There's a fondness to Eduardo's expression as Mark talks, at least through most of his rambling, things that Eduardo has been thinking for a long time anyway. Frustrating as this island can be, it's both familiar and endearing, the way Mark works through all of it, going on at length about what they should do and what shouldn't work. There are plenty of people who might find Mark's rants to be off-putting, but to Eduardo, it's almost amusing, and not just because he happens to agree on just about every point. Why are they friends, Mark wants to know, and it's this, Eduardo wants to say, this right here, the fact that, as a pair, they have enough in common but strike enough of a balance, too, that they complement each other perfectly. Or did, at least. He doesn't know enough about Mark anymore to be able to say one way or the other, but not for the first time, there are at least a few moments where everything feels like it ought to, like nothing has really changed between them at all.
It doesn't turn out to be a good thing. The comment should be a simple one, throwaway, a statement of fact and nothing more that, were this a year ago and they were back at Harvard, would probably be met with an elbow to Mark's ribs and then an arm around his shoulders. This isn't then, though, and they aren't at school anymore, and too much has changed for it to be dismissible. That quickly, the smile is gone, the effort it takes for Eduardo to keep his expression even more than likely visible. Now, of course, now, after everything, now that they're on an island where Mark doesn't know anyone else, he's good company again. The idea of it, of so blatantly being a last resort, is practically sickening; worse is the fact that he almost doesn't want to comment on it, when they've finally managed to move past their own problems for a while. He knew it would be temporary, but he didn't expect it to be this short-lived.
"Right," he breathes, and though the word is barely audible, there's an obvious skepticism in his voice. Shaking his head to try to clear it, he exhales slowly. "Believe me, I'm with you on the currency. There may not be much here in the way of jobs, but really, without some sort of system — I mean, Jesus, there's a strip club. Who strips for no salary?"
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It doesn't turn out to be a good thing. The comment should be a simple one, throwaway, a statement of fact and nothing more that, were this a year ago and they were back at Harvard, would probably be met with an elbow to Mark's ribs and then an arm around his shoulders. This isn't then, though, and they aren't at school anymore, and too much has changed for it to be dismissible. That quickly, the smile is gone, the effort it takes for Eduardo to keep his expression even more than likely visible. Now, of course, now, after everything, now that they're on an island where Mark doesn't know anyone else, he's good company again. The idea of it, of so blatantly being a last resort, is practically sickening; worse is the fact that he almost doesn't want to comment on it, when they've finally managed to move past their own problems for a while. He knew it would be temporary, but he didn't expect it to be this short-lived.
"Right," he breathes, and though the word is barely audible, there's an obvious skepticism in his voice. Shaking his head to try to clear it, he exhales slowly. "Believe me, I'm with you on the currency. There may not be much here in the way of jobs, but really, without some sort of system — I mean, Jesus, there's a strip club. Who strips for no salary?"