{"id":252,"date":"2015-11-17T18:03:35","date_gmt":"2015-11-17T22:03:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/?p=252"},"modified":"2023-05-25T08:13:08","modified_gmt":"2023-05-25T12:13:08","slug":"blueprints-to-a-second-chance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/252\/","title":{"rendered":"Blueprints To A Second Chance"},"content":{"rendered":"

The movers grunt and Eduardo considers helping them. He doesn\u2019t, because Mark would cast him a long-suffering look, and say something like, \u201cWe pay them for a reason<\/em>, Wardo,\u201d and Eduardo would gesture to the piles of money sitting in both of their bank accounts and Mark would shrug and say, \u201cI know.\u201d Not that it\u2019s ever about money for Mark, really, but it\u2019s always the sentiment of the thing. So Eduardo has his arms folded and watches as box by box gets lugged into the house, scarcely furnished and mostly empty.<\/p>\n

\n

When they\u2019re done, Eduardo smiles and tips them anyway. The movers nod their heads and smile back. Eduardo wonders if they know who he is, what this house is responsible for. He sighs as he walks in, the air anew with the must of cardboard, before he grabs the kitchen scissors and tears open the first box.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He unpacks for most of the day, because he\u2019s in a t-shirt and jeans and California weather is not as bad as he might\u2019ve projected it to be, once upon a time. He has a lot more to do\u2014drag all his things to work tomorrow, handle insurance, make sure his assistant back in Singapore can tie up the loose ends well enough. It\u2019s not that he doesn\u2019t trust her, it\u2019s just that he can\u2019t foresee a future where he\u2019ll need to go back\u2014doesn\u2019t want<\/em>\u00a0to see that future\u2014but he had a life there, once, even if it had changed ages ago.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Most of his things go into what used to be a guest bedroom: his clothes, memorabilia, toiletries in the bathroom that comes with it. He leaves his box of dvds and books in the living room and shoves his kitchenware into the cupboards into their respective cabinets. After a moment he realizes it\u2019s still only enough for one, so he vows to drag Mark\u2019s ass to the department store over the weekend so they can make more things other than soup and pasta and cereal.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

There\u2019s an office room across from Mark\u2019s, which before now had been the most used room in the house. Eduardo unloads most of his office supplies there, along with a picture of him and his family, and a picture of his friends from college. He angles it, smiles at it under the sunlight. He drags some of the books from the living room box in here, the business ones and the current fiction one he\u2019s working on, old files that he\u2019s always been taught to hold onto. Afterward he\u2019s sweating, so he makes himself lunch before continuing the job.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The sun dips below the skyline as the day goes on. His phone has been suspiciously quiet, though Eduardo is certain that\u2019s because he\u2019d said yesterday, I bet that you can\u2019t go a full day without getting bored and texting me<\/em>, and Mark likes to pretend that he has self-control\u2014and genuinely does like competition\u2014so he\u2019d taken that bet. Eduardo hadn\u2019t reminded him in the morning in case Mark would cave early and watch Eduardo\u2019s entire dvd collection with him, but evidently Mark hadn\u2019t needed it; he gets bragging rights if he wins, which Mark always needs more of, apparently.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Anyway, it\u2019d been mostly so that Eduardo could actually unpack the whole day, instead of getting sidetracked by some snide text of Mark\u2019s complaining about a meeting or something or other, because then Eduardo would just sit on a box for five hours and rattle off banter without being productive. Heaving a box closer to the shelf, Eduardo decides that the bet had been a good idea.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark\u2019s day technically ends at five o\u2019clock, but the earliest he\u2019s ever come back (to Eduardo\u2019s knowledge, anyway) is nine p.m., and that had only been when his CFO forcibly shoved him out. Today, however, he gets back at five thirty, eyes bright as he walks into the house.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI won,\u201d he says, because of course that\u2019s the first fucking thing he says when he comes home.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo rolls his eyes and walks over to him. \u201cYeah, yeah, okay,\u201d he says, grinning. \u201cWanna help me unpack stuff from Harvard?\u201d He\u2019d kept that box untouched in his office, waiting for Mark to get back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark tips forward on his toes, leaning in a bit. \u201cYeah,\u201d he says, after a moment. \u201cAlright.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They walk side by side up the steps to Eduardo\u2019s new home office. Their hips and the backs of their fingertips brush four times.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark walks in, taking in the shelves lining the walls of which Eduardo has mostly filled, the desk and chair in front of the window. They\u2019d selected the furniture together, meaning that Eduardo would pick something and ask for Mark\u2019s opinion, which was more than often an, \u201cmmm.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cDid you already start?\u201d Mark asks, gesturing to the photo of himself and Chris and Dustin on Eduardo\u2019s desk.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo laughs and shakes his head. \u201cNo, that was from my office in Singapore, remember?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark frowns. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you put it in your new office then?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI already have a picture of us there, Mark, I don\u2019t need another picture of you.\u201d Eduardo opens the Harvard box, taking out a crewcut sweater (he never understood the point of buying more than one piece of college paraphernalia, but every time Mark bought one for one of his sisters he bought one for himself, too) and some old binders. He throws those away without opening them.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see what\u2019s wrong with that,\u201d says Mark, bending down to assist him. \u201cHaving more pictures of me.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo scoffs and looks up. Mark\u2019s eyes are dancing, teasing, happy; but there\u2019s something earnest about them, too.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t take you to be so vain,\u201d Eduardo comments, and the scowl that he gets in return is worth it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They unload the Harvard things easily because there\u2019s not much: mostly notes and things Eduardo has to throw away, though he does keep the sweater. Mark tells him to put it on but Eduardo says it\u2019s too warm for that. So Mark slips it on instead.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They fall into their nightly rhythm, which consists of Eduardo cooking dinner and Mark attempting to help, though mostly he just stands around and complains about his day since he wasn\u2019t able to during the actual daytime. Eduardo can hear the cheer in his voice, though, as monotone as it is. Mark wouldn\u2019t be doing this if he didn\u2019t like it. Eduardo supposes there\u2019s not much to dislike when you\u2019re CEO of your own company, but sometimes the technicalities and semantics are too much for Mark, he just wants to sit down and do what he likes, and Eduardo flicks the spatula with the oily parts of the stir fry at him and says, oh, it must be so hard, being the founder of Facebook.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark rolls his eyes but his only response is, \u201cyeah, you were one too.\u201d Eduardo returns to the pan with a small smile on his face.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They eat and Mark complains about how spicy it is. Eduardo calls him weak. Mark dares him to eat an entire hot pepper so Eduardo does, and then has to practically dunk his head in cold milk to quell the burning. Mark laughs, but gets him a glass of water when he\u2019s done. Afterward, they go to the living room and sprawl on the couch together. Eduardo takes the remote and flips to Real Housewives at its usual hour, while Mark complains about consumerism and settles next to him. He doesn\u2019t try to change the channel though, because Eduardo knows that Mark is no better than he is with reality tv.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Or Mark likes the way that his head nestles against Eduardo’s arm and his side is pressed warmly on Eduardo\u2019s chest, too much to try to move. But Eduardo likes that, too.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo catalogues his feelings about Mark in three separate ways, when he thinks about it. But it all blends together, because he is not a different person when he\u2019s with Mark, and Mark is not a different person when he\u2019s with Eduardo, and when they\u2019re together he does not separate himself from himself from himself; Mark says, \u201cWardo,\u201d and Eduardo knows that he means him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But there is Mark when they\u2019ve decided to order takeout, and Mark tries to foot the bill, and Eduardo says no. Mark\u2019s face pulls into this pained expression that Eduardo doesn\u2019t know if he enjoys or feels guilty for, because it\u2019s nice to know that Mark can make a face like that, can feel things like that. Even though Eduardo has seen it so many times since months ago, he can\u2019t get tired of it, because it\u2019s been four years waiting and sometimes all of this is so new, still, even though it isn\u2019t. So there is category number one: the way Eduardo\u2019s chest seizes, and flips, and he almost lets Mark buy him dinner.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then there is category number two, when it is late night running and Eduardo burying his nose in his bed, adjusting to the time difference and trying to get to sleep. He could play Snake on his blackberry but those are bad habits, and he\u2019s prided himself on being a master of having a routine. He rolls over again when he hears a snuffling at the door, and then it\u2019s creaking open, a mop-headed figure standing in the shadows.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo mumbles, \u201cMark,\u201d and sounds more asleep than he really is. Mark shuffles over to him, stopping at the edge of the bed, the fabric of the comforter fumbling between his fingers.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cCouldn\u2019t sleep,\u201d Mark says. His voice is clear, but there\u2019s a certain edge to it that Eduardo knows back from college that he\u2019s tired.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d says Eduardo, sitting up a little. \u201cNeither could I.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark climbs onto his bed, apropos of nothing, sitting on his knees. Eduardo could never manage that position; it always hurt his shins. Mark picks at a hem on Eduardo\u2019s comforter again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cSometimes,\u201d Mark says. His voice is breathier now. \u201cI forget that you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo smiles slightly, even though he\u2019s pretty sure Mark can\u2019t see it in the dark. \u201cIn my bed?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark shakes his head.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo wants to make a silly comment about him being in Mark\u2019s house. But then Mark says, \u201cWith me again,\u201d and his words say, the United States, California, Facebook<\/em>. Eduardo isn\u2019t a part of Facebook the way he used to be because\u2014well, he isn\u2019t. But in Mark\u2019s mind, he knows he might as well be.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

So Eduardo says, \u201cCome here,\u201d and Mark does and Mark isn\u2019t a hugger but he doesn\u2019t complain when Eduardo wraps his arms around him, buries Mark into his chest. Mark whispers, can I sleep here tonight, and Eduardo is exhausted and happy and says sure. Tonight he curls around Mark\u2019s back and holds him like Mark is a flame that he doesn\u2019t want to put out; some other nights Mark is wrapped back around him, carefully, like Eduardo is cupped in his hands and he doesn\u2019t want to spill a drop.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo does not forget that he\u2019s here. It feels like stepping into a dream sometimes, because he spent the better part of the last four years in New York City, hating Palo Alto, hating California, the west coast. He spent the worst part of the past several months in Singapore, convincing himself that he was right and wrong, over and over again. Every nerve ending in his body clung to the ridiculous hope, not just for Mark but for himself, to be okay, to want<\/em>\u00a0to be okay again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They play basketball every day because Mark has a basketball hoop\u2014they<\/em>\u00a0have a basketball hoop, for some godforsaken reason. It doesn\u2019t really mean much because Mark is short and terrible and Eduardo isn\u2019t that great himself, but it makes them both laugh and once they accidentally set the sprinklers off and Mark moaned while Eduardo tried to shove Mark\u2019s face into his wet t-shirt. They play horse and Mark actually manages to win a few times. Eduardo ruffles his head and Mark says you make me feel like a little kid and Eduardo says good.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI don\u2019t understand why I have this thing,\u201d Mark says, one day, and it\u2019s a conversation they\u2019ve had before. A lot of conversations feel like that, but Eduardo never complains; every day with Mark is new anyway, everything they say to each other is new. It\u2019s like rebuilding a fallen tower from memory.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cAn incentive for you to come outside more,\u201d Eduardo replies. He bounces the basketball against the blacktop and shoots. He misses.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark snorts. \u201cBasketball isn\u2019t exactly my favorite sport,\u201d he says, though he manages to catch the ball with ease when Eduardo bounces it to him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo gestures to him and grins. \u201cSee? Natural talent, right there. I\u2019m sure the more you play, the better you\u2019ll get at it.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cYeah, right.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark rolls his eyes and aims for the hoop himself. He misses, too. He fires it back to Eduardo, who just barely manages to catch it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cMaybe I\u2019ll leave business,\u201d Eduardo says seriously, bending down and aiming. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll go for the fields and become an NBA star.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cPretty sure they don\u2019t play basketball in fields,\u201d says Mark, as Eduardo shoots again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He makes it this time, whooping and waving his hands in the air. Mark smiles, says, \u201cYou look ridiculous.\u201d Eduardo jumps and bounces the ball across to him, and Mark just stands and watches until it slowly pops over to him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cO!\u201d Eduardo says victoriously, making an O with his left hand.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark says, \u201cWe\u2019ve been playing for a half an hour already.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark gets home late today, so they miss the Real Housewives of Atlanta and watch Survivor instead, which is fine. The grosser stuff makes Eduardo\u2019s skin crawl, but Mark laughs meanly while people on tv freak out, so it\u2019s okay. Mark makes himself more comfortable at Eduardo\u2019s side, nosing at the sleeve near his armpit, curly hair pressed against Eduardo\u2019s chest. On other Survivor days when Eduardo falls so much into California that he begins to come home late, too, he\u2019s the one pressing his cheek onto Mark\u2019s shoulder, into his arm, feeling the thump thump<\/em>\u00a0beneath his chest. None of this is new\u2014long ago at college Eduardo had wondered if Mark was as cold as he looked, but he\u2019s as warm as any other human being in the world.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

There are days when he doesn\u2019t come home, because he has meetings in Los Angeles, or San Diego, or sometimes takes the time to drive all the way out to Utah (even though really, who the fuck lives in Utah?), because he likes long drives, better than long air flights at least. On these days he tries to drive home but it\u2019s just too much, and he books a hotel and thinks about texting Mark that he\u2019ll be back the next afternoon, but falls asleep on the hotel bed before he can take out his phone.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

In the morning, before his alarm, he wakes up to over thirty new text messages and four voice mails, all from mostly the same number. They\u2019d been sent between the hours of two a.m. and six a.m., and a new text comes in just as Eduardo turns his phone on. He sighs and taps out a quick apology.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He comes back home in the afternoon, surprised to see Mark\u2019s car in the driveway. Eduardo wonders if there\u2019s an emergency, and walks in through the garage, unlocking the back door precariously.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cMark?\u201d he calls. Mark is not in the kitchen, where their newly bought dining set is\u2014Mark had told him the story of interviewing Sheryl at her<\/em>\u00a0house because he didn\u2019t have a table, and Eduardo had sought out for him to buy one immediately. Eduardo glances to the living room, but Mark isn\u2019t there either.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then footsteps are noisily clambering down the stairs and Mark appears in the foyer, wearing what looks like yesterday\u2019s clothes. The smile on Eduardo\u2019s face fades when he sees that Mark\u2019s eyes are red-rimmed, and there are dark shadows under them.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cDid you sleep at all last night?\u201d he asks, walking over to him, concerned.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark\u2019s voice is clipped when he says, \u201cYou didn\u2019t come back yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo pauses, staring at him. \u201cI know,\u201d he says. \u201cI texted you sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI,\u201d Mark takes a deep breath. \u201cI need you to come home.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo blinks at him. \u201cSorry?\u201d he offers, again. \u201cI\u2019m home now, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cNo, I meant for the future.\u201d Mark\u2019s words come rushing out fast and he\u2019s not meeting Eduardo\u2019s eyes, staring somewhere above his right shoulder. \u201cI want you to come home.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo rubs his forehead. He\u2019s beginning to form creases there, too many for a man his age. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says, not sounding it this time, \u201cbut I\u2019ve got work, you know, sometimes I can\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cYou can,\u201d Mark interrupts.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo frowns, walking closer to him. \u201cMark,\u201d he says. \u201cWhat\u2019s this all about?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark closes his eyes. He exhales loudly again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI told you,\u201d he says. \u201cI just want you to come home.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cAnd I am home,\u201d says Eduardo. He takes Mark\u2019s face in his hands, cupping him lightly. \u201cI\u2019m home now, okay? Were you worried?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Mark says, shortly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo lets his hands fall.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want you out so late,\u201d says Mark.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo scoffs, turning on his heel now. His anxieties have been pushed back now, with something that feels like anger, and this is it, category number three. \u201cWhat are you, my mother?\u201d he says, spinning around to glare at Mark. \u201cIt\u2019s my work, you know I have work, god, sometimes you<\/em>\u00a0spend all night at the office, too\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cIf it bothers you,\u201d says Mark. \u201cI can stop doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo rolls his eyes, because he knows that wouldn\u2019t happen. His chest twinges a little at the thought, but it\u2019s trumped by the fact that Mark can get so lost in his work that he won\u2019t look up until it\u2019s six in the morning and he wouldn\u2019t have realized how much time has passed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He doesn\u2019t say that, though. Eduardo says, \u201cThis isn\u2019t about me, it\u2019s about you<\/em>. What\u2019s the real problem, Mark? Why are you so\u2014\u201d He gestures with his hands, the creeping feeling from the depositions coming back to him. The you\u2019re better off without him, it\u2019s a good thing that he\u2019s gone, and he\u2019s never going to be half as sorry as you want him to be<\/em>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

It must show on his face. Mark panics and blurts out, \u201cI\u2019ve said it to you so many times, I need\u2014I want you out here, I don\u2019t want you to leave again.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo shoves a hand in his hair and looks at Mark. \u201cYou realize,\u201d he says, \u201cthat your possessiveness is really ineffectual when we both have jobs that require traveling?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark bites his bottom lip. He nods.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo sighs and goes over to him again. He hadn\u2019t noticed it before, but Mark\u2019s wrists are shaking, close to his fingers. Eduardo reaches down and tangles them together, bumping his forehead against Mark\u2019s.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cI meant to text you last night, anyway,\u201d he says to Mark. \u201cI was just too tired. But I\u2014I promise\u2014\u201d and he swallows, because this is heavier than 600 million, heavier than dilutions and lawsuits, maybe \u201c\u2014I won\u2019t actually leave\u2014leave you<\/em>. Again,\u201d he adds.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mark nods but he whispers, \u201cOkay,\u201d and bumps his forehead back. Then, \u201coh god we\u2019re standing too close,\u201d and Eduardo giggles, \u201cyeah, we are,\u201d but neither of them move or try to back away.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

This is category three, a five on the richter scale that Eduardo doesn\u2019t want to bring to an eight, a nine, a ten. This is the day after the settlement when Eduardo is packing for Singapore for the first and last time when he gets a Facebook message from a user he would never have the heart to block, and he\u2019d only visited the site to see his name on the masthead again. The message had said I\u2019m really, really sorry<\/em>\u00a0and I really messed up<\/em>\u00a0and Maybe I was a little jealous<\/em>\u00a0and Can we be friends again?<\/em> and I\u2019ll give you as much money as you want<\/em>. Eduardo had laughed because no amount of money would get him to be friends again, and after days and weeks of not knowing how to respond, he finally said You acted out<\/em>\u00a0and the response was immediate,\u00a0I did<\/em>\u00a0and then I love you<\/em>, clear as day.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I\u2019m pretty sure you\u2019re supposed to say that in person before over Facebook<\/em>, Eduardo had sent, and pretended his fingers didn\u2019t itch to say more, to check his laptop every hour for a reply. And things weren\u2019t that easy, but even on his flight halfway across the world he thought of that I love you<\/em>, at Singaporean nightclubs he thought of that I love you<\/em>, every day at work and before lunch and after falling asleep he thought of that\u00a0I love you<\/em>, and it was an I miss you<\/em>\u00a0that wasn\u2019t good enough for Eduardo to return\u2014but he didn\u2019t have the heart to not, anyway.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

This is category three, when dulled fury turns to nostalgia, and rage is immature but love isn\u2019t. Eduardo doesn\u2019t want to leave Mark, today, tomorrow, a year from now, ten years from now, even when he remembers how much he hated storming out. He thinks of the (not so) stupid I love you<\/em> on the website they created; he thinks of nights in the living room with Real Housewives flashing on their faces; he thinks of basketball mornings and spooning while listening to Mark mumble the Iliad<\/em>\u00a0from against his chest.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Eduardo thinks of the house they are building together, from the pieces they had before, growing higher and higher. He doesn\u2019t know what\u2019s at the top, but he and Mark will get there, won\u2019t let the other fall.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cI think with Mark, up until the end, [Eduardo]\u2019s hoping at some point Mark\u2019s going to go, \u2018Look, I\u2019m really, really sorry, man. I really messed up. I love you so much, and I just was jealous of you for this. And I acted out like this. Can we be friends again? I\u2019ll give you back as much money as you want. Let\u2019s move in together and we\u2019ll play basketball every day, and we\u2019ll cuddle at night and watch reality TV.\u2019 Part of Eduardo in those depositions is just waiting for that moment.\u201d – Andrew Garfield, SFBG<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[291,209,170],"fandom":[511],"rating":[674],"ship":[594],"relationship":[606],"minorfandomships":[],"class_list":["post-252","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-default","tag-domesticity","tag-fix-it-fic","tag-post-canon","fandom-tsn","rating-general","ship-em","relationship-slash"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/252","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=252"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/252\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=252"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"fandom","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/fandom?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"rating","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/rating?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"ship","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/ship?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"relationship","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/relationship?post=252"},{"taxonomy":"minorfandomships","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aroceu.com\/fic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/minorfandomships?post=252"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}