Mark almost rises right along with Eduardo when he leaves his seat, his lips parting as though to ask, 'wait up,' or something else along those lines. But Eduardo makes it pretty clear that he's planning on getting it all himself, Mark lowers himself back down that half-inch into his seat, trying to make it look like all he was doing was finding a more comfortable position on the chairs that leave something to be desired. (Even though really, anyone who's known Mark for a decent amount of time should know that chairs are about the last thing that weigh on his mind, when he's spent most of his time programming facebook on those irritating chairs from the dorms, the ones made to tilt back just once with an uncomfortable thunk. Mark almost fell out of it once. Falling asleep, and all. Maybe that's the point, though, to keep people from dozing away in their chairs, just another bit of pressure to speed the studying along.)
His eyes trail after Eduardo as he makes his way to the bar, then resolutely look away, just in case Wardo has enough time to look back over his shoulder while the bartend gets him his drinks. For someone who claims to hate clinginess, it's probably a sign of hypocrisy if he shows outward signs of it, himself. The laptop sits on top of the table, taking up a fair amount of the space there, and Mark stares at it intently as though trying to decide whether or not he should flip up the screen and start typing away. Coding, maybe. Or at least checking to make sure that dropping it hasn't done too much harm. But.
There isn't enough time to consider it before Eduardo returns after all, two glasses tapping lightly on the surface of the table and jolting Mark from his momentary reverie. Of course, Eduardo moves immediately to take a drink. Mark just fiddles with his glass, turning it around where it stands, trying to do so smoothly enough that he doesn't even spill a drop.
Even he can acknowledge that it's a bit sad, the way he hangs onto Eduardo's every word, like there's something deeper or hidden to unearth there.
"Been too long," he agrees with a tilt of his head, trying that thing called blunt honesty, which for some reason has receded to the background a bit as of late. He's just careful anymore, really, now that he has reason to be. Finally, he takes a sip of the beer himself, nose wrinkling. "Brewed on the island?"
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His eyes trail after Eduardo as he makes his way to the bar, then resolutely look away, just in case Wardo has enough time to look back over his shoulder while the bartend gets him his drinks. For someone who claims to hate clinginess, it's probably a sign of hypocrisy if he shows outward signs of it, himself. The laptop sits on top of the table, taking up a fair amount of the space there, and Mark stares at it intently as though trying to decide whether or not he should flip up the screen and start typing away. Coding, maybe. Or at least checking to make sure that dropping it hasn't done too much harm. But.
There isn't enough time to consider it before Eduardo returns after all, two glasses tapping lightly on the surface of the table and jolting Mark from his momentary reverie. Of course, Eduardo moves immediately to take a drink. Mark just fiddles with his glass, turning it around where it stands, trying to do so smoothly enough that he doesn't even spill a drop.
Even he can acknowledge that it's a bit sad, the way he hangs onto Eduardo's every word, like there's something deeper or hidden to unearth there.
"Been too long," he agrees with a tilt of his head, trying that thing called blunt honesty, which for some reason has receded to the background a bit as of late. He's just careful anymore, really, now that he has reason to be. Finally, he takes a sip of the beer himself, nose wrinkling. "Brewed on the island?"