chris’s next email.

Then: Wedding planning.

Remember that Mark’s a vegetarian, Eduardo types. Why are you talking to her assistant, anyway?

Eduardo, I don’t know what she’s doing, but Mark’s dropping a lot of things—albeit not that important, but—for you. I think she’s trying to win you back over. And I hope you haven’t been sending her mixed signals, but you know she doesn’t quit until she gets a result.

And yes, I know. So is Sean’s mother.

Eduardo replies.

We know what we’re doing (I think), but thank you. I kind of assumed Mark told you guys what was going on. Dustin was confused yesterday, too.

Dustin is always confused, is Chris’s response.

Eduardo makes her way out of the guest room, ready for another morning and evening with Mark, with steady but decent work in between. However, when she gets to the kitchen, she sees a note on the table.

Had to leave last night (now) because of a DDoS attack on the site. Help yourself. See you later.

Eduardo smiles at the note, tracing a finger over the H on the paper. She makes herself coffee and eggs, bringing out her laptop from the guest room to tap at while eating. Today is warm; she’s in short jean shorts and a loose white top, bathing under the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen roof window. Her assistant has stopped prefacing her emails asking when she’s coming back to Singapore, instead signing off with a teasing sentiment to have fun in California. And Eduardo is.

It’s not until late afternoon when Mark comes home. Eduardo hears the garage door open and footsteps in the laundry room, keys clanging on metal, shoes slipping off. Eduardo lifts her head up. “Hey, Mark,” she says.

Trudging into the kitchen, Mark mumbles, “Wardo.” She looks sleepy—Eduardo remembers the last night part of her note—and is swaying a little.

She probably needs a Red Bull. Eduardo stands up. “Did you drive home?” she asks.

“Mrghrgh,” says Mark.

Eduardo changes direction and her mind. “Mark? Did you sleep at all?”

“Busy,” Mark mumbles, before taking a step toward Eduardo. “Couldn’t.”

She tips forward; Eduardo goes, “Hey, hey,” before opening her arms, letting Mark collapse into her chest, burying her face into the cotton of Eduardo’s shirt. Eduardo barely manages to lift her up: “Please don’t fall asleep on me,” she says, chuckling.

Mark’s hand snakes to Eduardo’s back, tracing down her spine. Eduardo can feel every movement as Mark carefully rests her hands at Eduardo’s backside, and then lower. Her palms are right above Eduardo’s ass.

Eduardo shifts them even lower.

Pulling away, Mark looks into Eduardo’s face. She is in her hoodie and khakis as always, the same way she looked all those years ago when Eduardo fell in love with her, back in Kirkland. Her eyes are hooded, like she might fall asleep, or maybe because Eduardo is shivering all over, wants to lean in. Their faces are so close, breaths mingling. Mark is still touching Eduardo’s ass.

Eduardo wants Mark to kiss her.

And they’re only a centimeter apart. Mark is breathing into her mouth, kind of sweet and strong like she’d had a mint. Eduardo can see the texture of Mark’s lips, enough to imagine what they’d feel like on her own. Seconds must pass, but it feels like hours.

Instead of kissing Eduardo, Mark rests her forehead against Eduardo’s shoulder. Her hands drop. “I’m going to take a nap,” she murmurs.

Eduardo struggles to remember how to use her voice. “Sounds like a good idea,” she says.

She releases Mark, watches as Mark goes upstairs. A thousand thoughts are spinning through her head. Mark drags her feet upstairs, and Eduardo stays in the kitchen, still thinking of kissing. Kissing Mark.

A few hours later, when Eduardo decides is long enough to constitute as a nap, she’s made her decision. She goes upstairs and creaks the door to Mark’s room open; she’s only been here once to ask Mark to figure out how to work her dryer and Mark had been wet from a shower, topless and in shorts. (They’d both blushed six shades of red and pretended it didn’t happen.)

Mark is sound asleep. Eduardo scopes around—it’s lived-in, something that looks like a taken apart laptop on the dresser, a hard drive by the bed stand, two cellphones lying haphazardly on the floor. Eduardo picks them up and puts them down on the dresser before going to the side of the bed Mark isn’t occupying. The sheets are cool to the touch; Eduardo carefully lies on top of the covers as to not wake her.

Some while later, slowly, Mark stirs. The sun is skirting above the landscape behind her window, an array of colors splashing into the room, across the both of them. Eduardo watches as Mark breathes, clenches her eyes, opens them slowly. Widening when she sees Eduardo.

“Good afternoon,” Eduardo says.

“Hi,” says Mark. Her voice is groggy but her tone is careful. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“Watching you nap,” Eduardo answers.

Mark snickers to herself. “Okay,” she says. “Are we pretending that’s normal now?”

Eduardo smiles and tucks a curl behind Mark’s ear. Mark stays like that, letting her.

Eduardo says, “I’ve thought about us a lot.” The words come surprisingly easy. “You’re—we’re trying really hard.”

Mark is still.

“And,” Eduardo continues. “I think I’m tired of trying. I think we can—I know this will work,” she corrects. “I’m sorry about the depositions—I know I already said it,” when Mark opens her mouth, “but I’m saying again. And I know you’re sorry too.”

“I am,” says Mark.

Eduardo draws circles with her thumb on Mark’s cheek. “I know,” she says again. “And I really, really wanted you to kiss me earlier. And I really, really want you to kiss me now.”

Mark peers at her cautiously.

“But?”

Eduardo grins. “That was an invitation.”

Then she’s got Mark on top of her, mouth working down on her own, tasting like sleep and wet and Mark. Eduardo groans as her hand slips down, grabbing Mark’s ass. Mark moans.

“Fuck,” says Mark, mouthing and kissing and biting. “Wardo—it’s been so long—”

“Yeah,” Eduardo breathes. Mark is pink-cheeked and grinning. Eduardo kisses the corner of her mouth; there is no itch in the back of her mind anymore, just something soft, comfortable. Like home.

“Come to Chris’s wedding with me,” Mark says to her.

Eduardo laughs. “Okay.”

“As my date,” says Mark.

Eduardo drags her down, kissing all over her nose and cheeks and jaws and eyelids. “Okay,” she says again, and it’s a promise for something more.

[ five ]

The afternoon peters out slowly, the high pink of the sunset winking behind the California skyline. It’s warm, though it always is, like a blanket against skin, almost urging one asleep. And it’s fucking annoying. Eduardo’s tired already; she doesn’t need the weather to remind her.

By the time she gets home, she’s in a bad mood, having spent the car ride thinking herself into a spiral of how soon she’ll sleep once her car is parked in the garage. It’s become routine after a while, the wedding having been over a year ago. That had been tiring too—but at least it had been one of the happiest days of Eduardo’s life.

When Eduardo comes into the kitchen, though, she almost brightens up at the sight of Mark typing at their dining table. Eduardo’s body sags as she drapes herself behind Mark.

“Hi,” Mark says. There’s a smile in her voice. “Long day at work?”

“You have no idea.” Eduardo groans, and then kisses Mark on the cheek. Mark is eating stir fry so she doesn’t kiss back, but she knocks her head against Eduardo’s before Eduardo picks herself back up.

“Did you make any for me?” Eduardo asks, wandering over to the stove.

Mark waves a hand without turning around. “Yeah, there’s a bowl on the counter.”

Eduardo eats dinner while taking care of the rest of her emails on her phone; settling into the work pattern of California had been easy enough, though Eduardo feels like everyone around her is young again, and she doesn’t have the energy to keep up. Mark, at least, waits for her. Eduardo has a lot of clients she’s happy with, but sometimes the work stacks up when she doesn’t notice and before she knows it, another cluttered day like this passes her by.

But with Mark’s ankle resting against hers underneath their kitchen table, she wouldn’t trade this for the world.

Mark continues to code; Eduardo continues to email; their feet and toes poke and tangle. It’s summer so Mark’s feet are bare, sneaking into the top of Eduardo’s sock-clad feet. Eduardo shivers and stifles a giggle.

She’s sure Mark smirks at that.

After dinner is the dishes, which Eduardo usually doesn’t mind doing. Today, though, Mark picks up Eduardo’s bowl and says, “Let me.” Eduardo beams and Mark pretends to ignore her. Eduardo resists the urge to pull her in by the wrist and kiss her senseless.

The gold band around Mark’s finger glints in the setting sun, like stars in Eduardo’s eyes every once in a while. Eduardo watches without thinking that she doesn’t notice when Mark finishes, until Mark comes up to her, searching Eduardo’s eyes. She sits next to Eduardo and says, “Tell me about your day.”

Eduardo scoffs. “You don’t want to hear that, Mark.”

“Yes, I do.” Mark tangles their hands together. Her thumb brushes over the gold ring on Eduardo’s own finger. “I’ll let you know if I get bored.”

“You’ll get bored really quickly.”

Mark’s mouth quirks. “Try me.”

So Eduardo talks. She talks about her meetings and the young people she truly does like—admires—and her long shitty lunch (her office is too far away from the Facebook offices for she and Mark to get lunch together anymore), spreadsheet errors, the occasional asshole exec who emails her with a billion questions and responds like she hadn’t answered any of them. Mark listens, smiling and rolling her eyes in the right places. Her fingers brush over Eduardo’s knuckles.

She offers commentary, and their rambling turns into a conversation about work and people they hate and like and the future of women in business. Time passes before they know it; Mark’s computer eventually dies; the sky behind the kitchen windows is dark as pitch. Mark’s smile glows under their kitchen light. Eduardo gets hungry again and gets out a bowl of fruit, which she and Mark share between them.

They don’t often spend entire evenings together, but sometimes it’s as easy as this—Mark gets her laptop’s charger and returns to her work, Eduardo gets her own briefcase open. She’s a bit more energized as she tackles the things that were giving her headaches before, figuring out her errors and making quiet exclamations under her breath. Mark works on her long AI project. Sometimes when Mark’s sister visits she calls them both workaholics, which just makes Eduardo feel inexplicably fond.

And then when Eduardo yawns while closing her email, Mark looks at her and says, “Bed?” Eduardo nods and they make their way upstairs, Eduardo going to brush her teeth while Mark changes her clothes. Then they switch. The bathroom has two sinks but they usually just use the one, because it’s easier that way.

Eduardo is already snug under the covers when the lights shut off. Mark falls into bed with her, arms wrapping around Eduardo’s middle. Her nose and breath brush against the back of Eduardo’s neck.

“I love you,” Eduardo mumbles, finding Mark’s left hand with her own.

Mark whispers, “I love you too.”

Their rings brush and their fingers join, as their day fades away into sleep. They will wake again in the morning, happy, anew, and in love.

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we are for each other then

by aroceu

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Notes:

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