Work Text:
Hands typing.
He watches as each finger hits the keys. Harsh taps being sounded out one after another. Over and over again like pebbles being thrown at a window. The typing gets faster and faster and he just can’t stop watching, staring at those pale, stubby nailed hands touching that fucking keyboard more than they’ve ever touched him and the back of his mind randomly brings up that time his dad made him watch a bird die, how his little 8-year-old self kept waiting for his dad to help it or at least let him help it instead of just stand there and watch and fuck what exactly is he waiting for those hands to do?
But then they start to slow down.
He watches as they careful stamp out a few more keys before pausing—just for a millisecond—before two fingers go press down on ctrl and s. Then they do stop. Hovering tantalizing over the rows of letters and he could just feel the—
“Wardo?”
He freezes, breath catching as he slowly draws his eyes up from the hands to their owner’s eyes. “Yeah Mark?” He feels exposed, the answering smile he’s giving feeling stretched out and fake.
“You..um..I-” Mark cuts himself off with a small noise of frustration as he fails to fully pull out of coding zone to express himself in proper words. Clearing his throat he rolls back his shoulders, tight in that worn out hoodie of his. Eduardo can’t help but flick his eyes back down when he then proceeds to flex open his hands, tendons tightening before the fingers are hidden away in curled fists that shove themselves into pockets.
“You’re here.”
And then Eduardo relaxes. Partly because his main distractions are now hidden away, but also because he’s remembering that this is Mark, his best friend who can be just as uncomfortable and awkward with himself as Eduardo really is but just hides away. Who may have noticed being stared at for a good ten minutes but doesn’t draw attention to it even if it’s rare for anything to get him to not be wired in. Who just stated a fact in a way that still asks for an explanation. One that Eduardo is more than happy to give, if not without a little pressure first.
“Yes, I am.”
Mark’s mouth quirks into his small half-smile and his eyes shine with a little spark that says Iknowwhatyou’retryingtodo but he gives in.
“Why?”
And now Eduardo’s smile doesn’t feel fake or forced. It’s real and it even expands. Because he knows that if he was anyone else, then Mark would have just shrugged and gone back to typing without a second thought. So it’s stupid little things like this that remind him he’s special and make his heart hurt a bit and his happiness go a little over the roof.
“I was going to get some lunch and thought you might want to join, yeah?”
He sees Marks bite his lip as his eyes dart from his computer and back, and rolls his eyes. Because he may lo-like his friend but that doesn’t mean he’s above a little forcefulness when said friend is being an idiot.
“Mark. That’s not a request. Get up, we’re going to get some food. Have you even eaten since yesterday? And I mean something substantial not a handful of starch and sugar.”
Mark glares at Eduardo but gets up and moves to grab his room key before they head out together, Eduardo lecturing him on his health while Mark makes sure to pitch in with a sarcastic remark every now and then.
And if Eduardo walks close enough to make sure they’re hands are constantly touching, well, neither of them say anything.