Never Let Eduardo Go

by maybecatie

The Social Network/Never Let Me Go crossover. Mark/Eduardo But Dustin is right, too. An original would never love a donor. If Mark ever found out, everything would be over, and it isn't fair.

title; never let eduardo go
fandom; the social network/never let me go
pairing; mark/Eduardo
total word count:
warnings for character death and graphic content (both sexual and not).
Are theyreallythat different? Mark talks to him like he's a real person, looksat him instead of through him. He's kind to Eduardo, when no one else is. He listens to Eduardo even when he doesn't have much to say. Eduardo doesn't want to complete alone. But Dustin is right, too. An original would never love a donor. If Mark ever found out, everything would be over, and it isn't fair.
Why do I do this to myself? Idek.
Parts of this were inspired by this . beautiful TSN/NLMG fanfic: Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out by sharpest-rose.

secret (see-krit)
1. done, made or conducted without the knowledge of others 2. something that is kept hidden or concealed 3. an explanation or reason is not immediately or generally apparent

He meets Mark pretty much by accident.

Dustin and Cameron have sent him out to get them coffee; a cinnamon dolce latte and an iced coffee respectively, not that Dustin needs the caffeine, or sugar. But Eduardo, being the good soul that he is (or the one that is just never able to say no, which most everyone at the care center knows, and is why Eduardo has pretty much become the unofficially appointed Coffee Boy), agrees. He likes being able to get away from the center anyway, escape the four awful walls he's trapped inside every day, and he looks for any excuse to go driving around in town.

Eduardo never had friends at Hailsham or the Cottages, either. He never could put his finger on it, but he always felt different, like he never quite fit in in a group of students. He couldn't relate to the things they talked about, and he always felt like he was on a different page. He didn't care for participating in the sports that the boys played, listening to music or playing with the dolls of the girls. So at Hailsham, he spent a lot of his time reading, finding more interest in imaginary worlds than his own. There were a lot of things he didn't understand in the books, and still doesn't, but they were his only escape.

Dustin, who he shares a room with, is the only one here that he really gets along with. He supposes you could call Cameron and Tyler W. his friends, but he's only known them for the short time he's been here since his first donation (which went surprisingly well, and he was up and going again as soon they let him out of bed. The whitecoats at Kingsfield are surprisingly friendly, compassionate, nothing like Eduardo'd heard about how awful some of them could be) and they mostly stick around eachother. Still, though, Dustin is one of those friends that you look to when you need a decent laugh or just some company (even if it's incredibly annoying company) but that isn't a true friend, not one you would talk about anything meaningful with. Eduardo's never had any of those.

(Cameron and Tyler have the same original, while other than their appearances are nothing alike. Tyler's a bit of an asshole, really, but Cameron's at least tolerable. Eduardo doesn't know why they would make two donors from the same original or why, if it's obviously possible, it might be done more as it saves a lot of hassle).

So Eduardo's glad for any chance he has to get away. He learned to drive as soon as he could, and it didn't take long for him to master the rules of the road. He can always get a car somehow and he'll spend an evening just driving into the sunset, enjoying the solitude, the smell of the leather inside the car and the air outside the open windows. Sometimes it will rain, and he'll sort of lose himself in the fog to the pattering rhythm of the rain on the roof. Surrounded by students at Hailsham for his whole childhood, and then the cottages, then the whitecoats and his roommates at the care center, it's a relief to be alone. Eduardo's best friend from the Cottages, Christy, went on to become a carer. He could have, too, but to be perfectly honest, Eduardo didn't see much point in prolonging his life.

If he hadn't gotten himself lost this time, none of it would have happened. Nothing would have happened. But he gets a little too lost in his own thoughts and misses the turn that's supposed to lead him to the closest coffee shop, the one they always visit.

He hasn't gotten the town memorized yet; when he goes out, he sticks to the deserted country sides, where he doesn't have to wait for the traffic and doesn't even have to worry about possibly running into someone. Eduardo doesn't even like the people he's shoved in with at his care center, and they've been warned of the dangers of talking too extensively to originals. It's taboo to speak to them at all really, and in their position, it's understandable.

Eduardo winds up driving himself very far into the center of town as he's trying to find the way back out. He's never been in this area before, and he's helplessly lost. Just as he turns another corner, banging on the steering wheel with a curse, he spots another shop down the street. It's not the same one, duh, or even the same chain but fuck it, Dustin and Cameron will just have to live with whatever he can find here.

He mumbles to himself as he hops out of the car and scuttles into the shop, scolding himself for being so absent-minded. It's empty, except for one single person sitting at a table in the corner. He has a laptop and headphones over his ears, and doesn't even twitch when Eduardo walks in and the bell dings over the door, so Eduardo guesses he hasn't been heard. The headphones remind him of the cassette player he had at Hailsham, the one that one of his bullies smashed on the sidewalk in front of him.

He orders a drink for himself; he'll get Cameron and Dustin's on his way out, they can wait. But for now, he orders himself an iced coffee. The café is tiny, so it's not that weird that he chooses the couch right next to Laptop Boy's table. Still, he is not noticed. He can't see the screen from here, but the boy is obviously used to using it; his fingers tap away in long bursts without pausing; the taps are so fast that Eduardo can't imagine he's typing anything intelligible. His eyes are affixed on the screen, so whatever's on it must be very interesting.

Always the curious one, Eduardo leans over some, trying to get a glance at the screen, but all he sees is a box with a string of random symbols and numbers. He doesn't understand, but the boy seems to know what he's doing, only taking a break from the constant pattering on the keys to sip his drink. He watches the flickering screen, trying to detect some kind of pattern, but he finds none. This is no language he learned about at Hailsham, and he's confused. He looks at the boy's face, too, studies the furrow of his brow and the slope of his nose. He's not really checking him out – Eduardo just likes how his face looks. He's an artist, it's an aesthetic thing, really.

Laptop Boy only notices his presence when he leans in far enough that his face is reflected on the screen. Laptop Boy jumps, snatching the phones off of his head and giving Eduardo a glare; "Can I help you?"

Eduardo flinches back, startled, and his mouth goes dry. He curses himself for seeming to have lost any sense of moral boundaries (God, what is up with him today?). He feels like he's cheated on a test in school and almost expects to be reprimanded or slapped on the arm.

"I'm sorry-! I…" Eduardo looks around, swallowing as he runs his finger around the rim of his cup. "I'm just… curious, as to what you're doing." He purses his lips and swallows, offering a grin to lighten the mood. But it probably just looks creepy, because Laptop Boy looks at him like he has three heads, and Eduardo can tell he's gotten out of line. He guesses he should have heeded the warnings about interacting too much with originals…

"Coding," the man says deliberately, as if it's obvious, but to Eduardo that means nothing, and his bewilderment probably shows on his face. "Creating a website?" Laptop Boy elaborates, slowly, and Eduardo blinks owlishly.

"Oh… Cool?"

Laptop boy scoffs and then sighs, glancing back at his screen. "I'm doing work," he says, fingers flicking over the keyboard again and then stopping, hovering over the buttons. "The wifi at my offices is down. You don't have the Internet wherever you're from?"

"We – no. Not really." Eduardo doesn't know what wifi is, but he's guessing he probably should know.

"And where is that, exactly?" asks Laptop Boy.

"Uh-" Eduardo flounders. He doesn't know how originals feel about donors, but he's guessing it's something that's best to keep under wraps, especially if he ever wants to talk to this man again. "Just, not around here."

"Well – alright." Laptop Boy gives him a look that says he doesn't understand at all and thinks Eduardo is totally insane. He also looks a little afraid, like he thinks Eduardo could be dangerous, but he shakes his head and goes right back to his screen. "I'm working on my website – Facebook?"

"Your website… 'Facebook'?" Eduardo parrots. He knows what a website is, in theory at least, but he's never heard of this… Facebook.

"Yes. It's – have you ever even used a computer?"

Eduardo decides to be honest, but he feels extremely inferior, as if he didn't feel small enough already. But they didn't need them at Hailsham, certainly not at the Cottages and he doesn't touch the ones they have at the care center. "Not really."

Mark shakes his head at him, looking both shocked and kind of disgusted. "Seriously, where are you from?"

Eduardo shrugs, and Laptop Boy purses his lips. "Well. Welcome, I guess?"

Eduardo can't help but smile some; this is the first interaction he's had with people from outside, unless you count the guardians at Hailsham and the whitecoats at the center, but he never really had much alone time with them, and the whitecoats are people he'd rather evade. "My name's Eduardo," he smiles, feeling both excited and nervous at the prospect of having met someone from outside their little group. He holds out his hand and Laptop Boy just stares at it a moment before shaking it. Something is oddabout this 'Eduardo', something he can't exactly name.

"Mark. Mark Zuckerberg. And you're Eduardo…?" He pauses expectantly.

"Huh?"

"What's your last name?"

"Oh, it's—" he smiles, "just Eduardo."

Mark shrugs; he figures the world already knows his name and Eduardo must not want to give that away to a stranger in a coffee shop. Fair enough. He turns back to his coding, and this time he doesn't mind Eduardo watching, his face reflected dimly on the laptop screen, as a drizzle begins outside to the rhythmic tapping of the keys.

/

He is two hours late to bring Dustin and Cameron their coffee.

"Dude," Dustin gawks as he races out to meet Eduardo when he steps out of his car with the little drink tray, "what took so long?"

"I got lost," Eduardo shrugs, plunking the tray in Dustin's arms and turning away. He knows it would be mention not to mention the man he met at the café, though he does secretly hope he'll see him again.

Eduardo slips into bed and falls asleep that night, wondering about the man he met at the café that day, with his laptop and his wifi and his purple hoodie. Maybe it's just that he's never really talked to an original before, but he really, really hopes he'll run into Mark again.

Driving to the offices the next morning, when Mark passes the café, he wonders about the man he met the previous afternoon. He wonders where he could possibly be from where he would never have had a computer, if he said it's 'not far' or how he couldn't even know what the word 'wifi' means. He looks and talks like he's from around here, but… he doesn't know what it is, but something about Eduardo was just odd. Odd in a good way, almost.

Something creeps into the back of his mind, trying to nudge its way to the front but he pushes the thought away before it can even become complete.

Mark later comments to Chris on the totally bizarre-o guy he met at the café.

"How old was he?"

"My age – I think…?"

"Maybe he just had weird parents," Chris shrugs, heading back to his own cubicle. He's not impressed, but Mark can't shake the thought that there's something weird about him, something different. Something intriguing, too.

It's impossible to swallow the feelings of loneliness that come from staring at the four walls of the care center on a sleepless night. They've done their best to make it as nice and homey as they can, but it's certainly not a place anyone might wish to finish their life in. Eduardo's room's got paintings on the walls, flowers in a vase on a table beneath the window that looks down over the hill, to a field of wildflowers and the road beyond it. When he can't sleep, he'll lie awake and count the cars, each blur of headlights that passes by the window.

It's the nights that are the hardest, when Eduardo's bed feels too big and too empty and the air conditioning above him feels too cold, and when there's nothing to occupy him to stop his thoughts from swarming around in his head. Nights when he watches the lights on the road outside and wishes he could be in one of those cars; driving past the care center, and moving on, far, far away, never looking back.

Eduardo always counts things. He counts trees, or pictures on the wall, lines on the road, tiles on the ceiling or the floor. In the fall, he'd count the leaves that fell when a breeze whisked them from the branches. He counts stripes on clothing and almost anything that can be given a numerical value. Sometimes by ones, sometimes by twos, sometimes by nines, or backwards in threes from the number sixty-four. It's a good distraction, sometimes; in this case, hiding how afraid he really is.

Ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two, sixty-five…

Dustin, his roommate, had a girlfriend back at his home at White Mansion, Stephanie A. They were together in their last years at the Glenmorgam House, right up until they both became donors. Eduardo has never had a relationship with anyone, barely even friendships. He's never felt the euphoria of someone else's hands on his body or being pressed up against another person at night, but, seeing Dustin's now heartbroken state, he wonders if it's better that way.

Dustin's first donation didn't go as swimmingly as was hoped. He's been sick since, hardly able to get out of bed in the two months that have passed, but he doesn't really seem to want to. He and Eduardo talk often, sitting with their legs hanging off the beds. They'll talk about happy times, about their days back at Hailsham and Glenmorgan and they'll make jokes, tell stories. Dustin will smile when he talks about Stephanie, he'll get this sparkle in his eye that's never there otherwise. It's easy to pretend that everything's okay until Dustin has to get up, shaking and hunched over a walker to help him get anywhere. Dustin's health and mental state began to deteriorate when Stephanie began her donations and they were separated, and since they've only gotten worse, but somehow, he still manages to pinpoint just where all the sunshine and rainbows in the world lie. Usually, though, they're outside the walls of the care center. Dustin's carer is a waste of space, so Eduardo's sort of taken on that role; helping him walk place to place, bringing him food when he can't get out of bed, covering him with blankets if he falls asleep without them.

He's expected to complete on his next – his second - donation. And he remembers hearing something a nurse said once; "when they want to complete, they usually do."

/

The word for it at Hailsham was umbrella. It was tossed around, and more or less frowned upon, when they were children, but no one really knew what it meant. Eduardo didn't, either, and he wondered if he was umbrella when, even well into his teenage years, he'd never had a girlfriend, or any sort of desire for sex with a girl. Knowledge of sex in general was limited at Hailsham; with no proper instruction, all the students had to rely on were books, which were very vague and assumed you knew most of the details already, which he didn't, and the movies only caught oddly angled glimpses. And none of them mentioned anything at all about sex between two men.

He kept it to himself until he moved onto the Cottages, when he just couldn't contain his curiosity anymore.

He found the magazine in one of the girls' rooms, the one with dirty pictures of men in it rather than women. When one of the veterans caught him with it, he laughed and told him the proper term, and then took the liberty of spreading it around to everyone at the Cottages. For a while, it only made Eduardo more of an outcast, but people seemed to get over it as they matured. And here, at the care center, it doesn't matter at all.

But Eduardo is still alone. Painfully, crushingly alone.

Mark isn't usually a charitable person. Well, he gives away most of his money, but that's only because he's happy how he is. He doesn't need the cash. He's happy with his apartment and doesn't need any upgrades. If it's kind and also involves effort, he usually avoids it. Random acts of kindness aren't his style.

The only reason Mark was driving down an old country road in the first place, about three days later, was because he was coming back from a business meeting across town, and he knew that coming through here was a lot faster than going through the traffic of the city. He's going slow, so he doesn't miss the broken down car on the side of the road, or the man walking in circles around it, pulling at his hair and looking quite distressed. A quick glance tells him it's the guy from the café, the weirdo. He's not sure what unseen force calls him to pull over, roll down his window and offer assistance, but he does.

Eduardo stops his pacing when Mark gets out of his car, blinks at him with ridiculously big deer eyes, and Mark pauses before raising his arm in an awkward wave. For a moment, he's a little overwhelmed by the oddness of the situation; what kind of coincidence must this be?

"Your car break down?" he asks, tilting his head.

"I guess so-" Eduardo sputters, seeming panicked. His hands fist in his hair and he pulls again, flustered. "What the hell do I do?"

Mark scratches his elbow. "What's wrong with it?"

"It just… died. It won't start."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you're out here and not in the city, then. Have you called anyone to help?"

"I don't have a phone."

"Of course you don't."

There's no way to help the car except to get it taken to the nearest maintenance station, which requires getting it towed, which requires Mark driving Eduardo to the station in his car, which requires Eduardo being in his front seat. As in, the first attractive male to be in his breathing area in God knows how long. Eduardo doesn't often ride in a car with someone, especially not someone who is essentially a complete stranger. He kept his eyes trained on the scenery outside the window, trying not to look at Mark's face, not knowing why his palms are suddenly sweaty.

He counts the cars that they pass.

When they arrive at the service station, Mark has been planning to just leave Eduardo here. Get back to the offices. His fingers feel acutely naked, they long for what Mark tells them is a keyboard beneath them, but Mark can't fool himself; he knows deep down that he doesn't want anything more right now than to just let his fingers weave with Eduardo's or to toss an arm over his shoulder or around his waist.

Maybe it's some deep, deep part of him that makes the connection that Eduardo looks like a lost puppy, and that he really likes puppies, and that anyone who abandons a puppy is just a jerk. Or maybe it's a part of him that stupidly wants to see Eduardo again, that doesn't want this to end right here. Because he's handsome, because he's nice, because Mark wants to know the answers behind these strange behaviors; maybe he's committed a crime and Mark can be the one to gather the bounty for turning him in. Not just because he's kind of sexy and Mark is really, disgustinglybad at flirting. But he can't hold back the impulse, with Eduardo still pulling at his pretty hair and scratching at his own face.

"I'll pay – for everything," he says, "and I'll take you out to lunch tomorrow."

/

Eduardo doesn't mention meeting Mark again to anyone, but he can always count on Dustin to know exactly what's going on in his head.

"Something happened with you today." It's a statement, made by Dustin as he plops down on his bed across from Eduardo's. Eduardo has a notebook in front of him, which he flips closed the moment his friend enters the room. Dustin's never questioned what he puts in his journals, even if he interrogates him about just about everything else – like right now.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been smiling. Actually smiling. So what is it? Or do I even want to know?"

Eduardo, stupidly, doesn't think it would be that big of a deal to tell him. 'I've met someone' is not far off from saying 'I've met an original' and when the truth comes out, Dustin gawks at him.

"An original? You – what do you mean, you 'met' them, Eduardo? We're not supposed to speak to them."

"I just – we met at the café. A few days ago, and then, when the car broke down-"

"The car broke down?"

"-yes, it broke down, and I was on some old road, and he drove by and he helped me. He took me to have it fixed, and he paid."

Dustin squints at Eduardo. "Then he was a kind soul, but Eduardo, you'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking."

"What do you think I'm thinking?"

"That this - that this original is going to be anything to you. Or you're going to be anything to him. It can't happen."

"I don't see why-"

"Because, Eduardo! Originals aren't like us. I know you're lonely, and you want someone, but - It's dangerous and you're only setting both of you up to get hurt. I'm just… this worries me. You shouldn't see him again."

The conversation ends there. Dustin leaves and Eduardo knows deep down that Dustin's fears aren't unfounded, but he doesn't plan to heed his warnings.

/

Eduardo steals away to the café without telling anyone where he's going, but that's not unusual for him. He's always able to borrow a car, one way or another, is rarely without transportation which he finds to be his greatest blessing. All he has to do is tell his carer exactly when he plans to return. Special arrangements must be made for trips longer than one overnight, but Eduardo never takes those, and as long as they don't interfere with his next checkup, he is pretty much able to go where he pleases. It's a blessing; he wouldn't make it past his next donation either if he had to be cooped up in there all day.

Mark's already there when he arrives, dressed in a pink hoodie today, with the same backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Ah, hi…" Eduardo approaches him a little awkwardly; he really doesn't know how you do these things. But the little smile that immediately appears on Mark's face is infectious, and when Eduardo returns it it makes Mark's stomach do some stupid little acrobatics and he tries to think of dead puppies or, worse, of Facebook crashing just so he can stop himself from puking rainbows, or something.

Eduardo's heart is pounding in his chest already and he slips his hands inside his coat pockets, not really knowing what to say now, what you're supposed to say during this kind of thing, and also afraid that his nervousness will show if he opens his mouth. But, he manages to stupidly choke out "How… was work?"

Mark smiles, the way he always does when he's able to stick Facebook into a conversation (he could talk for hours about his baby) but not today, Eduardo probably wouldn't know what he's talking about anyway, and he has other things on his mind. He just nods and grins, "swimmingly. How was your… whatever you do?"

"It was whatever," Eduardo shrugs, because he's not going to tell Mark about all the discomforts of the care center. He grins, and Mark grins back before clearing his throat and suggesting they get on to the place where they'll be eating lunch.

Mark walks them out of the café, leading Eduardo to what he says is a good lunch spot. And it isa cute little place that Mark takes them to, one Eduardo's never seen before as he hasn't really explored this corner of town much. They're lead to a booth by the window, and as soon as Mark sits down he's getting up again. "I'm going to get a drink," he announces, "would you like one?"

Eduardo thinks of the bi-monthly checkups and what could possibly happen if traces of alcohol were found in his system. At the least, he'd probably have his travelling privileges revoked. "I… can't."

Mark tilts his head at him, but shrugs, and shuffles off to the bar. Eduardo tilts the saltshaker between his fingers until he returns, with a bottle of beer and a glass of water for Eduardo. "Thank you," Eduardo smiles, peeking at Mark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip, while Mark nods and takes a long slug of the drink.

Eduardo's done this before, stopped in at a restaurant or two to have dinner after a day of aimless driving, if his stomach really began to cry out. But he remembers the first time, and he looks back on it and laughs, when he went to have a meal with Dustin, and they were both completely, utterly helpless, taking about five minutes just to order a pair of cokes and some pancakes. That was the only time Dustin ever really left the care center; the real world scared him. Eduardo doesn't know how Dustin can tolerate it, staying in bed all day, but to each his own, he supposes.

Mark orders the chicken, Eduardo the pasta. "You know, I never really… thanked you. For helping me out, you know, with the—"

"It was nothing. Really, it-" Mark doesn't even know, honestly, why he stopped to help. It's a little ridiculous, paying for a car repair for someone who is essentially a total stranger. "I can afford it. It was nothing."

"It was a pretty big bill."

"I can afford it," Mark repeats, because really, he can. "You're welcome, if that's what you want to hear. But… you looked like you needed help, is all."

"Well, you… you're very kind." Eduardo grins at him across the table, a stupid, too-wide grin.

"So what do you do?"

"Huh?"

"Your job."

"I'm, err… unemployed."

The way he says it, Mark guesses it's not a subject worth pressing and he lets it drop. Eduardo counts the packets of sugar in the caddy on the edge of the table. Altogether, then how many there are of each color, as they make small talk, trying not to fidget in his seat. He's never sat down with an original before, and Mark is what Cameron and Tyler would call hot, though they've only ever used that word directed at females.

Mark is surprisingly talkative, likes to express his obsession with computers and coding, even though Eduardo can't understand most of the things he says, and it registers, so they move onto something new. Eduardo pulls back whenever Mark asks anything too personal, like where he lives, which he can't possibly answer. They talk about their favorite places around town. They talk about books (the ones Eduardo has read are mostly the ones from way back at Hailsham and the ones they have at the library in the care center. Eduardo spends much of his time in there, when he can't get the car to drive off somewhere. He almost prefers books, sometimes, because while the car can only take him along the same roads, books can take him anywhere. So he has much to talk about).

They laugh, and Eduardo's surprised at how at ease he feels with Mark, how talking to Mark so is unlike talking to his friends or any other donors. It's almost too easy, too fast.

"Are you alright?" Eduardo asks, suddenly.

"W-what?" Mark asks in-between sharp coughs, blinking at Eduardo. It sounds like he's just swallowed his drink the wrong way but he's been doing this all night. "Oh, yeah, I'm-" he coughs once more, "fine. Thank you." He hesitates then to reach his hand across the table, where Eduardo is fiddling with the salt shaker, to rest on top of Eduardo's. It's then that Eduardo realizes where this is going, where this has been going and he pulls back, even though it hurts, "Mark, I… I can't."

I can't. So many 'I can't's. Mark moves his hand back, blinking, "you can't what?"

"I can't be with you. I can't be in a relationship." He doesn't even know how all of this is supposed to work, for originals.

Mark straightens up, nodding his head and muttering "of course, of course," but there's stiffness to it, the rest of the conversation weighted with an air of tension and regret. Not how he wanted to start this friendship, this whatever, off. Eduardo half hopes that will be the end of it, just so he doesn't get pulled in to anything before he loses control.

But that's just the beginning.

/

Dustin's throwing up in the bathroom when Eduardo returns. He sighs and shrugs his coat off, placing it in the closet and rapping his knuckles in the door.

"Dustin? Dustin… do you need help?"

"No…" the voice from behind the door wavers and Eduardo's heart breaks at the thought of his best friend in so much misery. His first donation went surprisingly well, but others, especially in Dustin's state, are not so lucky.

He knows not to insist on help when it's turned down. From his bedside table, he pulls a journal with a worn leather cover and takes a seat at the desk, the one looking over the field and the road. Hunched over the paper and with a stub of thick black pencil, he sketches in the lines of Mark's face as clearly as he can remember them. The springs of his curls, the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jawbone and chin. Thick, dark angular lines that don't do his face justice at all.

It's a few minutes before Dustin comes out of the bathroom, all smiles again, as always. They don't mention what just happened, and Dustin doesn't ask where he's been, and when Dustin asks if he'd like lunch, Eduardo agrees even though he's already eaten. It's the least he can do.

"Will you take me somewhere, tomorrow, Eduardo?" he asks, suddenly, over a plate of steak and vegetables (the care center's food is remarkable, which is at least one good thing about it. It makes sense, as especially during recovery the donors must stay healthy).

Eduardo doesn't have to ask why. He agrees, and the next day, they hop into the car together. Dustin never learned to drive, and Eduardo's never shared the car with anyone, at least not while he was driving. Dustin keeps quiet, watching the scenery flow past the windows of the car. Eduardo takes them as far away as he can, which is the shore. It's chilly outside still, but the water is warm enough to at least stick your toes in. Eduardo wraps his arm around Dustin's waist and they stand, the waves lapping over their feet, looking out into the ocean – both mutually wondering what could lie beyond this seemingly infinite body of water.

When they get too tired to stand, they sit, in the sand. Dustin crumples into Eduardo's side; Eduardo wraps his arm around him and they stay, watching the colors streak across the sky as the sun is swallowed by the ocean. Only then do they go back home.

/

It starts like that. Little things, having lunch together every now and then, coffee and sandwiches. Since Eduardo somehow doesn't have any way of communication, no phone and no internet (and no last name, still mysterious), they have to plan their next date while they're together. They're usually several days or a week apart, with Mark's busy schedule but that's fine with Eduardo; he's happy to be visiting with anyone at all, and the longer they're apart from eachother, the more they have to talk about.

Mark isn't a total recluse as most people like to believe, he's just had yet to find someone whose company he enjoys, but Eduardo fits under that category. Even if he's weird as hell. Eduardo is just easy to talk to. Sometimes Mark will mention something about coding or computers, and he'll helplessly try to explain the reference and Eduardo will just blink at him, and the subject will drop. They'll talk about books, they'll talk about movies and music, about their days. Mark thinks Eduardo's affinity for pineapple on pizza is disgusting, and Eduardo can say the same about pepperoni.

"Have you even tried pineapple pizza?"

"No, but it's. It's unnatural. You don't eat fruit with cheese."

"Maybe you would, if you gave it a try."

"It's weird," Mark insists, and Eduardo says "you're right", but then adds "but it's good."

They're still bickering about pizza toppings when the food arrives; half topped with pepperoni, half with pineapple. Pizza, actually, is a rare treat that they don't often have at the care center since it's not really healthy. Mark wolfs down three slices in the time it takes Eduardo to eat one, like he hasn't eaten in days. Eduardo, at some point, mentions something about a waterfall.

"Waterfall?"

"Yeah. It's kind of a long drive away, but it's up in some mountains. There's a long river, a big waterfall – the water's clean, and warm, and there's one place where you can jump off of this rocky cliff into the lake, though I haven't done that in a long time, and it's just… really peaceful. Where I go to spend a lot of my free time, to think." And he gets this glazed look, like he has a lot to be thinking about, and Mark wants to know. What it is. What Eduardo worries and dreams and thinks about every day.

Mark's not a nature person, Mark will avoid going out in direct sunlight if it's unnecessary, but that does sound rather nice. He wonders if Eduardo might take him there someday, and then realizes he's getting ahead of himself.

It's after that 'date', having just exited tie restaurant, preparing to part ways for the night. They kind of linger outside on the curb, neither of them really wanting to move away, to end this moment, this little bubble of happiness, but Mark really needs to get back to work, and it's past time for Eduardo to be returning to the care center.

But they just stand on the sidewalk, watching the tail lights fade into red blurs in the distance, and it's freezing outside, but when Eduardo's hand brushes against Mark's, just the knuckles, he's warm. Mark could leave his hand there, let them share their body hear and it's stupid but he wants to, but he won't, he takes his hands and shoves them back in his pockets and coughs, because this is stupid, he shouldn't want to hold Eduardo's hand, or throw his arm around his shoulder and have it be so easy.

They don't do any of that; Eduardo goes to the care center and Mark goes back home. On the edge of his bed, he doubles over, fingers curled around his cock and he's thinking of Eduardo, Eduardo who he doesn't even have a last name for, with those eyes and teeth and hair and Oh, fuck.

And he goes to bed wondering who this man is with his wildly shining doe eyes, his secrets, his ridiculously charming laugh and Mark wants to know who the hell he is. What makes him tick. Where he's from. And more importantly, why he's hiding all of these things.

/

Mark doesn't understand Eduardo. And not in his usual way, like when he doesn't understand why a girl would get upset over being compared to a farm animal, but Eduardo just… doesn't make any sense. He's always looking away, looking down, gazing anywhere but Mark's face; he's always quiet, silent even, his mind seeming to be elsewhere. Not like he wishes he was somewhere else, but like he's unsure if it's safe to be where he is. Eduardo mentions an ailing friend and Mark almost tells him, about the doctors and the medications but he can't, he can still barely admit that to himself.

"I can't be with you," Eduardo had made clear, several times, and each time, he's had to swallow the heartbreaking regret. Are they really that different? Mark talks to him like he's a real person, looks at him instead of through him. Mark isn't anything Eduardo's heard about originals. He's kind to Eduardo, when no one else is. He listens to Eduardo even when he doesn't have much to say. He doesn't want to complete alone. But Dustin is right, too. An original would never love a donor. As Tyler likes to point out over and over, donors, to originals, are less than nothing. Even though they give their organs, and their lives, they're not valued, they're not people. If Mark ever found out, everything would be over, and it isn't fair.

Mark doesn't like it. He's used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is Eduardo. What makes it even more confusing is that he doesn't know how he wants him or why he wants him, but the longing is there, fluttering in his heart and stirring in his stomach that kind of makes him want to throw up and jump around in a circle tossing rainbow confetti at the same time. But they enjoy these little dates together, for what they're worth.

/

Chris doesn't know what could possibly implore Mark to actually pull away from Facebook and mingle with the public. "You've met someone, haven't you?" he demands, standing against Mark's chair to block him from returning his computer, after coming back from a date. When Mark only blinks at him, he elaborates; "you left the office. You actually left the office in the middle of the afternoon."

"I had a doctor's appointment, Chris."

"Three of them in one week?"

Mark sighs, stepping to the side to get around him, but Chris blocks him again, tipping his head with a totally asinine smile. "You've met someone," he repeats. "Alright, what's his name?"

"Chris. Let me do my work."

"Not until you spill."

"'Spill'? My God, Chris, please."

"What's his name?"

"Chris, I will fire you."

"What does he look like?"

"Chris."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Chris, for God' sake! His name's Eduardo – okay. Now, move, please?"

"Oh, no, you're not getting off the hook that easy, Mister Zuckerberg. Eduardo who?" Chris is still blocking his way and Mark sighs in defeat.

"I don't know - I met him when I went next door to use the wifi."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Well, our wifi's been working since then, Mark."

"We've gotten coffee together, that's all."

"Is this the weird guy you mentioned before?"

Mark shrugs, not wanting to admit that, yes, while Eduardo is weird as fuck, and secretive, he's also oddly charming, and… generally someone Mark enjoys being around, for once in his life. It's just really inconvenient that this would happen now.

"Is he cute?"

"Chris, are you fourteen?"

"Well?"

"Yes, he is." Mark digs his nails into his palms in aggravation. Chris is his friend, but he doesn't enjoy having information forced out of him. When he returns to the office after his whatever-they-areswith Eduardo, it's back to business, it has to be.

Chris steps away, satisfied, and Mark plunks right into his chair, pulling the laptop out of sleep mode. Chris turns to leave, but looks back, just before Mark's about to pull the headphones over his ears. "Mark?"

" What?"

"Just… you know, be careful."

/

Meanwhile, Eduardo's friends are catching on.

"You're hiding something from us, Ed, we know you are," Cameron pipes up at dinner. Eduardo eats the meals, at least the ones he has at the care center, with the three of them; Cameron, Tyler and poor Dustin. Eduardo looks up from his vegetables and shrugs, not willing to admit to anything; not how fast Mark makes his heart race, how his stomach does a flip whenever he sees Mark's face, gets that awkward smile and wave directed at him or when their hands accidentally brush – none of that!

"What do you mean?"

Tyler laughs, "You actually look happy for once. Or, you know, not totally angry at the whole world. "You got something up your sleeve, maybe some evil plans?"

There's a collective chuckle from around the table. Eduardo sets his jaw, looking down at the plate and nudging a broiled carrot around the perimeter with his fork. "I… it's nothing."

Dustin is the one that says (of course, because Dustin could never, ever distinguish between what is acceptable to say at what time and what definitely isn't), "Would this have anything to do with the original you met?"

And the table goes dead silent. Cameron even drops his fork, and Tyler chokes. "An original?" they both gawk, simultaneously, and Dustin seems to have just realized it's something he shouldn't have mentioned. "Okay, Eduardo-" Cameron stares him down, "now you need to explain."

Eduardo feels like a specimen under a microscope slide. "I…" he begins, but how can he explain? How can he say that the person he thinks he's in love with is not only a man, but an original? "I met an original – we just talked, we had lunch once, it's nothing."

"It better be nothing," Tyler hisses, as Cameron demands "how did you meet an original?" He says the word with disgust and scorn, and he has every right to. Donors are not meant to mingle with originals. Donors are supposed to be something in the background, something that's just always there – that you know about, but don't ever speak of. Donors are the martyrs of society, but they don't have to be happy about it. And if Eduardo's befriending one – that makes him an enemy. An outsider. He can feel it already.

"I got lost, once when I was getting coffee, so I wound up going to a different shop… and he was there. And we just… talked."

"And?"

"And we've had lunch once or twice." Or, you know, four times.

"And… you think he's your friend?"

Dustin gives him an apologetic glance, like he's just realized that he's said the completely wrong thing. "Yeah, I'd say so – I mean, we've just been. Talking. And he's kind to me."

"He's nice to you – and you like him?"

"Yes."

"You have to stop."

"Why?"

"

It's obvious why, Eduardo-!"

"Neither of you certainly like me – I don't have any friends here, so why can't I find some? What difference does it make to you?"

"What difference – because, Eduardo. He, this person, this original, is never going to be your friend or anything more," it's Tyler now, glaring daggers at him. "And you know why? Because you're a donor. They don't care about us, we're not people to them, we're just anonymous suppliers of their organs. You know what you are to him? You're nothing."

"No."

"You're less than nothing—"

"No!"

"You're trash. You think an original is going to love you? You're delusional."

"No!" Eduardo shoves his tray across the table, pushing himself up to his feet. "No, that's – no. None of that's true." Mark isn't like that, he can't be. But the thought that it might be, that Tyler's right in the sense that they can never be together, really together because Eduardo's a donor, because even if they become anything Eduardo's going to complete within a few years, is enough to bring tears to his eyes. "You haven't met him, you don't know."

"I know enough."

"No – no! No, you don't know. You couldn't possibly know. You haven't seen him, you haven't met him – you haven't talked to him. You've never even left the care center!"

"And you know why, Eduardo? Because no one wants me to. Let's be honest – out there? Out there, you're meaningless. They don't thank us for what we do. They don't respect us, they don't even think we're people. We're trash, or we wouldn't be here, and no one out there wants us out there. They don't even want to think about us. No one wants to see you, and if your original ever found out the truth, he wouldn't want you either."

The table is dead silent. Eduardo can't bear that thought. The thought that Mark, who he's more or less fallen in love with might stop loving him if he found out he's a donor – he can't even stomach it. He knows it's weak, he knows it will mean that Tyler has won, but he can't stay here and let Tyler see him cry. He hurries out of the cafeteria, back to his bedroom, where he can collect himself in peace. He washes his face, takes a shower to rejuvenate himself, and when he comes out, Dustin's there.

"If you're here to tell me –"

"I'm not." Dustin puts a hand on Eduardo's shoulder; he pulls back, eyeing him distrustfully. He doesn't know who or what to believe anymore; Tyler, Mark, his heart? "Eduardo… just look. Tyler is right. But if you think your original friend isn't that kind of person… just. I know you're lonely, Ed. I was too. But then I had Stephanie– and then I lost her, and it's the worst hurt I've ever felt. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Mark's apartment is small for someone who's apparently very rich. It has two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and an office, but by the look of Mark's bedroom, he does most of his work in there. The desk has both a laptop and a desktop computer and the top of it is littered with old food wrappers and other papers. For the CEO of a huge company, he's pretty messy.

Mark had to ask him three times to come over. He's usually not that forward, come to think of it. But he just hasn't met anyone much like Eduardo. Eduardo's secretive and mysterious, but that, somehow, turns Mark on. A challenge he has to figure out, like some block of code he has to decipher. He doesn't know how it is that Eduardo, who he almost knows nothing about, really, is able to get his heart racing and his blood flow hot and thick in his veins. Since theFacebook began and turned into just Facebook, and especially since the doctors' appointments and everything began, he's had almost no sex drive; all he's been able to think about is code, and work. But Eduardo… he won't even go there. And, well, he's running out of time.

Tyler's words have been flowing through Eduardo's head for the past few days, and while he can't bring himself to believe them, he can't totally dismiss them either.

Mark goes to the fridge, coming back to the couch with two cold bottles of beer. Eduardo blinks at it when it's handed to him, shaking his head.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Mark tips his head; he's really not supposed to drink either, but at this point, who cares?

"I just… I can't, Mark. I can't drink."

Mark shrugs, resigning himself to the fact that Eduardo's just an oddball.

Eduardo takes a stroll around Mark's apartment, wandering idly about the rooms. He's never had a real space to himself; at Hailsham, he shared a dorm with five other boys, at the Cottages, he had a bedroom, but it was too small to even really be called a room. At the care center, of course, he shares a room with Dustin (that's probably going to change soon, and when it does, he'll be given a new roommate. Space is always a little bit short at the centers; Eduardo sometimes suspects that the whitecoats actually want them to complete early, just to free up the space. They surely won't be disappointed with Dustin).

"Um, I can't cook, and- I don't have much to eat," Mark laughs, a little nervously, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and opening the fridge. Eduardo leans over the counter on his elbows, watching, as Mark digs around in the fridge. He doesn't really seem like a billionaire here, pushing through boxes of eggs and old cartons of milk. "Chris usually makes my lunch – he's one of my coworkers – and when I get home I just, I don't know, usually eat frozen things."

"Fine with me," shrugs Eduardo as Mark pulls two boxes from the freezer. Eduardo hops up over the counter, swinging his legs over the front and watching as Mark peels the plastic off the trays and stuffs them in the microwave. He takes another swig of the beer before stuffing his hands in his pockets, tilting his head at Eduardo.

Eduardo doesn't even realize that they've just been kind of staring at eachother until the microwave beeps, making both of them jump. Mark clears his throat, taking the two trays out of the microwave and dropping them down on the table. He grabs another beer, since he's finished his last one (which was his second, and, Mark doesn't even know, he's pretty lightweight).

The food's not what he's used to, not the tasteful, healthy stuff they get at the care center which is really the only thing good about the place, but a mess of lumpy mixed vegetables and greasy chicken. Mark starts to wolf it down, though, so Eduardo follows, and Mark drains his beer while helplessly trying to explain to Eduardo that Facebook isn't an actual book.

Somewhere between the end of that beer and the end of the next one, and he's really not supposed to be drinking at all but it doesn't matter anymore, really, does it, they migrate to the couch. Mark puts a movie on, but he can't watch it, his stomach is swimming and his brain feels fuzzy. He's not sure what they're watching, really, but Eduardo's laughing at words he can't fully process. Eduardo, Eduardo. He rests his hand on Eduardo's knee, doesn't notice the jerk or the tenseness when he leans against his shoulder.

It's not that Eduardo doesn't want it. That he doesn't want Mark's hands on him, on places other than his knee, Mark's body against his, but he can't have it. Mark is – no, no, no. He should have seen this coming.

"Mark," he says, racking his brain for excuses to use when he says "I have to go."

But Mark doesn't even ask, he just pulls Eduardo back down, and when Eduardo gets back up again, follows him, like a drunk puppy. "War -do."

"Mark."

Eduardo doesn't even know how many beers Mark's had, but Mark stumbles towards him, grinning, mumbling Eduardo's name. He trips over a beer bottle on the floor and stumbles, falling right into Eduardo's arms. Eduardo sumbles against the wall and then Mark rights himself, pushing him against it and this is bad, bad, bad, but Eduardo can't push him off. Partially because Mark is heavy and practically falling against him, and partly because Mark's mouth is on his neck, licking and sucking a trail along his throat, and shit.

There was a time, when they were children, maybe thirteen, that Christy L. put her mouth around Eduardo's penis, but that was the farthest he'd ever gotten. And even that can't compare to Mark's drunken nibbles on the skin of his throat. "Mark, I – stop."

Mark's not fazed by Eduardo's protests. He pushes him harder against the wall, his lips moving drunkenly up Eduardo's neck, to his chin. He's aggressive, and surely persistent. Drunk Mark is dangerous. Eduardo lifts his head, to move away, to stop this, but Mark pulls him back down by the nape of his neck and he's being kissed. Mark's lips are even softer than he imagined, and his tongue is in his mouth, and-

Mark's hands rest on Eduardo's waist, brushing over his hipbone, warm palms curving around the bones. Eduardo shivers, and he wants more, more of Mark, more of this touching. He can't deny that he wants more, but there's that voice, that doubt still lingering in the back of his mind, Tyler's fucking voice; an original will never love a donor. It just doesn't happen.

But Mark doesn't know yet. And Mark's pulling him in for another kiss; this one's hungrier, needier. His tongue pushes between Eduardo's teeth, and Eduardo parts them, moaning into Mark's mouth. It's his first kiss, his first real one, and his only in about a decade. This is all or nothing, right? If Mark's going to push him away eventually he might as well take what he can get.

Mark's hands are warm as they brush over his hips, thumbs slipping under his shirt, pressing into his ribs. Mark has to lean up on his toes to kiss him and Eduardo thinks it's the cutest thing. Well, Mark doesn't know he's a donor yet, he decides – he may as well take advantage of that time. And he can't deny that he wants this right now; his cock throbs in his pants in the way that he's ever gotten relief from with his hand.

Mark moves away from Eduardo's mouth, yanking open the buttons of the shirt and pressing his lips to Eduardo's chest. His fingers slip under the hem of Eduardo's shirt, running across his stomach as his mouth leaves hot, wet trails across his skin. Mark's lips catch over his nipple; Eduardo's whole body shudders and Mark smirks, wrapping his mouth around the nub with a gentle pressure from his teeth. Eduardo's knees quiver and he rests his head back against the wall, speechless and gasping. Mark's doing all of it, he's the drunk one, but Eduardo doesn't mind much; he wouldn't know what to do anyway.

Mark kisses him again; it's rough and uncoordinated, he tastes like beer and he's clearly drunk but Eduardo doesn't care. He doesn't recognize the sounds coming out of his own mouth or this feeling of wanting, wanting more. Marks hands are moving further up his shirt until his fingers glide over the messy ridges on Eduardo's skin.

From his donation, the scar curves from the front of his chest, down around his ribcage. Mark's not drunk enough that he doesn't notice, and he blinks twice, lifting the hem of the shirt and getting the full view. "Eduardo, what—"

"Mark—" Eduardo goes to shove his shirt down but Mark's already seen it. It's certainly not a normal scar (at least not for an original) and Mark blinks at him in disbelief. This isn't – this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He doesn't know if Mark understands, but he's not waiting around to find out. Mark blinks questioningly at him but Eduardo pushes him away. This isn't, at least, a conversation to be had while Mark is drunk.

It's all over now. Tyler's words creep back into his mind; you're trash. Trash. Trash, that's all he is to any original, including Mark – disposable. He won't love you, because you're a donor. Are you delusional? It's all over, all over… I hope you enjoyed that little taste, because you're never going to get it again. His own thoughts mock him. Mark won't want him now, and that scar – that scar is surely unmistakable…

Mark looks at him, with his wide blue-puppy eyes that break Eduardo's heart to know he'll never have. "Eduardo, I – what? I don't understand… what was that—"

Eduardo shakes his head, stumbling towards the doorway and grabbing his shoes. "No, no, I – I should be getting home, anyway. It's nothing, I'm sorry. If you… maybe I'll talk to you when you're sober."

He snatches on his shoes and races out of the apartment, leaving Mark blinking at the empty doorway.

"Mark, you haven't eaten since – for God's sake, since yesterday, did you even leave the office last night?"

"I was out the other day - I had to make up for the lost time."

It's been two days since Eduardo freaked out on Mark, and Mark's forcing himself not to think about it. By wiring himself in, coding, making something, until his vision actually narrows to just the screen of his computer and the minutes bleed into hours.

Chris grits his teeth, digs his nails into his palms but he knows how wrong it is of him to argue. How important time is to Mark now, how everything, always, comes down to time. Lost time, making time, time spent, time left. And, really, you can't blame him. Time. So much fucking time lost with Eduardo. Eduardo, that – Mark doesn't even know what to think anymore. He vaguely remembers the details of that night, of seeing the long, feathery scar around Eduardo's side, Eduardo getting all worked up and leaving – but he hasn't even let himself think, even consider, what he now knows to be true about this guy of his dreams.

"Do you really think you'll be any use if you pass out on your keyboard? What about the time that will be lost then?"

Mark's fingers stop, he looks over his shoulder with that ice-cold glare that seems to dig right into your soul. "Chris," he growls, then coughs roughly into his fist, "it doesn't matter."

Chris knows when to back off. "You have an appointment with Dr. Travers on Monday." He sighs in defeat and drops a paper bag on Mark's desk; a pre-made lunch he's brought in sight of these difficulties, and walks away. Mark studies the bag before sighing and taking a peek inside it. Chris has made him some kind of sandwich; from the smell of it, tuna, a bag of granola and a banana. Quick sustenance. He's past taking the doctor's advice; it doesn't matter anymore. If Chris hadn't brought this, he probably wouldn't eat all day, and he wouldn't care. He snatches the sandwich and chomps on it between blocks of code.

He has to get this done. Safe, safe code. It's the only thing he has control of anymore.

"What's this?"

The question is asked by a nurse dressed in sterile white, in the middle of a completely sterilized room, inside which Eduardo sits on a sterilized table on top of a sterilized sheet, wearing sterilized white garments. The checkups at the care center occur bi-monthly, and it's not something they've ever questioned or complained about, no matter what a hassle or discomfort the full physicals always are. The nurse lifts Eduardo's chin, tapping with her thumb a tender, purpled spot on the underside of his jaw.

"It's… nothing."

"Doctor," calls the nurse, tapping her pencil on her clipboard and pointing it at the darkened circle on Eduardo's throat. The whitecoat tips Eduardo's face, like she did but a bit rougher, like he can't be bothered, and raises his eyebrows as he comes the correct conclusion, "just a bruise; a hickey, to be precise." He peeks over at the clipboard, "Eduardo S… have you been engaging in any sort of sexual activity?"

"I-" The question, though Eduardo knew it would come up sooner or later, takes him a bit by surprise, "N-no doctor, well. I kissed someone recently, but that's all. It's. It's possible in the future."

Which leads to a very long string of questions, about who Eduardo is engaging with in these activities, exactly what they're doing or planning on doing. Eduardo doesn't know how to answer all of them because he doesn't really know himself where this is going, and they become embarrassing very fast. Especially once Eduardo admits he is with another man. That comes as no surprise, but when he also is forced to reveal that Mark is an original…

The doctor bristles, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. He's never heard that one before. It's not forbidden for donors to interact with originals, but it's unheard of. And when he says that it's Mark Zuckerberg, who the man seems to know very well of.

"It's… I see. Well, that's all for today, Eduardo."

Wardo can't hop off the table fast enough, snatching his clothes back on with a shudder, always happy to be free of those awful paper garments. He's petrified that the doctor is going to contact Mark somehow and question him, and it will be revealed that he's a donor, if Mark didn't figure that out already by the scar (it's not hard to put two and two together) and everything will be all, all over. If it isn't already.

Mark tries to forget. He tries to forget about Eduardo, and his stupid face and his stupid eyes, his stupid hair and his stupid voice. But it's harder than he imagined it would be. The sound of his laugh haunts him. The image of his face resides in the corner of Mark's brain, never quite going away.

Chris notices he's a little bit off. He figures it's just stress from work, since Mark's been on a coding tear almost all day today, and offers to take him out for a drink. Mark figures it might be beneficial, something to get his mind off of Eduardowhateverhisnameis. They didn't even know eachother that well, he really shouldn't be acting like this, but the way he ran off was just bizarre.

"So what's up with you, dude?" Chris asks as they sit down. "Things didn't work out with Coffee Shop Boy?"

Mark sighs, "I don't know, to be honest. We, well, he came to my apartment, and we were just sort of hanging out, and he… took off."

"Oh, God, Mark, what did you do?"

"Nothing! I mean… nothing. I was drunk."

"You were drunk-"

"

Yes, I was drunk, that's not the point-"

"You're not supposed to be drinking, Mark."

"Chris. I was drunk, okay, and, I don't know. I think I might have made a move and that maybe… scared him? God, it was stupid." Mark has blurry memories of that night, but not much. He remembers seeing a scar that made Eduardo freak out; maybe he has some viciously abusive past boyfriend or something, Mark doesn't know what the fuck happened.

"You do have a tendency to be a bit… Mark-ish," Chris says, "and I guess that has a tendency to freak people out."

"And you have a tendency to point out the obvious."

"Hey, okay." Chris puts his hands up. "Let's just help you forget about him, alright? Drinks?"

"I'll get them," Mark offers, getting up with a sigh. He's anxious to have his own breathing space again, even if at the bar he really doesn't. He's trying to clear his thoughts while he orders the drinks, rubbing his forehead as they're passed over the counter to him. He slaps the money down and picks up the two cups, but when he turns around, someone's standing in front of him.

It's Eduardo. Only it's not Eduardo. But it is. But it's not. Mark almost drops his drinks out of pure shock; the guy doesn't seem to notice and pushes him aside to get to the front of the bar. He's completely identical - definitely not Eduardo; he's older, and drunk, which Eduardo would never be, but… but…

Suddenly it makes sense. The weird behavior, the secretiveness, the way he freaked out when Mark saw the scar. This guy being here. Everything clicks into place and Mark stumbles, almost spilling the drinks, the realization coming like a punch in the stomach. The room spins and e feels physically sick. He staggers back to the table and slams the drinks down, flopping down in the seat.

"Mark – Mark. What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Mark gasps.

"Jesus, you look like you've just seen a ghost! Is he here or something?"

"No, no," Mark shakes his head. Well, not him. Not Eduardo, but Jesus Christ… it really isn't all that hard to put the pieces together, even if he might be jumping to conclusions. "No, just, I'm not feeling very well today, sorry."

"Well, you've gotta get your mind off him."

"Yeah, you're…" Mark swallows before taking a long pull of the drink, "You're right, I do."

It's another two days before Mark sees Eduardo again. Eduardo's not planning to run into him, but he's ambling along the sidewalk, is hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the ground beneath his feet. He doesn't look where he's going, and people push past him, muttering under their breaths. He's trying to forget what happened – trying to forget the past month, Mark, completely.

Mark's made his daily trip to the café just in hopes that Eduardo would be there, waiting for him, so they can talk all this out, but that's probably too much to ask for. No, Eduardo's not there, but when he's walking out of the café, by some blessing from God, he does see him. His back is to Mark, and he's about to turn the corner, but Mark would recognize that hair and those shoulders anywhere.

"Eduardo!" he calls, and tears off across the street without even looking. He hears Eduardo scream "Mark!" from the other side of the road – there's tires screeching as an approaching driver slams on their breaks, narrowly missing a collision with him. But Mark isn't fazed, and he quickly arrives on the other sidewalk. Those that witnessed the near-accident slowly begin to move on their way, and the traffic flows again. He doubles over, coughing and wheezing in a struggle to get a chestful of air.

"Mark-" Eduardo frowns, "what are you doing?"

"Why did you run out, before?"

"Mark, do you— what is this?"

"This – what, you mean, us? We're not… you've said we can't be together. You've failed to explain why, but-"

"Do you want to be?"

Mark surprises even himself when he says "Yes."

A beat passes between them, just staring at eachother, before Eduardo averts his eyes and murmurs "then we've got to talk."

"I have to tell you something, too."

/

Eduardo sits on Mark's couch and stares at his feet, flexing his clothes in the plush carpet while Mark fetches drinks from the kitchen; lemonade, for once respecting Eduardo's denial of alcohol and not asking him again. Eduardo can't get enough air in (well, he never can, but now he feels as if he might pass out). He feels sick, he…

He can't think about Tyler's words. If he does, he'll chicken out and leave right now. He can't think about the possibility that Mark might really kick him out upon learning the truth. He can't think about the possibility of him being a donor changing anything; if he does, he can't even think. He just has to take it as it comes.

"Thank you," Eduardo mumbles as he takes the glass from Mark and has a small sip.

"You look like you're about to throw up," Mark says, resting a hand lightly on his thigh, "are you about to tell me you're a felon, or something?"

"No," Eduardo laughs, shaking his head. "No, I – shit." He swallows, his stomach jumping up and swimming inside him again. "This – Mark, no. This is serious, please don't joke."

"Alright, I'm not. Just – God, Eduardo, I've never met someone like you".

That wasn't something Eduardo was expecting to hear, from Mark. "What do you mean?"

"You're just… you're not like anyone else in this city. You're real, and you're honest, and you're – motherfuck, I don't even know your name. But you're… I'm bad at this, but you're not like anyone else in this city. Everyone here is so… so hung up on looks. On things. They're so worried about trends and fashions and things and money that they're not real people."

"Interesting," Eduardo murmurs, "coming from someone who apparently founded one of the most successful companies in the world."

"Eduardo, that—" Mark flounders for a moment. "that was never about the money. That was me in my dorm room looking for something to do on a Tuesday night after my girlfriend dumped me. People look at me and they see Mark Zuckerberg, they see the founder of, as you said, one of the biggest companies in the world. But that's all they see; Facebook Founder Mark Zuckerberg. They never just see Mark. And they never will. I'll never be just Mark to someone."

"Mark, you…" Eduardo is confused. Why would he be talking this way? "You're talking like you don't have your whole ahead of you."

"Yeah, well…" Mark looks away, grimacing.

"Mark-?"

"I'm sick."

"…What?"

"I'm sick," Mark sighs, heavy. He places a hand over his chest, where his heart is, and closes his eyes. "Have been, for a while now."

When you live around a lot of sick people, when you spend your days wondering if your friend will make it through his next donation, you're able to tell right away when someone's not well. Eduardo had seen the symptoms in Mark; the fatigue, the way he'd be winded just by walking up a flight of stairs. He'd tried to ignore them.

"What… what is it?"

"My heat." Mark shrugs once, studying the shades and texture of the beige carpet under them. "They're still trying to treat it. Trying different meds, therapies, treatments. Everything. But it's on its last leg."

"Oh." That, come to think of it, explains some things; why Mark gets winded so easily, for one. "What do the doctors say…?"

"They don't know. Nothing they've tried has made me any better, or it'll work for a while and then it'll just be worse than it was before. They have a few more tricks up their sleeves, but… I I'm on the list for a transplant. Right now, all they can do is give me things to make me feel better. But I'm getting worse."

Eduardo doesn't have anything to say to that. He wonders if any of his friends, anyone he knew at Hailsham or the Cottages, will be the one to supply Mark's heart if it comes to that. But that's not really something he can stomach thinking about, and suddenly, Mark laughs. "I'm sorry for dropping such a bombshell on you. I just figured I should let you know. You know, if I die suddenly."

Eduardo chuckles, too, but there's a weight in the room now. "Yeah, well… there's something I need to tell you, too. About… why I ran out the other day." So, he guesses the doctor didn't call Mark, or anything, though he certainly could have, and it would have been justified. Mark looks at him expectantly, and Eduardo's forgotten all the words he's planned to use. Fuck it. He pulls his arms through the sleeves of his shirt before tugging it over his head. The scar is impossible to miss, dark and jagged and ugly. Mark's breath catches in his throat as Eduardo lifts an arm for a better view. He knows immediately the explanation for it, but… it can't be…

"How…?"

"From an operation."

"What kind of operation-"

"

Organ donation." Eduardo shrugs, and sighs, looking down at the mark on his skin so he doesn't have to meet Mark's horrified gaze.

"W-what?"

"Someone else has it now, someone who needed it." Eduardo shrugs, and he looks away, preparing himself to be kicked out, to be yelled at, to be… he doesn't know. But as he feels himself trembling, he doesn't expect to feel Mark's hand on his shoulder, and then around his neck, as Mark slides over to sit right next to him on the couch.

"You're… a donor," he whispers. His conclusion was, for once, correct. He doesn't need the explanation In his condition, especially, he knows what the donors are. Everybody does, especially these days, but it's something you don't talk about. Just one of those things you subconsciously wonder; if that person you passed on the street corner is an original human being, or a copy of one. This also might explain why Eduardo always looked a little familiar…

"Not what you were expecting?"

"I've… I've never met a donor before."

"You probably have," Eduardo shrugs, sighing. "In passing, maybe, but I bet you have."

Mark shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch. This, he can't believe this. The puzzle he'd pieced together was correct, so he's not as shocked as he might be otherwise, but he was just making things up, he liked making things up, he didn't want it to be true, he hadn't thought it possibly could be. He thought he was going crazy. He. Eduardo. No.

"This is too much," he says, shaking his head with his forehead in his palm. "God, no, no, you're…" How is this possible? How is it possible that the guy he practically falls on his face for is a donor? Call it Mark's own ignorance, but he'd always thought donors weren't supposed to mingle with the public. There was no chance of him ever meeting one, and that way he was able to remain impartial, not feel guilty for the organ he would eventually have to steam from someone. How can this… How?

Tyler was right. Mark's never going to love him now. Mark's never going to want to see him again. It's all over, but the truth had to come out sometime. "If… if you want me to leave-"

"No." Mark puts his hand up to stop Eduardo from talking, clutching his chest and coughing, "no, I… I just… I think I'm going to throw up."

"Mark, please!" Eduardo stands up, reaching out to touch Mark's shoulders, halfway, holding back, not sure if Mark even wants him to touch him. He trembles, pleading, "I'm still the same Eduardo!"

"I know, and that's – you're –" Mark is horror-stricken, rendered speechless. "How is it… possible…"

"Just… sit down. Please, Mark."

Eduardo tugs Mark back down onto the couch and Mark's looking everywhere but Eduardo, until Eduardo takes his chin and forces eye contact. Mark winces away, scrunching up his face. "How?"

"It's a remarkable scientific breakthrough, isn't it?"

"That's not what I mean, you—" Mark swallows, closing his eyes and dipping his head away. He can't insult Eduardo, as much as he wants to, as much as he easily can anyone else; Chris, for example, on a daily basis. He feels a dull pain starting under his eyes that he knows is sure to escalate into a migraine. "Please tell me you're fucking with me."

"Why would I joke about it?"

Mark opens one eye, slowly, peeking up at Eduardo with a shaking jaw "You're… you're a donor," he repeats

Eduardo looks down at his chest, the scar curving around it where his left lung used to be, and shrugs. "We've covered that, yes."

"But… how? I mean, how are you…?"

"We are real people, Mark. They don't want you to think that, but we are."

"But you're not supposed to…"

"Meet you?"

"Be here."

"Well… I am. And I have been. And I'm not just going away. Mark, please, I… it's still me. It's still me. Your Eduardo. Please."

Mark looks at Eduardo again, slowly, with a shaking jaw, "I'm sorry, I… just… you're… I can't believe it. I can't believe it."

Eduardo stands up, "I guess I should just go—"

"No." Mark pulls him back down, Eduardo practically falls into his lap. He blinks at Mark, swallowing, until he's pulled in for a kiss.

"I'm sorry," Mark whispers, rubbing the nape of Eduardo's neck. "I'm sorry, I just… this is a lot right now."

"I'm still the same person, Mark." Eduardo is pleading, begging him to understand, to see him the same way.

"Yeah…" Mark whispers, wrapping his arms around Eduardo's waist, tighter than ever and crumpling down into his body, "Yeah, you're still my Wardo."