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Staying angry with Mark is much harder than Eduardo anticipated. He thought that the white-hot burning rage would last, he thought it would carry him through the depositions and into a life without Mark, without Chris and Dustin, without fucking Facebook, but it doesn't happen like that at all.
He made mistakes, he can see that now; he didn't listen, he closed the account, he pushed too hard, he didn't come out. It's not really enough to excuse the metaphorical knife in his back, but still, he made mistakes. And maybe Mark did try to warn him, in his own roundabout asshole way, and maybe he didn't listen then either.
Maybe Sean isn't the Devil (but the jury's still out on that) and maybe Mark isn't the unfeeling asshole he pretends to be. Maybe Chris and Dustin really didn't know. Maybe he wasn't the right fit for Facebook. Maybe they both made mistakes and maybe they hurt each other and maybe this doesn't have to be the end.
When everything is said and done, when the papers have been signed, the money transferred and Eduardo's name put back on the masthead, they end up outside the lawyer's office staring at each other from opposite sides of the sidewalk. Mark's in a white shirt and black pants, looking more put together than Eduardo's ever seen him. His face is carefully impassive, even more so than usual, yet there's something in his stance, something almost… inviting.
"So, I kind of hate you now," Eduardo says conversationally.
It's at least two-thirds a lie, but Mark doesn't have to know that.
"Okay," Mark says, nodding slowly.
They stare at each other some more.
"Dinner?" Mark asks.
Eduardo considers it, then he inclines his head. "Sure," he says.
--
Eduardo's still a little bit angry over Kung Pao chicken and fried rice. He's angry about the way Mark digs into his food as if he hasn't eaten in days, and he's angry about the dark smudges under both their eyes and perversely he's angry that they wasted so much time.
"It was a dick move," Mark admits, pushing his empty plate to the side.
"Yeah," Eduardo agrees, reaching for his Coke. "It was."
He wants to say something mean and he can tell that Mark is already bracing himself for it, hands curling around the edges of the table as if the blow will be physical rather than verbal, but he can't really think of anything to say, except " you look tired" or "when was the last time you slept?"
"Asshole," he says eventually, but it completely lacks edge.
The corner of Mark's mouth curls up. "Takes one to know one."
"Everyone has one," Eduardo points out. Then he reconsiders, "Well, not everyone but…"
Mark loses it. He laughs like Eduardo hasn't seen him laugh like since, well, ever. He laughs until tears are streaming down his cheeks and he has to press one hand hard against his abdomen, sucking gasping breaths between guffaws. His face goes red and his nose scrunches up and he looks like a complete idiot really. Eduardo feels inexplicably fond.
Later they argue over the check. It's small and pithy, full of hurtful jabs and unnecessary barbs, but on the way out Eduardo touches the small of Mark's back and Mark leans into it rather than away.
"You should stay," Mark says, rocking back on his heels and looking anywhere but Eduardo.
"Okay," Eduardo says.
--
Palo Alto feels more like home than Singapore ever did, which is ridiculous because Eduardo stays at a hotel and tends to his business in an endless string of inconvenient emails and conference calls.
"You work too much," Mark says which is absolutely ludicrous coming from him and the resulting argument lasts for three days, until Mark grudgingly admits that maybe it was the pot calling the kettle black and Eduardo mumbles something about his reaction maybe being a little bit on the overreaction side of the scale.
It's how they work, now.
--
"You should get a house," Mark says, because it's been two months and Eduardo's changed hotels three times because nothing ever fits him quite right (too luxurious, too plain, just entirely too much).
"I don't need a house," Eduardo says.
Mark sighs. "An apartment then?"
Eduardo considers it. "I guess I could always look around."
--
"So you're fucking right?" Dustin asks, keeping his voice down to not be heard over the realtor's orgasmic description of the second bathroom.
"Don't be silly," Eduardo huffs, obligingly craning his neck to look at the divine shower. It looks like a regular shower to him, just a lot more ornate.
The tour moves on to the amazing kitchen. Mark asks a pointed question about the complicated stove, the realtor stutters through a terrified answer, and Eduardo hides his smile behind his hand. It was a terrible apartment for him anyway.
"Yeah, right," Dustin mutters darkly. "I'm the silly one."
--
The thing about Mark is that Eduardo just can't stay away from him. He never cared to look too closely at his motivation for this (he knows exactly why), he just accepted it for what it is – a complete and utter lack of desire to get the fuck away from Mark – but he's starting to wonder.
"Do you think it's weird that we still hang out?" he asks one night over vegan pizza (don't ask).
"No," Mark says, sharp, almost defensive. "We're friends."
Eduardo chews thoughtfully. "Friends don't stab each other in the back," he points out.
Mark gives him an uncharitable look. "Just eat your goddamned pizza, Wardo," he mutters.
Eduardo does.
--
The next morning Eduardo wakes up to a flower delivery, ten dozen red roses to be exact. There's a small non-descript card of a tulip included; Mark signed it himself, but there's no sentiment, no clue as to why Eduardo just received enough roses to turn his hotel room into a flower shop.
Eduardo calls Dustin.
"Mark sent me roses," he says. "Is there any kind of underhanded scheme going on that I should know about?"
Dustin emits a noise that sounds suspiciously like a muffled squeal. Then he says, "Nope. No scheming. Nothing going on here. Just business. The usual kind. That you know about. Sorry, have to go now."
Eduardo reads through the fine print of the settlement again, but there's nothing alarming in there, no loophole for Mark to barge through with a fleet of lawyers. (Not that he thinks Mark would, but still.)
He calls Chris.
"Mark just sent me ten dozen red roses," he says. "Any idea why?"
Chris hums, the clack of computer keys low in the background. "Why don't you ask him?"
"I will," Eduardo mutters defensively. "I'm just…. You know what he's like."
"He just sent you ten dozen red roses," Chris says. "I think that renders everything anyone ever thought they knew about Mark moot."
He has a point.
"Fine," Eduardo says. "I'll call him."
"Okay," Chris says. "And remember, any and all happy announcements must be run by me first."
"Sure… wait, um, what?"
Chris has already hung up.
--
If Eduardo is brutally honest with himself (which he almost never is because the things he finds out are just too depressing) he's aware of the fact that he's been in love with Mark since his second year of college. It used to be a huge thing, an obstacle, something that ruled and governed and blindsided him pretty fucking spectacularly, but over the years it has settled and sunken deeper until it's just another piece of the puzzle that makes him up. Brazilian. American. Jewish. Harvard graduate. Business man. Facebook co-founder. In love with Mark.
He doesn't pine after Mark anymore, maybe because he stopped hoping it would ever happen. He has a life and friends and a job, and he dates occasionally, but underneath all that, buried deep beneath the surface, he is, and will probably always be, in love with Mark.
When he lets his guard down – in that hazy moment between sleep and wakefulness, when he's drunk, or running a high temperature – he thinks about it. He thinks about Mark spread out underneath him, he thinks about kissing him, he thinks about what it would be like to wake up next to Mark every morning, he thinks about having instead of wanting, but it's never been more than a daydream, a vague forlorn hope that is impossible to squash.
--
He sends Mark a text (dire circumstances such as board meetings, or dentist appointments, sometimes keeps Mark from answering Eduardo's calls, but he always, always responds to texts):
Thanks for the flowers. What's the occasion?
You're welcome. No occasion.
You randomly decided to send me 120 red roses? I'm pretty sure that's flower language for "I love you so much I can't breathe without you."
He regrets it as soon as he's sent it of course, staring at his phone in abject horror. Mark's going to defriend him on Facebook after this and Eduardo will have to slink back to Singapore with his heart in pieces.
Mark answers within minutes. It takes Eduardo almost an hour to work up the courage to open it.
Yes.
Eduardo's heart trips, suddenly banging against his ribcage like a caged velociraptor. (Clever, deadly and really fucking mad.)
What's that supposed to mean?
Exactly what it says.
Fuck, Mark, now is not the time to be obtuse.
How about obscene then? My place, seven pm, bring lube.
Eduardo's hands shakes and his fingertips leave damp smears on the touchscreen.
What makes you think I'm that kind of boy?
You stayed when anyone else would have left, because I asked you to. You eat vegan pizza with me on Saturday nights. You water my plants when I'm out of town. You let me veto every damned apartment you look at even though you live in a hotel. And I'm in love with you.
Eduardo has an inbox full of emails that need his attention, calls to make, and a flight to book for a conference in New York. Instead he flops down on his bed, spreads his arms out wide and grins up at the ceiling so hard his cheeks hurt with it. He reads the message again, and then again, and then once more, and it's still right there. In print. Undeniable. Mark is in love with him.
The velociraptor breaks free of its cage, rampaging through his chest, his stomach, his lungs, the champagne-fizzy blood bubbling through his veins. He's crazy, actually insane, he's stark raving mad for even contemplating it, but he's also so in love he doesn't know how to deal with it.
So this is what it feels like, he thinks. To have everything you never dared to hope for.
It's intoxicating.
And terrifying.
He calls Mark.
"I'm in a meeting, Wardo," Mark answers. "Can it wait?"
"Did you mean it?"
Mark's quiet for a second and Eduardo can hear someone talking in the background, a presentation by the sound of it.
"Don't make me say it," Mark says flatly.
Eduardo bites at his lower lip. "Please," he says. "Just… did you mean it?"
"Of course I meant it, you idiot," Mark grumbles. "Seven p.m., don't forget."
There's another silence and Eduardo would have thought Mark hung up on him if he couldn't still hear the sounds of the meeting.
"You… um… you do… um… You do want to, right? I mean… Dustin said… and Sean… but you never know with Dustin."
It's weird to have the upper hand with Mark and for insane moment Eduardo thinks about saying no (Mark discussed this with the Devil? That's not cool.) but what would be the point in breaking both their hearts all over again?
"Yeah… I… uh… for a very long time," he mumbles, cheeks heating even though there's no one around to witness it.
"Good," Mark says, business curt as usual. "See you later then."
"Okay."
It's 1 p.m. when Eduardo hangs up, which means he has six hours to get his shit together. He starts with a call to his dad.
--
It's ridiculous to be nervous about a date with Mark, because in retrospect they might have been dating ever since Eduardo decided to stay in Palo Alto, but Eduardo's hands are still shaking when he rings the doorbell at 7 p.m. sharp.
Mark scowls when he opens the door. "I gave you a key for a reason," he huffs. "The doorbell is for other people."
"Maybe I like making you put in an effort," Eduardo retorts and suddenly he's not quite as nauseous with nerves.
Mark rolls his eyes and steps aside to let Eduardo in. "You always were ridiculous," he says.
Eduardo thinks about being nineteen and hanging on Mark's every word, and about being twenty-one and gutted. He's not the same person he was then, not as open and not as trusting. He loves Mark but he doesn't always trust him. He wants Mark but this has every potential to be a disaster.
"Is this… Do you really think we should do this?" he asks, trailing after Mark towards the kitchen.
The house smells like food, rich and heady, and Eduardo's stomach rumbles. Mark is actually a pretty good cook, which is surprising considering that he still forgets to eat unless reminded nine days out of ten.
"I didn't understand," Mark answers, which isn't really an answer at all. "All this time I just… I didn't get it."
The stately kitchen table is set for two with the nice china, candles, and even more roses. Eduardo is oddly touched. Mark pulls out Eduardo's chair for him, motioning for him to sit, and Eduardo gets his first good look at Mark's appearance. He's wearing a light blue button down, tucked into black form-fitting slacks, and he even did something to his hair, taming the usual abundance of curls into some resemblance of order that Eduardo wants to mess right up. He hasn't seen Mark look so polished since the depositions and for a heartbreaking moment he expects Mark's face to set into the familiar lines of cold indifference.
"What?" Mark asks, eyes wary, obviously picking up on Eduardo's change of mood.
"Nothing," Eduardo mumbles, fussing with his plate. "Just… you look nice."
Mark's eyes narrow. "Okay," he says, leaning forward to press his palms flat against the table top. "That was the least heartfelt compliment I’ve ever received. What's the problem?"
"I mean it," Eduardo says quickly. "It's just… you're kind of freaking me out. This… you… this whole day…. It's… I don't know."
Mark sighs and stomps over to the fridge, pulling out two shrimp cocktails and putting one down in front of Eduardo and the other on his own plate. Then he serves the wine and pours them both water before sliding down into his own chair with a huff.
"You're going to insist we talk about this, aren't you?"
Eduardo stares at his shrimp cocktail, it's gorgeously arranged.
"Yes," he says.
"Fine," Mark says, grabbing his fork and viciously stabbing a shrimp. "Go ahead."
"You broke my heart," Eduardo says.
"I've been trying to put it back together."
"You cut me out of our company."
"You didn't listen."
"You pulled my name from the masthead."
"You sued me for 500 million dollars."
"You're an asshole."
"You knew that when you fell in love with me."
Eduardo clamps his mouth shut around a forkful of shrimp cocktail and chews sullenly. Mark stares at him.
"We can do this all night," Mark says. "We can do this every night for the next ten years, but it won't change a single fucking thing. We can't erase the past. We'll never be able to and either we put it behind us or we don't."
Eduardo opens his mouth to respond, but Mark cuts him off.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you," he says. "I am. And I'm sorry that it took me so long to get it, but if you let me, if you're willing to give me a chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you because…"
He breaks off, making an annoyed gesture that sends a shrimp flying across the room. "Don't you see? We made it this far. We cling to each other like the lone survivors of a shipwreck and it doesn't matter that we both set the fucking ship on fire because we're both still here."
"So we should have a relationship because we haven't killed each other yet? Mark, that's not good enough."
"No," Mark barks, exasperated. "We should have a relationship because we love other. Jesus Christ, you difficult motherfucker, just marry me already."
Eduardo blinks. "Marry you?"
"Yes," Mark hisses. "I was going to work my way up to it but you're being a deliberately obtuse asshole and frankly you deserve to be my husband."
He digs something out of his pocket and throws it across the table. It bounces off Eduardo's chest and lands in his lap. It's a jewelry box, black and velvety.
"You're insane," Eduardo says weakly, picking the box up and turning it over between his fingers. "You bought a fucking ring?"
Mark huffs, gulping down half his glass of wine in one go. "I don't know why I'm in love with you," he says, waving a shaky hand in Eduardo's direction. "You're an idiot."
He's nervous, Eduardo realizes. He's nervous and defensive and he has no clue what Eduardo is going to say to any of this, but he still asked. Eduardo squeezes his eyes shut and tries to find the anger, the simmering hurt that is always there, but there's nothing, nothing but a suspiciously gleeful velociraptor and three million dancing butterflies to keep it company.
The box is warm from Mark's body and deceptively soft against his fingertips. Mark wants to marry him and they’ve never even kissed. Mark is insane but Eduardo has a velociraptor heart. Maybe they do deserve each other.
He puts the box down on the tabletop and opens his eyes. "I'm not going to marry you," he says.
Mark doesn't look away, he doesn't protest, or try to hide the hurt so obvious on his face. He nods once, forcing his lips into a mirthless smile. "Okay," he says. "It was... yeah." He picks up his fork again. "So… how was your day?"
Eduardo starts to laugh. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he can't breathe and tears stream down his face, because it's just so Mark to try and pretend he didn't just fucking propose, and the velociraptor is doing cartwheels in Eduardo's chest.
"Jesus Christ, Mark," he gasps when he manages to find some breath. "I'm so fucking in love with you."
Mark perks up, lips pulling into a smug smile. "I knew it," he says.
"Since I was nineteen," he pants. "Nineteen. Do you have any idea how crazy that is?"
Mark's smile turns even smugger. "Well, I am pretty irresistible."
And that's the problem, Eduardo thinks. He is.
"I bought an apartment," Eduardo blurts out, partly to change the topic but mostly to see Mark's reaction.
"What?"
"Today, after I talked to you. The gorgeous one with the roof terrace that you hated because of reasons."
Mark pouts. It's adorable. (Eduardo needs a new brain and a heart that isn't made up of teeth, claws and ridiculous sentiments.)
"So here's the deal," Eduardo says, managing to pull himself together. "Next week I'm going back to Singapore to tie down the loose ends I've left flapping for too long, and when I come back you're going to help me move into my new apartment. I put Dustin in charge of finding me an office space, which means I'm probably going to conduct business out of a bowling alley for the foreseeable future but it also means that I'm staying here. For good."
Mark's eyes narrow. "You're such a douchebag," he says, sounding almost impressed.
Eduardo smiles beatifically. "And next year, if we still haven't killed each other, I will marry you, because at this point I think we're ruined for anyone else."
"I sure hope so," Mark says petulantly.
Eduardo pushes his chair back and stands up. "And now…"
Mark jumps up too. "You're going to kiss me or I will kill you right now and render this whole conversation moot."
They meet halfway and for a moment they just stare at each other. Then Mark reaches out, grabbing two fistfuls of Eduardo's shirt, and Eduardo curls his hands around Mark's face, and they kiss for the very first time. It isn't awkward or hesitant or any other thing that Eduardo might have expected it to be, but it is really fucking amazing (which he hoped for but didn't actually expect). Eduardo sinks his hands into Mark's hair and Mark wraps his arms hard around Eduardo's waist and it's… perfect.
"Christ," Mark groans, mouthing kisses against Eduardo's jawline while his hands worm their way under Eduardo's shirt. "You need to marry me right the fuck now, you bastard."
"Okay," Eduardo agrees, backing Mark up against the kitchen counter and kissing him hard. "Yes."
It's the culmination of a desire years in the making and it's over embarrassingly quick. Eduardo barely manages to worm his hand into Mark's pants before Mark comes all over his fingers, groaning his release into Eduardo's neck and thirty-five seconds later Eduardo comes all over Mark's palm and his own shirt the very moment Mark gets his hand on his dick.
Mark stares at his come-slick hand for a moment before wiping it off against Eduardo's chest.
"Hey," Eduardo complains.
"You don't care; you love me," Mark says smugly, pushing up on his toes to give Eduardo a kiss.
Eduardo feels kind of ridiculous with his dick flopping about and come all over his shirt, but Mark's hair is messy and his lips are red from kissing and Eduardo is kind of stupidly in love with him and everything is actually perfect. Then the fire alarm goes off, but once they put the fire out that's pretty perfect, too.
--
"I knew you were fucking," Dustin says the next morning when Eduardo trails after Mark into the Facebook offices with a ridiculous smile on his face and three purpling hickeys on his neck.
"Dear god, what did I say about happy announcements?" Chris asks, throwing his hands up and giving Eduardo a disappointed look.
"Go away," Mark says, grabbing Eduardo's (ringed) hand and pulling him into his office, slamming the door shut behind them.
"I love you," Eduardo murmurs, hopeless and helpless, as he lets Mark press him up against the door and kiss him silly.
Mark pulls back minutely, lips pulling into a smile. "You too," he says, and then after a moment. "I should have sent you flowers months ago."
Eduardo laughs and pulls him in for another kiss, and in his chest the velociraptor curls up with a happy sigh.