Archive of Our Own

NOW

 

Mark doesn't really like the term 'obsessive'. It's derogatory, a word that implies something negative about something that should be more positive. He focuses on better words for what he's doing. He's not obsessed, he's focused. He's driven. He knows what he wants and he sticks to it and he keeps his attention where he wants it to be.

 

So the fact that Mark knows that Eduardo had booked himself a ticket to Palo Alto, and had definitely boarded the flight doesn't strike him as knowledge that he shouldn't have. It's not stalking, it's a focusable interest.

 

Dustin doesn't see it this way.

 

("What do you mean, 'where's Eduardo?'" He says, a frown on his features. He's normally pretty cool about everything but he's still a little annoyed with Mark about the whole depositions thing, and Mark doesn't think that that's ever going to go away. "He never comes to these meetings."

 

Mark frowns. "But he's in town. He got a flight in last night."

 

Chris is standing only a few feet away, which mean he hears it all. His eyebrows pull together and he tightens his lips, looking disapproving. There's a chance, Mark thinks belatedly, that no matter what the terminology, Chris probably isn't going to improve.

 

Dustin keeps frowning slightly but he doesn't scowl or stomp away like Mark is suddenly scared he might. He just tilts his head a little to the left and looks at Mark—really looks at him, like he's trying to figure something out. Then he sighs and looks away.

 

Now Mark's not really great with social cues, but he figures out pretty quickly that thats the end of the conversation.)

 

But the point is that Mark pays attention. When he feels he needs to he's a force to be reckoned with. Why else would he be a billionaire at his age?

 

(You don't get to be a billionaire without being a little bit ruthless).

 

.

 

THEN

 

He didn't pick it up immediately. Mostly because at that stage Mark wasn't all that worried about directing his attentions at other humans, rather focusing on what he deemed important. Running Coursematch and completing all his assessment on time. This was when he still remembered to call his mother every couple of weeks and he hadn't even met Erica, or the Winklevii. At this point, he was just a young guy, working out of his college dorm and friends with the three people on campus that he could remotely stand.

 

But the point that we should focus on is that Mark did notice. In the end, that is. Two days in and Eduardo's mysterious absence is made clear to him by the fact that he hasn't slept in forty eight hours and he's not eaten in at least twelve (and even then it's only the red vines packet that Wardo certainly wouldn't have let him live on if her were around).

 

Mark catalogues his brain, trying to figure out if Wardo had mentioned any time recently that he would be going on holiday or staying away for a while.

 

Nothing comes up and, because it's been two days and Mark needs to get up anyway, pushes away from the computer.

 

He pokes his head out of his room.

 

"Wardo come round?" He asks tiredly, because standing up has suddenly reminded him that he now wants to freaking sleep.

 

The door to Chris's room is shut, which means he's either entertaining company in there or working. Either way, Mark isn't going to interrupt. Dustin is enthralled with a video game, sitting on the floor in front of the couch and paying little attention to anything else. Still, he seems to hear Mark when he talks.

 

"Nah, man." He replies distractedly. "Dude, look at my score!"

 

Mark retreats into his room, closes the door behind him and passes out on top of his bed covers, his headphones unplugged but still around his neck.

 

.

 

NOW

 

Mark leaves the investors meeting early. He calls Sharon, his secretary, even while she's only a couple of floor away.

 

"By the time I'm at your desk, I want to know what hotel Eduardo Saverin is staying at."

 

Sharon pauses. "Uhm... Mark? Are you sure that's a—"

 

He hangs up on her.

 

When  he gets to the right floor and strolls up to the desk right outside his office, she's looking disapproving and a little anxious, but she's got the hotel name and address written down on a post it. She hands it to him reluctantly, and Mark takes it without further comment.

 

.

 

THEN

 

When Mark wakes up, recovered from what even he can admit is probably an unhealthy lifestyle choice, he has a shower, pulls on a clean pair of underpants and sweats, his Harvard hoodie and heads outside.

 

Still, no Eduardo.

 

He checks again with Dustin, Chris and the thin blonde who is also sitting in their dorm room. ("Hey dude, my name's Jason." — "Don't try with Mark, Jase, manners are a foreign langue to him." Well, at least that clear up the homework—entertaining guests debate). Mark manages to flash him a slight smile because the moments after he's woken up are his most vulnerable.

 

"Seen Eduardo?" He says again.

 

(It's kind of embarrassing that their co-dependency has developed to a point where no one questions his immediate need to know where Eduardo is).

 

Dustin just shrugs. "He's been a no-show man. Flaked out on bringing the beer last night, and everything."

 

Mark rolls his eyes and moves to the door. He slips on his flip slops, despite the look that that move earns him from Jason, and heads outside.

 

And yeah, it's cold, but that doesn't really matter. Mark just shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and moves a little faster. This kind of cold is just motivation to get him where he needs to be more quickly.

 

He gets to Eduardo's single relatively quickly, and because he's not entirely convinced that Wardo hasn't been brutally murdered, he lets himself in with the key Eduardo gave him for emergencies.

 

He was expecting...

 

Well, he's not quite sure what he was expecting. His theories ranged from a study binge to vicious murder homicide. Mark wasn't prepared for the sight that actually greeted him.

 

Looking absolutely, completely pathetic, Eduardo snuggles a little deeper into the cocooned duvet he's got wrapped around himself and smiles pathetically at Mark. The lights are all off and Eduardo's got a tub of ice cream in his arms and he's watching—Jesus, fuck, is that

 

.

 

NOW

 

"The Fox and the Hound? Really bro?"

 

Dustin is staring at Mark like he's now got certifiable proof that Mark's insane, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. He's holding the VCR/DVD combo film like it might jump out at him at any time, like this is some elaborate practical jokes that Mark's thought up.

 

(Puh-lease. Mark could do so much better).

 

Mark nods his head resolutely.

 

"Just take it to his hotel room. Catch up. I know you guys still talk."

 

Dustin blinks at him.

 

"You want me to go over to Eduardo's hotel suite uninvited, just so that he and I can sit down and watch a Disney classic?"

 

Mark really doesn't see where the problem is here. It's not like he's bad a communication at this level, for fucks sake. And Dustin clearly understands the words that Mark's been using the last couple of minutes.

 

Dustin doesn't budge so Mark assumes he's going to have to spell it out.

 

"It's his sick movie, alright." Mark says, suddenly (although not quite inexplicably) frustrated. "Its the movie that he watches when he's sick."

 

"And you know he's sick, how?"

 

Mark rolls his eyes. "This is Wardo we're talking about Dustin. He's missed two of the four meetings he's supposed to be having while he's in town, and at this very moment, he's missing a third. Those are just the Facebook ones, by the way. This is the guy who hated Sean Parker for being twenty five minutes late."

 

Dustin's face does something funny. "Pretty sure that's not why he hated Sean."

 

Mark brushes that off because he's not touching that with a ten-foot pole. He just thrusts the film at Dustin again. "Go." He orders, in his best CEO voice.

 

Being the boss around her clearly counts for nothing though, because Dustin stays still.

 

"Suppose you're right about this sick thing." He says after a moment's pause. "How do you know he doesn't have his own copy with him."

 

"He got the plane out here, didn't he?" Mark says. Dustin looks understandably confused, and Mark can admit that his reasoning on this one is a little jumpy. He sighs. "Do you really think that Wardo's going to travel from Singapore, here just so he can be sick in his hotel and miss all his meetings? He didn't know he was going to be sick, duh."

 

Dustin frowns. "Oh right," he says sarcastically, "silly me. I should have known."

 

Mark rolls his eyes and shoves Dustin a final time.

 

Dustin actually gives a little this time, taking a step back and nodding his head slightly. It appears he only has one final concern.

 

"This can't be something you do anymore, Mark." Dustin says, in his annoying serious voice that he only uses whenever Eduardo comes up in conversation. "You can't be that person for him. He doesn't want that."

 

Mark feels a pang of something that he's never going to name in a million years and shrugs it away. It probably just looks like a normal shrug to Dustin. "Then don't tell him."

 

.

 

THEN

 

"Hey Mark," Eduardo calls weakly as Mark pulls the door shut behind him. The screen is paused, but because it's a VCR the picture is wobbling slightly. With the door shut it's the only source of light in the whole room and it's a little disorientating and Mark adds it to the list of reasons why VCRs pale in comparison to DVDs. Why are they even still making them?

 

(At least Eduardo's player has the option of DVD or VCR, though, otherwise Mark would have had serious words with his best friend).

 

"Wardo." Mark says, looking around the messy room that's so incredibly out of character that it's kind of freaking him out a little.

 

Wardo smirks slightly. "Are you alright?"

 

Because Christ fuck, when Eduardo looks like absolute shit of course the first thing he's going to do is enquire about Mark's welfare.

 

Mark says as much and Wardo chuckles slightly. "I worry about you." He permits and he's probably on some kind of medication Mark decides because even if Wardo's actions scream that at him every day, it's never something he's said out loud before. Mark hasn't heard it said out loud before. That's probably why he flushes slightly, a weird feeling in his stomach.

 

To avoid it, he stomps over to Wardo's side.

 

"Shove." He orders, and Wardo, even though he looks exhausted and tired and sick, complies immediately, shifting to move to a seated position while Mark steals the end of the couch his legs had been lying on. Mark rolls his eyes. "No—you idiot." He leans forward and grabs Wardo's legs—or their general position, he can't really tell because this giant fluffy duvet is wrapped around them—and hauls them onto his lap.

 

Wardo squeaks slightly as he spins falling back into his original lying position, his head landing solidly on the pillow. Even that more seems to have exhausted him and he's prone for a second, just breathing heavily.

 

There are tissues scattered all over the floor and there's a weird kind of stale smell in the air that only comes when someone's quarantined themselves from the rest of the world.

 

Mark wrinkles his nose.

 

"This is disgusting, Wardo." He says honestly, because it is.

 

Thinking about it logically, it's understandable that Eduardo suddenly breaks out into really nasally laughter, wheezing and shaking on the couch like Mark's just told him the funniest fucking joke he's ever heard.

 

Which, yeah, maybe the guy who's just come off a two day coding binge shouldn't be talking about hygiene or cleanliness, but Mark doesn't leave his snotty tissues lying around.

 

(Except for those few times).

 

Mark slaps Wardo's ankles through the blanket. "Shut up." He orders sourly.

 

Wardo continues to giggle. Mark thinks it's probably one part amusement at Mark's words and three parts influence from whatever medication he's on. Doesn't stop it from being annoying.

 

"Sorry," Wardo wheezes eventually. "It's just—you." He giggles some more and Mark grumbles his dissent, leaning over and snatching the VCR remote from where it's fallen down the back of the couch.

 

"Are we going to watch your stupid movie or not?" Mark asks.

 

Wardo quietens really quickly, (which just supports the 'it was all the drugs' theory Mark has) and looks at Mark with his fucking huge eyes. "You're going to stay?" He says, wide eyed.

 

Mark rolls  his eyes. "Of course you moron. Now shut up and watch."

 

(It's about the time that the Hunter and Copper are chasing down Tod and Vixie, running from the bear traps and the fire that Mark realises he's sort of rubbing Wardo's leg. It's just near his ankles, but Mark thinks it's kind of weird. He glances at Wardo's face to see him staring at the television screen, eyes wide, and Mark's not really sure of the reasoning but his hands are moving again and Wardo looks more comfortable and that's kind of what matters right now).

 

.

 

NOW

 

"A foot rub might not be out of the question!" Mark calls to Dustin's retreating back with a devious smile. Sometimes he is aware of the limits and likes to push at them.

 

Dustin doesn't react at all, other than calling back over his shoulder.

 

"I don't want to know. Ever."

 

A couple of hours later, Mark's phone vibrates on  his desk and is loud enough to actually catch his attention from the computer. He reaches for it and is unsurprised to find a text from Dustin.

 

You were right. He's not looking great.

[sent 5:15 pm]

 

.

 

The next bit is a little more complicated. He leaves the office early that night, much to the surprise of absolutely everyone that works for him, but he's logged back in on one of his computers as soon as he gets home. On his laptop, though, he pulls up Google.

 

You'd think that in a place like Palo Alto there'd be no shortage of Thai food, but you'd be wrong.

 

Well, no. Not wrong. In Mark's zip code alone there's more than enough Thai places to go around, but the point is that what Mark's looking for isn't just in any old Thai restaurant, and it's certainly not good every time.

 

The problem, though, is the meal in itself is something that Mark usually tries to avoid. It reminds him of Eduardo and that sort of emotional whiplash is something that Mark actively steers clear of.

 

So he doesn't know what's good and what's bad and more importantly, whether it's the stuff that Eduardo needs.

 

He orders the Massaman Curry from three places in his local area and six from a bit further out and tries a bit from each. When he's ruled it down to the best of each, he calls Chris.

 

"Can you come over here?" He asks distractedly, while he's packing his leftovers into the fridge and wondering how in the hell he's going to eat all of this. "I need your help."

 

Whether it's the shock from the genuine request from Mark, or the declaration of help, Chris arrive not five minutes later looking puffed, pale and a little bit nervous.

 

Mark hasn't even finished putting all his curry away. Still, he invites Chris inside pretty quickly. It's nearing seven o'clock now, which means this will all work out nicely if Chris gets on board.

 

Chris is watching him with nervous eyes. "What happened?" he says slowly. "You're alright, right?"

 

Mark frowns. "Yeah." He says, because what even brings on a question like that?

 

Chris's eyes narrow. "Did you do something to fuck up Facebook?"

 

Mark looks at him tiredly. Technically, Chris doesn't even work for him anymore. He's still in town, because he still has a couple of months before he has to leave to go work the Obama campaign, but he's in the middle of overseeing his replacement. Plus, Facebook was always more than just another job to all of them.

 

But come on, man, a little faith?

 

"No." Mark says smarmily. "I just need your help."

 

Chris holds his hands up in the surrender position, like Mark's aiming a gun at him. "Okay, seriously. Stop saying that. You're freaking me out."

 

Mark shoots him a look, before moving back to the kitchen and trying to sort out the five containers of curry that are still on the marble island in the middle of the room. Chris approached cautiously, like Mark has a bomb here or something.

 

"What's going on?" he asks nervously.

 

Mark pushes the chosen container of curry to him, with two addresses written down on top of it. "I need you to go to this Thai place, order two things of the Massaman Curry and then take it to this hotel room."

 

Again, it's not that complex a request.

 

And, again, his friend looks at him like he's just asked he step outside and run naked up and down the streets screaming 'TWITTER IS BETTER THAN FACEBOOK!'

 

"Mark, what the hell?"

 

Ugh. Mark rolls his eyes for the thousandth time today. This explanation business is going to get really old really fast.

 

"Eduardo is sick. This is the food he eats when he's sick. I checked his hotel menu and they don't serve it—and they don't allow take-away to be delivered to the building. I would like for you to take him some. I'll pay."

 

He pushes his hand out, shoving a couple of twenty dollar bills at his friend and waiting for more questions.

 

They don't come.

 

Chris looks at him sadly for a moment, another weird reaction to a very logical argument, before he speaks.

 

"Oh, Mark."

 

Mark frowns. "What?"

 

Chris sets the money that Mark gave him down on the island, but not the food container or the paper with the addresses on it. "Do you mind if I finish this one?" he motions to the container that Mark's eaten out of already.

 

Mark couldn't give a crap about that one so he shrugs and Chris smiles sadly at him again. He leans forward, pats Mark on the shoulder for a second, looking grim, before he pulls away. Mark wonders for a moment what the fuck that is all about, but Chris has left before he actually gets the chance to ask.

 

.

 

THEN

 

The knock on the door startles Mark awake, and he's immediately embarrassed to realise that he's kind of hugging Wardo's feet. He pulls away quickly, and the movement wakes Wardo. He still looks like death though, so Mark thinks it's acceptable that he get up and answer the door.

 

He flicks the light on before he opens it though, because he doesn't want to look that dodgy. Eduardo's answering moan of pain makes him regret it for a moment, but Wardo seems happy to pull the covers over his head rather than demand they turn it off again.

 

It's a delivery guy.

 

"Saverin?" The guy checks.

 

Mark leans back behind the door. "Wardo." He shouts, because he knows Wardo's awake. "Did you order food?"

 

The covers flip back immediately and Eduardo suddenly doesn't look remotely bothered by the light. He nods his head enthusiastically, and almost falls off the couch in a struggle to free himself of his cocooned bedding.

 

Mark rolls his eyes. "Stay there, you idiot. I'll get it." Wardo looks ready to protest but Mark stares him down until Wardo slumps unattractively back to the couch with a groan. Mark turns back to the delivery guy, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

 

Once he's got the food and the delivery guy has his thirty fucking seven dollars (for one fucking container of food plus delivery charge) he pushes the door close and walks back over to the couch. He puts the food on the coffee table and Wardo moves for it immediately, while Mark stands up and grabs some plates because he knows that were Eduardo not sick right now, he's be crying at the already dismal state of his room.

 

"I'll pay you back," Wardo says as he leans forward to share out the food.

 

Mark shrugs him off. He knows better than to argue, but he also knows that any money Wardo offers him at this point he's just going to leave in the room. Wardo's sick, and Mark owes him enough when it comes to food costs, so he figures this just evens them out a little.

 

"What is this?" He asks.

 

Eduardo looks at him like he's just killed a puppy. "You don't know what this is?" He says, his voice laced with actual legitimate terror. "Seriously?"

 

Mark shrugs. His knowledge of good food is essentially his mother's spaghetti bolognaise and toasted cheese sandwiches.

 

Eduardo leans forward more now, and pushes a plate at him. "This is Massaman curry." He says, like that's supposed to mean something to Mark. "Only the greatest curry ever created, ever." He elaborates.

 

Mark shrugs. "Like Butter Chicken?"

 

Eduardo actually makes a noise like Mark's hit him in the gut. Then he scoops his fork into the curry and actually juts the utensil at Mark's face. "Eat it," he orders stonily. "Now."

 

When Mark does eat it—feeding himself, thank you very much, because he's not an invalid or a four year old child—he finds that he doesn't mind it. Plus, now he knows of a meal that Wardo likes, so Dustin and Chris can't give him shit for making Eduardo live of ramen and noodles any more.

 

.

 

NOW

 

Mark goes to sleep once Chris has gone, because there hasn't been a crisis at Facebook and he's home anyway. There's not much for him to do when he doesn't have Dustin or Chris over to play video games or drink with. He practices his fencing for a bit, but he's been sitting down at his computer too long so his neck is kind of aching.

 

He falls asleep pretty quickly, and sleeps pretty well. He's woken up at nine o'clock the next day by the sound of his phone vibrating.

 

I am honest to god proud of you right now, Mark. Seriously.

[sent 8:57 am]

 

Which, you know, is a little patronising but Mark doesn't give it much thought.

 

.

 

And if Mark thought the fucking Thai food was difficult, it was only because he hadn't really given much thought to the next thing he was going to have to do. Because Raquel Saverin hated him the same amount that Eduardo hated him these days, probably more because she's a mother and such, and there was really nothing Mark can do about that.  

 

Still, Mark's a focused guy, and he soldiers on.

 

And so what if he makes the call from an untraceable payphone down the street from the FB headquarters. Eduardo had given Mark and the others many reasons to occasionally suspect that his family hailed from the Brazilian Mafia, and he wasn't taking any chances, even if the Saverin's lived in Miami these days.

 

The phone rings twice before there's an answer.

 

"Hello?"

 

Her accent is so distinct that it actually takes Mark off guard for a moment. He always thinks that Eduardo's family will talk like Eduardo did, even if they lived in Brazil most of their lives and Eduardo only moved here when he was eleven or something.

 

Still, he managed to stay on his feet, so to speak.

 

"Uh, hi."

 

There's a pause.

 

Raquel speaks again. "Hello." She says. She's more blunt now, because she knows there's someone else on the line, but she also seems to have picked up on the fact that that person has never been schooled in telephone etiquette.

 

Mark clears his throat, in an incredibly awkward way that CEO's shouldn't be able to do, and goes for it. "Sorry, I uh—sorry."

 

See? This is why Chris never let him do unscripted press released.

 

"Your son is sick."

 

That's it Mark. Straight and to the point, no need to make this phone call any more painful than it has to be.

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Your son is sick." Mark says. "I'm a—an acquaintance of his and uh—you should probably call him."

 

.

 

THEN

 

After the food is all but gone Wardo looks less pale and ghastly, but is still kind of rolling around on the couch like a pathetic lump. He's got his head in Mark's lap now and he's breathing wetly into Mark's knee through his sweats. It's a weird feeling and a weird situation and Mark really doesn't know what to do in a situation like this.

 

Jesus, this is why Eduardo looks after Mark. Because he's good at this shit.

 

Like he's reading his mind or something, Wardo rolls over suddenly, looking up at Mark from his lap with wide eyes.

 

"Oh, my god, why are you here?"

 

And yeah, that kind of stings because Mark was actually making an effort this time. The reaction must show on his face, even though Mark thought he was pretty good at hiding that shit, and Eduardo suddenly looks horrified. He tucks his arm under Mark's knee and pulls Mark's shin close, like it's a teddy bear.

 

"No, I didn't mean it like that—I just—don't you have more important things to be doing?"

 

If he's honest,  he does. He's got to keep working on the update for Coursematch and he's got a CS project due in two days that he hasn't started. But, Mark rationalises, Eduardo's always around when he's hovering around Mark, and he must have other stuff in his life to worry about that he puts behind Mark's welfare.

 

It's only fair that Mark does the same, right?

 

So he shrugs. "Nah. M'good."

 

And Mark's pretty shit with social cues, as we've already established, but even he's sure that those two words don't warrant the absolutely devoted look that Eduardo's giving him right now. He's still kind of hugging Mark's leg as well, which is a bit weird.

 

Comforted for the moment that Mark's not going to leave, Eduardo settles himself more closely on Mark's lap, actually rubbing his cheek a little again Mark's pants. His grip tightens around Mark leg and Mark makes a mental note to really check out whatever the fuck medication it is that's got Wardo acting so loopy.

 

"So do you often watch the Fox and the Hound when you're sick?" Mark asks, figuring that's a decent enough question to fill the silence.

 

Eduardo nods absentmindedly.

 

"It was my favourite. My mum and I used to watch it when I was little, and my father was away."

 

Even Mark could tell when he met Eduardo that there was some messed up stuff going on in the Saverin family home, so he's not really sure what to say to this. It always seemed to be a father-son thing, though, not a son-mother thing so he shrugs.

 

"When'd you last talk to your mum?" He asks, because he thinks that's still stable territory.

 

He's wrong.

 

Eduardo's eyes get all big again and he clutches slightly at Mark's leg. "Not for ages now." He says smally, into the fabric of Mark's sweats. "Maybe a couple of months ago?"

 

There's a pause because Mark actually has no idea what to say to that. Whatever it was, silence wasn't the right response either and Eduardo pulls away from Mark, curling up on the other end of the couch and staring at the blank screen of the television.

 

Mark awkwardly stands and grabs their plates, moving them to Eduardo's sink and dumping them there. He's considering how bad it would be if he just fled at that moment when he sees Eduardo's phone sitting on the bench.

 

Eduardo is still staring at the TV so Mark flips it open and breaks into it in record time (Eduardo's birthday, really?). He scrolls through the contacts and finds the one under 'Mae' before pressing the call button.

 

She picks up after four rings. "Eduardo? Sweetheart, how are you?"

 

Mark does what he does best and goes for blunt and honest. "He's sick, but he wants to talk to you. Here."

 

And that's his work done, isn't it? He pushes the phone forward and Eduardo doesn't even have time to fumble for it before Mark's let go. Eduardo clutches at it and pulls it to his head and in a really small voice he says, "Mae?"

 

Mark rolls his eyes, gathers the rubbish from the takeout and heads for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wardo." He says and he leaves before he gets a response.

 

.

 

NOW

 

"What are you saying to me?" Raquel asks.

 

Mark nearly curses because, son of a bitch, it is not this hard. "I am saying that you should call your son, alright? He's sick."

 

"Are you threatening me?"

 

Mark takes a minute to pull back from the phone and give it an incredulous look. "Jesus fuck," he says, before he can help himself. He puts the phone back at his ear. "No. Jesus, of course not. Just—just call him, alright? He likes to hear from you when he's sick."

 

There is a moment's pause, and then she speaks again.

 

"Alright then. Thank you for letting me know." And she hangs up.

 

Mark frowns a bit at the dial tone. He's not used to people hanging up on him. That's usually his go to move.

 

.

 

Now, Mark has never been the subtlest person on the planet, by any definition of the word, so he should be too surprised when his massively good deed comes back to haunt him and blows up in his face. He's sitting at his computer at work, his attention half focused on the new update, half focused on how he can deactivate Eduardo's email account temporarily, when he hears a bit of a commotion outside.

 

"No—hang on—you can't just—!"

 

Sharon's voice, Mark thinks when he picks up on it. And that's about all he has time to think because then someone is kicking his fucking door in.

 

And of course it's Eduardo.

 

Because Eduardo's always been the most perceptive person on the planet and of course he was going to figure it out.

 

There's a moment of silence between the two of them as they stare. Mark's sitting at his desk and Eduardo's standing angrily at the door and Mark kind of wants to put his laptop away because this one he's actually quite attached to and while he's pretty sure that using subterfuge to look after Wardo while he's sick isn't the same as edging him out of the company, he can't be completely sure.

 

He's trying to figure out how to subtly take the laptop from the desk when Eduardo speaks.

 

"You called my mother."

 

Mark gulps.

 

And it's an audible one.

 

But that's about all the sound that he's allowed to make because Eduardo apparently has a lot to say to him.

 

"How is it that you can be like this?" Eduardo asks him, (it's clearly rhetorical though, so Mark doesn't actually try to answer). "You never paid any attention at all—nothing, not once—and then you fucking kicked me out of Facebook. How the hell do you remember what to do when I'm sick?"

 

There's a pause here, long enough that Mark figures Eduardo's actually waiting for an answer.

 

"You're my friend." Mark says, simple because it is simple even if he knows it's another one of those things that he'd going to have to explain at some point in the future.

 

Eduardo lets out a little noise that Mark doesn't even know how to categorise.

 

"We're not friends, Mark." He says solemnly. "We're not. Not since—"

 

There are a lot of things he could say here. Not since you stabbed me in the back. Not since you screwed me over. Not since you proved to everyone everywhere that a website was more important to you than your best fucking friend.

 

He doesn't say anything of that though.

 

"Not since everything."

 

Mark manages to keep the smirk from his face even if the terminology is making him laugh on the inside. "Everything?" He says, sounding really dry. "That's how you're going to term it?"

 

Eduardo shrugs a little helplessly.

 

Mark pushes himself up from his chair, leaving the laptop unguarded where it is because he doesn't think that Eduardo's going to flip out. He walks around Eduardo and closes the door behind him, ignoring Dustin and Chris's looks (shit, Dustin looks more excited by Eduardo than he has in a long time) and Sharon's nervous facial expression. When the door is closed her turns around.

 

"I worry about you." He says.

 

He then cringes as soon as the words come out of his mouth because seriously? Is he really that lame?

 

Eduardo doesn't share his problem with it. (Meaning, his problem with the lameness. He has problems with the remark all of his own).

 

"You don't get to do that Mark. You never worried about be before. It was always the other way around." He says.

 

See, the thing is, what with the movie and the book and the public's general opinion, Wardo usually gets the favourable light. He's the wronged best friend who was stabbed in the back, even though he was the only friend Mark ever had (and by the way, Mark resents that particular part of the script because he has more than one friend thank you very much) and Mark never really cared about that.

 

But it was a little more complicated than that, when you're living it because there are two sides to every story.

 

And sure, Mark's a bit of a miserable friend. And yeah, the share dilution was an absolutely shitty thing to do to someone. But he's not so bad that he's not going to notice when Eduardo vanishes, or not going to feel sympathy when he's sick. Maybe he just doesn't talk about it. Has anyone ever thought about that?

 

But Mark's portrayal in the media isn't really what matters here. At the moment, Mark's just worried about how Eduardo sees him.

 

Still, he can't quite keep the asshole out.

 

"Did you learn about our friendship through the movie, Wardo? Because I remember it being a little more complex than that?"

 

Wardo shoots him a withering look. Mark doesn't back down because he's Mark fucking Zuckerberg. And, also, he kind of wants to get this all out in the open.

 

Still, that's the only response Eduardo has for him, so he just keeps talking.

 

"Yeah, I was a brat in college." Mark concedes. "I didn't have time for other people and I focused a little too much on my computers. And yeah, I didn't have great hygiene back then—" Eduardo snorts because there's a very obvious red bull can on the desk next to some red vines, and the trash can is filled with evidence to tell anyone who walked in that that's pretty much Mark's staple diet. "—okay, and now," Mark corrects himself. "But I was also a friend—and knowing that you like The Fox and the Hound and Massaman Curry and phone calls from your mother aren't hard things to remember."

 

Eduardo makes a noise and Mark falls silent.

 

"It's like the film, Mark." Eduardo says. "We were friends once but we're not any more. I'm the fox and you're the hound."

 

Mark scowls. "I'm the Hound in this metaphor? Because I resent the implication that you're going off to find your place in the world and fall in love and I'm stuck being some hunter's pet."

 

Eduardo shrugs. "Analogy," he corrects first. Then, "You are Copper. You've already found your place in the world, found what you do best—"

 

"Which is hunting and killing foxes. Don't you think that's a little harsh seeing as you're apparently the fox?"

 

Eduardo shrugs. "It's a surprisingly apt metaphor.

 

Mark glares at him. "You just said it was an analogy." He corrects him. "And also, fuck you."

 

Eduardo looks actually startled by that. "Excuse me?"

 

"The hound was doing what he thought was best when he starts hunting the fox. The fox hurt Chief and Copper couldn't just let that go."

 

"Are you seriously comparing facebook to the big grey grumpy dog in the movie?"

 

Mark shrugs. "You said it was an apt fucking metaphor."

 

Eduardo narrows his eyes. "Right, so Tod is just supposed to forgive Copper for burning his home and scaring him away?"

 

Mark smirks slightly. "Shouldn't that make Christy the hound?" Eduardo's answering glare is all he gets. Mark makes a frustrated noise. "The point is that in the end, Copper protects the fox from the hunter, stops him getting hurt and they sort everything out."

 

Eduardo is silent for a minute. "You're implying that my cold was the hunter, right?"

 

Mark shrugs. "Copper was sorry, for the hunting business, and he said so." He looks at Eduardo seriously, one of those alien gazes that always get him the attention he needs. "Because he was sorry."

 

There's a pause.

 

"Did you seriously just apologise to me using The Fox and the Hound?"

 

Mark shrugs. "Looks like. You're the one who brought up the metaphor. Or analogy. What the fuck ever."

 

Eduardo shakes his head, wide eyed, like he can't really compute that all this is happening. "They go their separate ways in the end, Mark."

 

"You do know that we're not actually cartoon animals, right?" Mark says slowly. "No matter how accurate the comparison?"

 

Eduardo shrugs again, helplessly, like he doesn't know what else to do.

 

Right. Something else that Mark's going to have to spell out.

 

"I don't want to go separate ways, Wardo." Mark says.

 

The ensuing silence is probably one of the most frustrating moments of Mark's life. His stomach is still doing all these weird things—those things he always attributes to Eduardo, even though he doesn't really name them. Two fifths lust, three fifths something else he always thinks. But he doesn't focus on that now. He focuses on the fact that Eduardo is just kind of watching him with a funny expression on his face.

 

Kind of feels like hours, even if, in the end, it's only a couple of minutes.

 

Wardo's head tilts to the side. "I thought I'd be pissed when you called me that." He finally, finally says. "It doesn't feel any different."

 

Mark shakes his head. "It is different. It's been years. We've grown up."

 

Another pause. This one not as long but equally excruciating.

 

"Fuck, Mark, you called my mother."

 

Mark nods his head awkwardly, not sure what else to do.

 

Eduardo analyses him for a further seconds before he takes a quick step forward. Mark thinks that he's going to smash something again, frantically tries to remember if he saved everything before he closed it and then—

 

Well, holy shit that about as far as his functioning brain gets because Wardo just kind of grabs his face and lays one on him. And for those of you who aren't getting it, it means that Eduardo is kissing him and he's doing a really fucking good job of it.

 

And yeah, holy shit, all those feelings in his stomach make a lot more sense now.

 

Mark lets out this embarrassing squeaky noise, but he makes up for it by kissing back enthusiastically, just as soon as he's figured out exactly what's going on. Eduardo's tongue is pushing into his mouth and it's fantastic and electric and Mark can't even help burying his fingers in his hair.

 

Eduardo pulls back, keeping his hands framed around Mark's jaw and their foreheads touching. "In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that if we were going to do this thing again, I don't want to be just friends."

 

Mark blinks.

 

"Yeah," he says. "I was getting that."

 

Eduardo watches him for a moment, like there's something else Mark should say. Mark frowns. "You don't think this is because of any gay undertones in the Fox and the Hound, do you?"

 

Eduardo shuts him up with another kiss.

 

.