Rating:

Teen

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

The Social Network

Relationship:

Eduardo/Mark

Tags:

sports

Stats:

Posted on:

2017-07-20

Words:

6,953

Mark walks into the locker room last, dropping his bag from his shoulder onto the bench. Chris, who’s coming out of their coach’s office with a clipboard, says, “You’re late.”

Mark rolls his eyes and ignores him, opening up his duffle bag and pulling out his tracksuit. The other boys are changing out in the open, but Mark takes his clothes into one of the bathroom stalls on the sides and changes in there. No one needs to see his pale, skinny body, especially since the rest of them are well-fit and look like they actually play volleyball. Even Dustin, who’s as pale as Mark is, has more visible muscle on him than Mark.

Exiting the stall, Mark takes his day clothes and shuffles back over to his duffle bag, stuffing them inside. His tracksuit is crimson red; he’d rather be wearing the more casual t-shirt and shorts combo, but it’s in his laundry which is still going this afternoon. HARVARD is emblazoned on the back of his long tee, a thin white stripe around the collar and wrists. Mark takes his flip-flops off and takes his sneakers out of his bag, trying to get them on without untying them, failing, and relenting to undo the knot.

Eduardo appears beside him. “Hi, Mark,” he says, with a bright smile on his face.

Mark tries to scowl, but comes out more like an apathetic grimace – his usual expression. “Weren’t you talking to Tyler?” he mutters.

“Yeah, we were talking about who might be at nationals, if we get there,” Eduardo says. “CalTech shouldn’t be hard for Stanford, though I’m not that sure about Columbia and NYU. But Tyler heard that the MIT setter is out of commission, so we should be fine this weekend.”

“I’m not taking my chances,” Mark says, lacing his shoestrings together on his left foot.

Eduardo watches him. “It’s always a competition between setters,” he says, after a moment. “But for what it’s worth, you’re way better than the one I had down in Miami.”

“That’s because you were in high school,” Mark says. “I hope that I’m better than a high school setter.”

Eduardo laughs. “Well, yeah, I suppose that’s true,” he says. “But at the end of the day, it’s about having fun.”

“No it’s not,” Dustin says, bounding over and grinning at the both of them. “It’s about winning! What’s up, Marcus?”

“Don’t call me that,” Mark mutters, getting his other shoe on.

Dustin sighs, slinging an arm around both of their shoulders. Mark yelps indignantly, and Eduardo gives him a what-can-you-do smile when Mark tries (and fails) to wrench himself out of Dustin’s grasp. “It’s just another day of volleyball practice,” Dustin says dramatically, looking up at the ceiling as if he were staring into the distance. “Six boys, and a fate that awaits them – ”

“Seven,” Chris calls, poking his head out from the coach’s office again.

Dustin sighs again. “Six plus Chris,” he says to the ceiling. “We are made for great things, men!”

“This is a recreational club,” Eduardo reminds him.

Dustin slaps him on the backside. “Great things!” he says, as Chris pesters them to go out into the gym and begin practice.

*

Eduardo is a wing spiker, and preferable to Tyler, who’s all force and speed but with no actual skill, from Mark’s standards. How he’s not reserve is beyond Mark, but at least Mark is a starting player; Eduardo and Dustin are too, as well as Tyler’s brother, Cameron, and their friend, Divya.

They start out with stretches, then stand in a circle and pass the volleyball around, though Dustin shows off and receives it with his arms then passes it to Cameron, who calls to him, “Good job, Dustin!” Cameron does that; he’s always giving them compliments or pointers, which Mark thinks are overrated. Well, Cameron’s also their captain, but that doesn’t make it any less obnoxious to Mark.

After passing practices, they split up into two teams, Mark with Eduardo and Dustin, against Cameron, Tyler, and Divya, to play a mock game on the court. Mark’s side starts with the ball, and as they make their way to the other side of the net, Dustin hoots, “We are gonna win this!”

“Think again, Moscovitz,” Divya says, grinning at him from the other side of the court.

Dustin sticks his tongue out at him. Eduardo says, “When are you and Divya gonna stop flirting and get together already?”

Dustin splutters, “We are not – are not flirting!” He points between Eduardo and Mark. “And I could say the same for you two!”

Mark blinks blankly. Eduardo laughs and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

“You and Mark – ” Dustin begins, but that’s when Chris blows his whistle and says, “Stop talking, boys, this is practice. You can always gossip on your own time.”

“I’m older than you,” Eduardo says pointedly to Chris, who ignores him.

Dustin’s the one starting in the back, so Mark tosses the ball to him which Dustin catches easily. Even though he’s their libero, Dustin is more well-rounded than otherwise. He bounces the ball once on the ground, before tossing it up in the air with one hand and running up and hitting it with the other.

“Jump serve!” Cameron calls. “Nice one, Dustin!”

“You’re not supposed to compliment the enemy,” Tyler tells him, barely catching the ball on the other side of the net. He passes it to his brother.

Cameron receives it and says, “He’s not an enemy, we’re all on the same team.” He hits it to Divya, who hits it to Tyler, who spikes it over the net with way too much power.

Mark moves as it whizzes by his ear – Dustin’s the one who’s in line, but he moves too and watches as the ball hits right outside the white line. “Out,” he calls, as Tyler groans from the other side.

“You use too much force,” Mark criticizes, looking at Tyler from the other side of the net. “At least control your spikes, like Eduardo does.”

Tyler sneers. “If Eduardo’s so much better than me, then why don’t you guys show me how it’s done?”

Mark looks at Eduardo, who shrugs. “We can practice our quick,” Eduardo says. “We haven’t really had a chance to use it on the court.” Which isn’t terribly expected when they’re all sophomores and only really picked up volleyball last year, except for Eduardo who’s a year older and used to play in high school. No one in college takes men’s volleyball seriously except for them, which Mark is content with – it’s not the rest of the world’s fault if they can’t recognize a worthwhile sport.

Mark says, “Okay.” Then, to Tyler, “Watch Eduardo’s technique.”

“Oh, I’ll be watching alright,” Tyler says, narrowing his eyes.

Chris blows his whistle. “Break it up! You’re teammates, no fighting.”

Mark rolls his eyes as Eduardo moves to the back, now with the ball, preparing to serve. He does an overhand serve, tossing the ball up and hitting it with his right fist. It soars over the net and Cameron calls, “I got it,” receiving it gracefully and passing it to his brother.

Tyler tries to feint, but Dustin’s close to the net and receives the ball easily. “Mark,” Dustin calls, passing the ball over to him.

Mark receives the ball with the both of his fingertips, halting the trajectory and starting it over, as he does as a setter. Mark likes being the setter because it puts him in control of the court; when the ball’s in his fingers, no one knows what he’s going to do. When the ball’s in his fingers, Mark’s world narrows down to the touch of his hands on the rubber ball, and where his spiker – Eduardo, right now – is.

It’s all of half a second, but Mark watches as on the other side of the net, Tyler and Divya are ready at the side of the court that Eduardo is on, on the left. Mark sets the ball behind him, on the right, as Eduardo sprints over and leaps into the air, that slight faster than the ball, spiking it over with the force of his palm. The ball hits over to the other side, bouncing on the ground before Cameron, Tyler, or Divya can react.

“Yes!” Eduardo says, as he lands on the ground. “Good job, Mark.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. Eduardo comes up to him and slaps Mark’s hand, pulling him into a half-hug that Mark returns by patting Eduardo on the shoulder. When they pull away, Eduardo beams at him.

Cameron, from the other side, goes, “That was awesome, guys! We are definitely going to beat MIT this weekend.”

“That was pretty unexpected,” Tyler says grudgingly. “Good spike, Saverin. Decent set, Zuckerberg.”

“We’re teammates, you don’t have to call me by my last name,” Mark says, but Tyler ignores him while shaking Eduardo’s hand. Mark narrows his eyes and tries to ignore how the motion irritates him.

Dustin’s bouncing up and down and going, “We are totally gonna beat MIT! We’re gonna beat MIT! That was so awesome, you guys.”

“It’s really all Mark,” Eduardo says, scratching the back of his head. “You guys already knew I could run that fast, it was just the back set that’s – ” He gives Mark an appreciative smile.”Mark’s the impressive one,” he says, meeting Mark’s eyes.

Mark shakes his head and turns away, so no one can see him blush. “Wardo, stop trying to be modest, it’s embarrassing,” he says. “We’re a team.”

“You bet we are,” Cameron says, nodding at Mark.

Divya whoops, “A team that’s gonna beat MIT’s ass!”

*

After practice, when Mark is back in his day clothes, Eduardo comes up to him and asks, “Can I walk you back to your dorm?” He has his own bag slung over his shoulder, hair floppy and ungelled from all the sweating, and has a guarded look in his eyes as Mark shoves his sneakers away.

Mark shrugs. He doesn’t mind one way or another – well, he does have a preference, but it’s – “Sure,” he says to Eduardo. “You’re in Eliot, right?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo says, nodding. “But I usually get dinner at this time of night. Have you eaten yet?”

Mark shakes his head. “I just go to Kirkland dining hall.”

“We can go there,” Eduardo says, like Mark had suggested it.

Mark shrugs again, and they make their way out of the locker room. Dustin had to leave early because he has a night class, and Chris usually stays after for his managerial duties. Eduardo asks, “Do you live with anyone?”

“Yeah, Chris and Dustin are my roommates,” Mark says. To Eduardo’s surprised expression, “Dustin was the one who suggested us take on volleyball. Chris just wanted to find something to manage.”

“I wouldn’t have even guessed,” Eduardo says.

“I have a class right before this, if that’s why,” Mark says, as they make their way out into the cool autumn air. “And Dustin’s annoying.”

Eduardo laughs. “Oh, I know you don’t think Dustin’s that bad,” he says, and Mark has to look at his shoes so Eduardo doesn’t see the half-smile creeping across his face. “That sounds fun, though, I live in a single. It gets boring after a while.”

“It sounds better,” Mark tells him. “You could be slightly more tolerable company.”

He curses the moment the words come out of his mouth. He’s not supposed to say that – his cheeks feel hot, and he hopes that Eduardo doesn’t think too much of the words, because they don’t mean anything. They’re not supposed to mean anything, except that they do, and Mark thinks it might be nice to live with Eduardo, see him at every hour of the day. But Mark tamps those thoughts down and looks to the side, because his cheeks are still warm.

Eduardo says, “I don’t know what to do with that comment,” but there’s a smile in his tone. “Is it because you want to work on our quick more?”

“That’s exactly it,” Mark deadpans.

“Well,” Eduardo says. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” They’d been practicing every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since the beginning of the semester, after their practices in the gym. Mark tries not to think too much about the extended amount of alone time he has with Eduardo, what that means. They’re just practicing volleyball. That’s all.

Mark nods, and says, “If you don’t have a prior commitment.”

“I’ll clear my entire schedule for our practices,” Eduardo says seriously, and Mark turns away so Eduardo doesn’t catch him smiling again.

They make their way into Kirkland and Eduardo asks about Mark’s homework, to which Mark complains at length about his OS homework and the eighteen hours he spent working on his problem sets last night. Eduardo asks if he’d gotten any sleep at all, and Mark says no, and Eduardo whacks him upside the head and tells him he needs to conserve his energy for volleyball. They eat dinner while talking about homework, and their classes, and afterwards when Eduardo heads back to Eliot, tells Mark that he better sleep a good eight hours tonight. Mark tells him it’s unlikely.

*

The next day, Mark comes out to the gym to Cameron and Eduardo practicing their receives together. “My old coach always told me that my receives needed the most work,” Eduardo is telling Cameron. “So I practiced every day for three months on them.”

“It’s hard to tell,” Cameron says, spiking the ball at Eduardo again who receives it perfectly between his arms.

Eduardo shrugs. “Practice pays off.”

“I’ll say,” Cameron says, before turning to Mark. “Mark! How are you doing on your receives?”

“Fine,” Mark says curtly. He has an inkling of a feeling what this is leading toward, and is only confirmed when Cameron sends him a grin.

“Good,” Cameron says, “because we’re going to be practicing our flying falls today.”

“Ugh, fun,” Mark grumbles. “Why do want us to kill our knees, Winklevoss?”

“You wouldn’t be killing them if you were doing your flying falls right,” Cameron says pointedly. “And you can’t walk out of them this time – look, even your spiker doesn’t mind.”

“That’s because I have kneepads,” Eduardo says, pointing to his long, long legs where the braces are wrapped around his kneecaps. He’s wearing shorts today, and Mark has to tear his gaze away and tell himself to look at Eduardo’s face. “You should really invest in some, Mark.”

“I’m a setter,” Mark says, as the rest of their team comes out from the locker room. “I don’t have any reason to be on the ground.”

“Not if you’re receiving often enough,” Cameron says. Mark chooses to ignore that comment.

They do a round of flying falls around the gym, which consists of them throwing their chests on the ground, arms stuck out, balancing their weight on their thighs between their knees and hips. It’s hellish – torture, really, even though Cameron and their coach insist that it’ll help them when it comes to receives. But Mark generally avoids diving to the ground – it’s not worth it, since most of the time he’s not fast enough to catch the ball, and practically kills his legs.

Their practice usually goes on for two hours, from five to seven. Afterward, Mark and Eduardo stay after for another hour, practicing their combinations in the mostly empty gym. They clean up afterwards, since their whole team will receive a penalty if they don’t, and then Chris will be on their ass and give them another penalty for being irresponsible. That happened the first time they decided to stay after and practice together, when Eduardo had scratched the back of his head bashfully and Mark had refused to meet Chris’s eyes.

The rest of their team files out at seven, Dustin calling to Mark, “I’ll see you at home, honey!” Mark ignores him and bounces the ball that they had been practicing with, hitting it hard against the ground.

Eduardo calls, “Bye, Dustin!” Dustin says, “Wardo, we should be roommates next year.”

“Not gonna happen,” Mark mutters, mostly to himself.

When they’re all gone, Mark looks up at Eduardo, who’s watching him expectantly. “Net?” Eduardo asks, and Mark nods, following him and getting into position where they usually are for their quick, Mark in the middle front, Eduardo to his left. Mark bounces the ball again, before throwing it up and setting it opposite Eduardo.

Eduardo, as expected, sprints over to the other side and spikes the ball easily, to where it hits the other side of the court, perfectly in the line. Eduardo does a little fist pump before grabbing another ball from the cart at the side, tossing it to Mark. “I’m glad you’re so serious about this,” Eduardo says, stretching his long legs as he gets back into position. “I was afraid I would be the only one on the team who actually cared about the sport.”

“I think we’re all serious,” Mark says, setting the ball normally this time. Eduardo jumps up and smacks it down easily. The ball lands right in the middle of the court, rolling away again.

Eduardo grabs another ball and says, “Yeah, but you stay after and practice with me. That’s – ” he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would like volleyball as much as I do now.”

“Really?” Mark asks with interest, catching the ball from him.

Eduardo looks thoughtful. “It was my dad who wanted me to do a sport in high school in the first place,” he says. “And I kind of picked volleyball at random, but I really liked it. My dad thought it was a ‘pussy sport’ – his words – ” he adds, to Mark’s raised eyebrows ” – before he saw me on the court, and then.” He smiles again. “Now he’s my biggest cheerleader.”

“Kind of a douchebag thing to call it a pussy sport, though,” Mark says, before he can stop himself.

But Eduardo is undeterred. He just chuckles to himself and says, “Yeah, my dad can be like that sometimes. But hey, we both like playing, don’t we?”

“Yeah, it’s.” Mark doesn’t know how to explain it – not just how much power and control he has, merely with his fingertips, a ball, teammates. But just that rush when he makes something, like when he’s coding – when he’s on a team, one-sixth of a piece that helps something put together. It’s a feeling he’s not sure he could replace.

“I do really like volleyball,” he says to Eduardo, and Eduardo beams at him, like he knows the precise feeling.

*

They get dinner again, Eduardo in his sweats that he always wears to and from practice, Mark in his jeans and hoodie as usual so they look like typical college boys talking in the Kirkland dining hall, Eduardo talking about the pretentious grad students in the business school. “It’s Harvard, what do you expect,” he’s saying, “but I don’t know if I want to be like them.”

“If you want to go to grad school?” Mark asks, and Eduardo nods.

“I don’t want to do anything intense,” he tells Mark. “I like testing the waters and seeing if companies work. That’s the beauty of business – some take off like a rocketship, others fall flat, and you never know which is which until it’s there. It’s all about chance.”

“And that’s what you want to do,” Mark says.

Eduardo smiles at him. “I do like gambling,” he says. “Weather, chess – volleyball’s not much of a game of luck, though.”

“No, you need actual skills,” Mark says, and Eduardo laughs, flicking a pea over at him.

“Hey, making predictions take skills,” he says. “You need to know how to play the game before you make your wager. Volleyball can be like that – I was on the track and field team in high school so I could run faster.”

Mark blinks at him. “That explains it,” he says. “I didn’t think you could run that fast at first.”

Eduardo says, “I aim to impress,” and takes the pea back from where he’d thrown it at Mark and puts it back in his tray.

And it’s almost torturous, how much Mark realizes he likes Eduardo. It’s insane in that his cheeks and neck and chest feel all the time when he makes Eduardo laugh, when Eduardo leans into him too close, when Eduardo has to go to Eliot and says, “See you tomorrow, Mark,” and all Mark wants to do is follow him, spend another three and a half hours with him, even if it means doing absolutely nothing. Mark makes his way back to his dorm, disappointed at the loss of company, to Dustin pacing on the phone and Chris studying from the common room.

Mark looks at Dustin and gives Chris a funny look. Chris answers his unasked question by saying, “He’s on the phone with Divya.”

“Since when does he have Divya’s number?” Mark mutters, grabbing his laptop from his desk and heaving himself next to Chris.

“Since today when Divya asked me for Dustin’s number,” Chris says in a low voice. Dustin is complaining loudly, “No, that’s the fifth question!” and Mark and Chris look at him in wonder.

Chris explains, “I think they’re in the same econ class together or something.”

“That would make sense,” Mark mutters, pulling up LiveJournal on his computer and tuning things out.

His regular home is on the internet, when not the volleyball court – Mark doesn’t forgo his computer science major in favor of his rec volleyball team. He doesn’t have any classes the next day, which is Thursday, so he wakes up at noon to a knocking at his door and a dry mouth. A bottle of beer is nursed in the crease of his arm, his laptop is dead, and the TV is still playing the credits of a Star Wars movie.

So it’s like any other Thursday, really, aside from the knocking.

It keeps going, even though Mark had hoped by this point it would subside and whoever it was could go away. “Coming,” he grunts, shoving his laptop onto the couch and throwing the beer bottle away in the nearby trashcan. He’s still in his hoodie and jeans from yesterday, which he’s immediately aware of when he opens the door.

Eduardo is standing there. And it’s the first time Mark’s ever seen him when not before or after volleyball practice, so it’s a surprise to him to see Eduardo in a three-piece tailored suit, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine for some brand that sells three-piece suits – Mark doesn’t know, Prada or something.

“Hi,” Eduardo says, looking Mark up and down, amused. “Did I wake you up?”

Mark glares at him, though it’s half-hearted at best. “Yes,” he says, trying not to feel terribly ugly. His curly hair is rumpled on the side he’d slept on, and he bats it down self-consciously. “What are you doing here? How did you find my dorm?”

“Asked the front desk,” Eduardo says, way too cheerfully for 12pm on a Thursday. “I wanted to give you something. Where are Chris and Dustin?”

“Class,” Mark answers, stepping back and showing Eduardo in. “I don’t have any class today, so I got wasted last night.”

“Explains the smell,” Eduardo says. “Kidding, kidding,” he adds, when Mark glares at him. “Seriously. It doesn’t smell like anything except dirty laundry in here.”

“That’ll be Dustin,” Mark says. He flops back on the couch.

Eduardo sits next to him, watches as Mark plugs his computer in and turns the TV off. “So,” Eduardo says, after a beat. He pulls out a plastic bag from inside his jacket. “I got you kneepads.”

Mark stares at the bag. “What?”

“You didn’t have any, so I thought – ” Eduardo shrugs, and places the plastic bag with apparent kneepads in Mark’s lap. “Sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but you really need some. Everyone else on the team has them.”

“I – ” Mark looks at Eduardo, and doesn’t know what to do. Eduardo’s expression is earnest, but Mark is also pretty sure he won’t take a no for an answer, so Mark doesn’t even try. “You didn’t have to,” he says to Eduardo, instead.

“I do,” Eduardo says. “You didn’t even get any for yourself. I don’t want you to kill your knees.”

“Yeah, I don’t either,” Mark mumbles, taking the pads out of the bag and examining them for where they’re attached to the plastic holder. He says, “Thanks,” and hopes that the heat on his face doesn’t translate to anything visible to Eduardo.

Eduardo says, “God knows you need them.” He gets up, and Mark stands up with him, at a loss for words.

Mark is so wrapped up in his thoughts, that it’s quick when Eduardo says, “Well, I should probably get to class.” He heads to the door, and Mark follows him, still trying to figure out what to say.

When they’re at the door, Mark blurts, “Thanks. Again.” He sounds like an idiot, but it’s still worth it for the way Eduardo turns around and grins at him.

“Seriously, Mark,” he says. “When we’re doing flying falls, you can’t do that shit on your bare knees.”

“Yeah,” Mark grumbles, thinking about yesterday. “Probably.”

Eduardo sends him a crooked smile. “See you at practice?” he says, and Mark nods, shutting the door behind Eduardo fast enough so he doesn’t let himself stare as Eduardo leaves.

*

At practice that afternoon, Dustin spots Mark putting his kneepads on and says, “You finally got some, man? Our setter’s actually looking after himself,” he calls to the locker room at large.

Mark, without thinking, says, “Wardo got them for me.”

He realizes his mistake the moment Dustin’s grin turns sly. Dustin leans in and says, “Oh, did he really?” and glancing over to Eduardo suggestively.

Eduardo’s cheeks turn red – and Mark feels a little bad, even though the sight is mesmerizing – and says, “Mark is too much of an idiot to take care of himself. Someone needed to get him the kneepads sooner or later.”

“And it was all you,” Dustin croons.

Divya, from where he’s tugging his jersey on (Dustin is watching him from the corner of his eye, Mark can tell), says, “That is kind of weird, Saverin.”

“You know what’s weird,” Mark says suddenly, making all the heads in the locker room turn to him. “How you asked Chris for Dustin’s number yesterday just so you could ask him about a question in your econ class.”

Both Divya and Dustin flush brilliantly. Dustin says, “Yeah, Divya, why didn’t you just ask me for my number?”

“Be-Because,” Divya splutters. He presses his lips together, before saying, “That would’ve just been weird – and you probably would’ve said no – ”

“I would’ve said yes, if you asked me – ”

They continue bickering on their way to the gym, taking the attention off of Mark and Eduardo. Eduardo says, waiting as Mark ties his shoelaces (and maybe Mark is slower than usual so they can walk alone together), “I’m glad you brought your kneepads today.”

Mark gives him a look. “Of course, you bought them for me.”

Eduardo’s eyes glint. “Is that why you’re wearing them?” he asks. “Just because I bought them?”

“That, and for their intended purpose,” Mark says. “I’m not a masochist.”

Eduardo makes a noise that sounds like a strained cough. Mark stares at him and wonders if he should ask if Eduardo’s okay. When Eduardo’s done, he says, “I didn’t – I wasn’t insinuating that.”

“I know,” Mark says, blinking at Eduardo’s reaction. “I was just stating a fact. Now if Cameron makes us do flying falls again, Chris won’t yell at me for not doing them right.”

“I’m glad you have your priorities in order,” Eduardo says.

*

They don’t have any practice on Friday, but that doesn’t stop Mark and Eduardo from going to the gym on their own, meeting up at the locker rooms like they usually do. Mark feels a little weird about it, since they’ve gotten dinner this week and he saw Eduardo in his apparent regular three piece suit that they should meet outside of the world that’s volleyball. But Eduardo’s there when Mark gets to the locker room, already in his gear. “Hey,” Eduardo says to him, and Mark nods.

Eduardo waits as Mark gets himself ready, carrying his clothes to the bathroom and changing in a stall before coming back out. “Why do you do that?” Eduardo asks curiously, as Mark stuffs his day clothes away.

Mark pretends his ears aren’t hot, and that Eduardo is the last person he wants to talk about this to. “Do what?” he asks, playing dumb.

Eduardo rolls his eyes and nudges at Mark’s bag with a knuckle. “You know what I’m talking about,” he says to Mark. “Change in the bathroom. We’re all guys here, right?”

“There’s only two of us.”

“Do you want to answer my question or not?” Eduardo says.

Mark turns away and bites his lip, and pretends for a moment that he’s not as self-conscious as he pretends he doesn’t feel. “I value my privacy,” he says after a moment, to Eduardo. “And also because no one needs to see all this.” He gestures to his body.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. No one’s staring at you.”

“That doesn’t stop the – ” Mark breaks off and sighs. “Never mind. You won’t get it.”

“Hey, hey,” Eduardo says, as Mark makes to push his way past him. “There’s nothing wrong with it, I was just wondering. And trying to make you feel better, in case it helped.”

“Thank you,” Mark says dryly. “I’ll be sure to reward you with my half-naked body after this.”

Eduardo laughs and covers his face. Beneath his fingers, his forehead is red like he’s embarrassed or something. “I appreciate it,” he says into his palms, tone so sarcastic that Mark can’t even pretend to himself that Eduardo’s being genuine for a minute. “I’ve seen everyone else half-naked except for you.”

“You should be grateful,” Mark says, and when Eduardo peeks through his fingers and nudges him with an elbow, Mark relents. “Kidding.”

“I sure hope so,” Eduardo says. He follows him out as Mark makes his way into the gym. “I’m sure the sight isn’t that terrible.”

They go onto the gym, and Mark tells himself that Eduardo is joking–because he is. What kind of guy would say that to someone like Mark? Mark tries not to think too much about it as he says, “We should get the court set up,” and Eduardo nods. Together, they pull the net and balls out, wheeling the cart over and arranging both sides of the net so that the stands are on the opposing sides of the gym.

Mark says, pulling out a ball, “Which combo should we try?”

“I think we should do the slow one,” Eduardo says. “We haven’t had a chance to use it in a game yet.”

Mark nods, and sets the ball over to Eduardo. In a swift motion, Eduardo moves – Mark can practically see it in his eyes, when Eduardo calculates, the perfect angle for him to jump into the air, the trajectory of his arm, palm meeting the ball. It’s like how the water moves, like music, from Mark’s fingers to Eduardo’s hand – from Mark to Eduardo.

They practice their slow combo for a bit, then go back to their fast, and then cross plays and x plays even though it’s only the two of them. Eduardo is quick at changing tack, something that Mark always appreciates in a wing spiker – sometimes Cameron will get a cross and a stack play mixed up, Divya doesn’t always remember the names of certain plays, and Tyler just always runs and tries to hit the ball, even when he’s supposed to play as decoy. Eduardo isn’t perfect – sometimes he jumps too high or runs too fast – but the way he plays with Mark is like they’re breathing together, in sync, listening for the other.

Eduardo says, “I can’t believe our game against MIT is tomorrow,” while they take a break, Mark taking a drink of water off to the side. Eduardo’s dribbling the ball, hard against his palm.

Mark sets his water bottle down. “And we might even go into nationals,” he says.

Eduardo groans and bumps the ball against his forehead. “God,” he says. “nationals. We barely made it to states last year.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. They’re in states this year – their match against MIT is their last match of the round. Mark suddenly feels nervous, palms getting sweaty at his sides.

Still, he says to Eduardo, “But our quick is good. We should be fine.”

“Yeah,” Eduardo says anxiously. He bounces the ball rapidly against the ground.

Mark goes over to him and takes the ball from where Eduardo’s dribbling it, says, “Wardo.” Eduardo just grins at him and places his own hands on the ball, vertical and opposite Mark’s. “Is this your way of calming me down?” he says. “Some weird volleyball ritual?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what this is,” he says, still clutching the ball in between his hands. Eduardo tries to tug it out of his hold but Mark holds fast, attempting to yank it back. But Eduardo doesn’t let him either, and instead jerks his elbows back so that Mark is pulled forward a little, closer to Eduardo, still holding the ball.

They’re standing only a couple of feet from each other. Mark realizes this when he looks up into Eduardo’s eyes, suddenly aware of the inch Eduardo has on him. Eduardo’s still smiling, but then he blinks and he’s not anymore.

Mark wants to bridge the gap, wants to lean in and kiss him.

He jerks himself back, thoughts loud, that image of him kissing Eduardo vivid in his mind – an image that he can’t bring to life, because then it’ll ruin his friendship, the team, volleyball. He lets Eduardo hold onto the ball and turns away, says gruffly, “We should go back to practicing.”

There’s a moment when Mark thinks Eduardo might say something to him, that moment when both their hands were on the volleyball and Mark had been looking deep into Eduardo’s eyes, Eduardo into his. But then when Mark looks over his shoulder, Eduardo is dribbling the ball again and saying, “Okay.”

*

They have to wake up at nine in the morning the next day to catch the bus to MIT. Mark knows that if he and Dustin were normal people, it would be no big deal – but since they aren’t, Chris has to set an alarm for all three of them, practically flipping Dustin’s mattress over and threatening to pour ice cold water on Mark if he doesn’t wake up.

Mark grumps and gets out of bed, and soon enough they’re making their way to the garage, where the bus is pulled up outside. Eduardo is talking to the Winklevosses, looking awake and cheerful – he nearly laughs when he sees Mark.

“You’ve got your,” Eduardo says, and adjusts Mark’s curls slightly so that, Mark assumes, they’re presentable.

Mark tries not to get flustered and says, “I appreciate you looking after my hair.”

Eduardo laughs at him. “Do you want to sit with me on the bus?” he says, and Mark shrugs, trying to ignore the flutters in his stomach for the way Eduardo looks at him, that Eduardo had asked him in the first place.

They board with bus with their coach and the rest of the team, Mark turning into the first seat on the bus, Eduardo joining him. Peering behind them, Mark sees the Winklevosses sitting together, and then Divya looking at the both of them helplessly before turning to Dustin, who’s already listening to his mp3 player. “Move over, I’m sitting with you,” Divya says to him. Dustin squawks indignantly, but does move.

Eduardo watches as well, before turning back to Mark. “I can’t believe this game,” he says. “If we win – ”

“If being the operative word,” Mark points out.

“If,” Eduardo agrees. “We’ll play against the country. Then who knows we’ll play against. Maybe Stanford.”

“Maybe,” Mark says. “Or Rice.”

“We’re in the best school in the country,” Eduardo says, “and we’re worried about volleyball – ”

“Volleyball is serious.”

Eduardo’s lips twitch, and he nods. “It is,” he says.

The bus starts going, and Mark and Eduardo talk for a bit, before Eduardo offers an earbud of his mp3 player to Mark and Mark doesn’t know how to say no. Eduardo listens to really poppy shit, stuff like Britney Spears and the top 40 on the radio. It’s not horrible, but not exactly Mark’s choice, but Mark makes himself listen anyway, because this is Eduardo, who seems perfectly happy fiddling with his mp3 player in peace.

The music turns out not to be that bad, by the way that Mark ends up nodding off and finding himself with something warm under his cheek about forty minutes later, when the bus comes to a halt. It takes a moment, before Mark realizes he’d fallen asleep on Eduardo’s shoulder – he jerks away, and goes, “Sorry, sorry – ”

“It’s fine,” Eduardo says, brushing invisible lint from where Mark had been lying. He smiles at Mark reassuringly, but Mark is still sure that his face is on fire. “Did you work on your OS homework for eighteen hours again?”

“Um,” Mark says, not sure if he should lie about this. “No?” he hedges.

Eduardo gives him a look. “Mark,” he says. “I thought you weren’t a masochist.”

“I – How do you even bring that up again?” Mark says, blushing and pointedly looking away. “We should – We have to get off for the game.”

“We do,” Eduardo says, and follows Mark up, and off the bus.

*

Their coach gives them a pep talk in the hallway where they change their clothing – or at least, the rest of them, since Mark still goes to the men’s room to get his clothes on. The pep talk is overrated, but then Tyler shouts, “Yeah!” enthusiastically, and then Cameron goes, “Yeah!” and then Divya and Dustin are cheering, along with Eduardo. When they all look at Mark, Mark sighs, but says in a flat voice, “Yeah,” and the rest of them whoop.

“There’s your spirit, Zuckerberg!” Cameron teases.

They go out into the court, where the stands are flocked with MIT banners and pride. There is a small section where some people from Harvard have come – “My father’s there,” Eduardo says, nodding towards the balconies.

Mark startles. “Are you nervous?” he asks Eduardo.

Eduardo snorts. “Of course I am,” he says. “But that’s not going to do me any good on my playing.”

Mark nods as the referee blows his whistle. They get into starting positions – their first rotation has Mark in the back, Cameron in front of him, Eduardo in the middle. One of their reserve members is to Mark’s side, since they’re not starting with the ball, and Mark breathes.

On the other side of the court, the ball soars over the net.

*

And then they’ve won the game, two sets out of three, 28-26 the last round, leaping together and cheering. Mark throws himself into the huddle, even though he really only needs to let off the steam of his nerves, closing his eyes and saying to himself, We won, as on his side, Dustin jumps up and down and Tyler is shouting, “Yes! Yes!”

“We won!” Eduardo says in their huddle, and Mark can believe it.

Chris has come over and is saying, “We did it!” and Tyler laughs, nudges Chris and says, “You barely did anything!” Chris is laughing back and saying something to him, and Mark feels both overwhelmed and underwhelmed – that they won the game, that they’re going to nationals.

When they pull away, Mark finds himself standing next to Eduardo, Eduardo’s eyes shining as he beams at Mark. “Mark, we won,” he says, and Mark feels himself full-out grin at Eduardo.

“Yeah,” Mark says. “Wardo, we did it.”

And then Eduardo is grabbing him by the hands, by the face, pulling Mark in and kissing him.

Eduardo tastes like sweat and victory that Mark immediately kisses back, wrapping his arms around Eduardo’s shoulders and tasting every bit of him. Eduardo laughs into his mouth as Mark grabs at him, trying to climb Eduardo and his crimson-and-black jersey, the number 4 on his back, kissing as much of Eduardo as he can. Mark shoves his tongue into Eduardo’s mouth, swallowing his laughter and the surprised little sound Eduardo makes into his mouth as he kisses him and kisses him.

Faintly, Mark hears a wolf-whistle and Chris going, “Oh my god, you guys,” and just barely remembers that they’re still on the court. When he breaks away, he sees that Eduardo is pink-faced and breathless. Mark imagines he looks the same.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” Eduardo says, “since forever.”

Mark takes Eduardo’s hand into his own and says, “Same.” Eduardo squeezes his hand, before turning to their team, raising their hands together.

“We’re going to nationals!” he shouts, and the rest of their team dissolves into cheers again. And with Eduardo’s hand in his own, Mark can’t imagine a better place in the world than here.