Work Text:
"I'm gonna kill myself someday,” Mark says, almost absentmindedly, to the dorm room ceiling.
Eduardo lifts his head fast, nearly giving himself a headache. Mark's still lying on the bed, face cool as if he's said nothing at all.
“What? Mark, what? ”
He shrugs a little, not looking over.
“I'm going to kill myself someday,” he repeats, and Eduardo feels like his world is spinning.
“Stop saying that– dude, what??”
And Mark, Mark, had the audacity to chuckle. As if there was any humour to be found in the fact he just admitted his want for an early demise.
Eduardo makes his way from the desk over to the bed Mark is lying on. He's suddenly regretting the joint they decided to smoke tonight.
He sits on the edge of the bed, prompting him to talk without saying anything. Mark doesn't look at him once, but continues talking.
“I've been,, thinking about it. Lately. The future, I mean. When I was younger I always had one dream, and that was this. I never thought I'd really make it to Harvard, so I never dreamed past it.”
He's speaking uncharacteristically slow; the thoughts that usually run a mile a minute seem to pace themselves. Maybe Mark's thought about this enough that he's trying to cut it all shorter. Eduardo's stomach flips. Mark keeps talking.
“And now that I'm here, and I've met you, and Dustin, and Chris, I've broken enough hearts and ruined my reputation for the long hall, I can't figure out a single thing I would want to do after. I think I had it in my mind that I was going to become this, like, coder mastermind who invents a bunch of programs and becomes super rich. But now I'm here. And I just… I don't know. It seems so childish now.”
He trails off, so Eduardo bites. He's got to figure this out one way or another.
“What seems childish? Harvard? Programming? ...life?”
Eduardo's startled at the softness of his own voice, he holds his breath a minute, afraid it's too placating and Mark will throw the whole thought under the rug and go to bed.
He doesn't seem to notice though, just breathes a little heavier. If he were anyone else, Eduardo might reach out to touch his arm or run through a list of reasons why he's important. But this is Mark, and that would really cause the end of this.
“I think..” His thoughts trailed off into a sigh, and Eduardo can tell he's biting his lip as an attempt to clear his mind. They've been around each other long enough, he's got every movement cataloged.
He continues once more.
“I think that whether or not I do become this big coder, and I do get rich and famous, it wouldn't change if I died.”
Eduardo makes a humming sound at this. For the first time, Mark's eyes fleet down to him, just for a moment. Then they're back on the ceiling.
“I mean, if I don't become big in these next few years, who's to say I ever will? I'd just end up sitting here for how many years, dreaming about something that's never going to hit me. And I don't want that. That would really be tragic. I mean, everyone always says ‘Oh, they died young, it's such a tragedy.’ or ‘Oh, it's a waste, he was so smart.’ but I think that is the least amount of wasted you can be. You die in your prime, not after the light flitters out. That's, like, eternal glory.”
Admittedly, Eduardo never thought about life like that. He's always ran with the rush of early death being wasted potential. Now that he is though, he has to admit, there might be a bit of truth to it.
Maybe this is why you don't get mini-geniuses high. They start spouting wanna-be poetic shit that makes you question your entire life. He'll keep this in mind for future reference.
“You don't even want to take the chance?” Eduardo branches, “What if when you're twenty-eight, you find out you're really great at tap dancing and make a career out of it. But you'd never know, because you died at like twenty-one.”
Mark lets out an almost-laugh at that, and Eduardo takes it as a win.
“I don't know,” Mark repeats again, “I still don't think it'd be worth it. There's nothing saying I will do something in the future. What if I just end up sitting there, thinking of all these ways my life could go, but none of them ever end up happening? That's such a waste. I don't wanna be that guy.”
“But what if you aren't?” Eduardo says.
“But what if I am?” Mark counters.
The more words he says, the breathier his voice becomes. By now, Mark's words are barely above a whisper. They're starting to lack the self-assured confidence he started with, and Eduardo can hear the doubt finally creeping in.
“I don't want to be that guy, Wardo. I can't be. I can control basically nothing that will happen to me. It would only be fair if I controlled my ending.”
Fuck it. Eduardo risks it and places his hand atop Mark's, gently.
It's not much of anything, really. He's barely touching Mark after all. But regardless, Mark's breathing calms just slightly, and he reaches back. That's.. unexpected. Mark speaks again.
“It's just.. I don't want to waste my time.” It's a small confession, barely even one at all, but Mark says it with the weight of a thousand worlds.
Eduardo tightens his grip ever so slightly.
“That makes sense. I mean, more sense than I'd like to admit. But,” he paused, suspirating in thought, “you can't live your whole life in fear of the future, Mark. You're not wasting your time, you're living your life.”
Mark's hand tenses involuntarily beneath his, but he doesn't pull away. His eyes stay fixated on the ceiling when he speaks.
“That's easier said than done,” He's striving for nonchalance, but there's a shake in his voice that betrays him.
“What if it's not worth it? What if nothing ever changes and I'm stuck like this forever?”
Eduardo shifts a little, eyes starting towards Mark. It's unsettling to see him like this, he's never seem Mark this unsure before. His heart clenches.
He wants to offer some kind of support, say something comforting, but he knows Mark too well. He’ll hermit away if he receives any kind of pity, so Eduardo tries a different kind of attempt.
“You really think nothing will change?” His voice is still soft, but there's a teasing lilt to it. “You're nineteen years old, Mark. I don't think you've stayed the same for more than, like, two weeks at most.”
Mark lets out a huff, but his lips turn up just a fraction at the corners. It's a start.
"That's not exactly comforting, Wardo,” he says, finally ridding the roughness in his voice. But the almost-smile remains, so Eduardo takes a leap. "Uncomfort isn't always bad though, is it?" Mark’s eyes close, and his expression turns pensive again.
He's quiet for a long moment, and Eduardo starts to think he won't respond. After a second, though, he squeezes Eduardo's hand and finally looks at him.
“No,” he speaks finally. “I guess it's not.”