Blabla: a little piece of work written for my best friend. Four years later, and this film still gives me all the feels.

Warnings ahead: mentions of self-harm in this. Don't read if this may upset you.

The title comes from Richard Siken's "Litany in which certain things are crossed out", from Crush (which I truly and dearly recommend; some of the best poetry I've read in years).


"Your wrists," Eduardo says under his breath, teeth gritted. "You did it again, didn't you?"

There are rows of cuts on the inside of his arm, bright red against white skin, he saw them; he swallows, angry at the terrible discovery.

His fingers tighten around Mark's left wrist and he knows it will leave a mark; an angry, red mark that will grow to be purple and maybe even blue over the streaks of open skin. He feels a sick, twisted feeling of satisfaction burn through his stomach at the touch; but the bones stick out so much under his hand that's it's starting to be disturbing. Eduardo shrugs the feeling away, his eyes staring intently at Mark.

"It's nothing," Mark grumbles, and he looks away, watching the party unfold before his tired eyes. He doesn't even shrug Eduardo's hand off.

"You did it again, Mark, it's not nothing."

"It's none of your business," the Facebook CEO mumbles, scratching his right shoulder. "I seem to recall that we're not friends anymore."

Eduardo gasps. "Then why the fuck did you invite me today? To show off? To make me feel like a complete asshole?"

"Why did you come if you hate me so much?"

The words sting. Eduardo stays silent for a while, pressing his lips tightly together.

I came because I love you, you stupid prick.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Mark?"

"I thought you'd like the new office," Mark replies, and he sounds so bored that Eduardo almost misses the hint of exhaustion and pain in his voice. He eventually looks up at him, and Eduardo sees it all. He doesn't want to admit it, but his heart breaks a little at the sight, Mark's face twisted and swollen with regrets.

"Mark—," Eduardo begins, but the other man shakes his head and slips out of his grasp.

There's fear in Mark's eyes, a fear that spells out loud don't leave me here alone. But Eduardo knows he won't ever say it, won't ever seek for help; Mark Zuckerberg won't take the step to healing without him.

He holds his breath. Mark is infuriating, selfish and full of himself; he betrayed him, left him behind and replaced him with someone else; and as fucked up as it is, Eduardo still wants him, still wants to kiss his fear away; he wants Mark and the desire is clawing at him, shattering him, pressing against his heart.

He remembers the lawsuit and being blind with tears after the last evening; he remembers hating Mark so much it physically hurt. He remembers Mark's scent clinging to his fingers, his clothes, his heart—lethal, terrible, impossible to get rid of.

Eduardo is helplessly in love with Mark, and it hurts.