Something has shifted. It's nearly funny, how Eduardo feels both like he knows Mark better than anyone else and not at all, the former, right now, outweighing the latter as Mark's gaze grows darker, a focus there that wasn't all of a few moments ago. Almost immediately, guilt creeps hot up the back of Eduardo's neck, though he isn't quite sure why, whether it was the comment about pretentiousness or the message itself, if he was wrong and Mark really does see fit to defend the lifestyle from which he just came. (Even now, he finds that hard to believe, but, again, there's four years there he doesn't know about, a gap he's still trying to bridge between the Mark he last spoke to and the one seated across from him now, having yet to discern all the ways he's changed. Their relationship hasn't much, that's apparent, except for where it has completely, but to go from twenty to twenty-four is a big difference. Four years ago, he hadn't even gotten into Harvard yet; there was no Facebook, he hadn't so much as heard the name Mark Zuckerberg. Now, he can barely even recognize who he was back then, a few defining traits remaining the same, but his life having been irreversibly upended. None of that is especially reassuring when he's still trying to find his footing here, but it can't be ignored, either.)
Either way, whatever has prompted this, he wants to apologize, but won't let himself, physically biting down on his tongue to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. He can't say he's sorry without knowing what he's sorry for, and if it's simply for making things awkward, for saying what's just true, then he has no reason to be. It takes effort to convince himself of that, but for as easy as it is to slip into old patterns, to count Mark as always being right, he isn't entirely lacking in self-respect, and he can't just give in over nothing. If it turns out it is related to what he said about Mark and his clothes before, then an apology will be the first thing from his lips, but he isn't a mind reader, particularly not where Mark is concerned; he can't make up for it if he doesn't know he's supposed to. Briefly, he finds himself missing when they were talking about the Winklevoss twins. At least then, he knew without a doubt that they were on the same page, even when coming to Mark's defense wasn't something he'd consciously wanted to do. It was better than all this fucking uncertainty, having to second-guess every single word that comes out of his mouth.
"When served like that, yeah, I just mean, people don't really order steak to make a point," he says, hedging as best he can. Better to start out by deferring to Mark's judgment and telling him he's right and then backtracking from there; that way, hopefully, they'll reach an agreement on it. (He should hate Mark, but he doesn't. That much becomes increasingly clearer all the time, with all the work he puts into trying to keep things civil, to keep his one-time best friend happy.) "And that's what seems to be the case when people are ordering sushi and salad for every meal." He's still self-conscious under Mark's eyes, and it almost shows, though he manages to keep his expression as neutral as possible. There's no sense in letting on to the degree of conflict that's followed him at every turn, the lengths he'll go to to keep this okay, if only temporarily. "And not necessarily you, just, you know. In general."
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Either way, whatever has prompted this, he wants to apologize, but won't let himself, physically biting down on his tongue to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. He can't say he's sorry without knowing what he's sorry for, and if it's simply for making things awkward, for saying what's just true, then he has no reason to be. It takes effort to convince himself of that, but for as easy as it is to slip into old patterns, to count Mark as always being right, he isn't entirely lacking in self-respect, and he can't just give in over nothing. If it turns out it is related to what he said about Mark and his clothes before, then an apology will be the first thing from his lips, but he isn't a mind reader, particularly not where Mark is concerned; he can't make up for it if he doesn't know he's supposed to. Briefly, he finds himself missing when they were talking about the Winklevoss twins. At least then, he knew without a doubt that they were on the same page, even when coming to Mark's defense wasn't something he'd consciously wanted to do. It was better than all this fucking uncertainty, having to second-guess every single word that comes out of his mouth.
"When served like that, yeah, I just mean, people don't really order steak to make a point," he says, hedging as best he can. Better to start out by deferring to Mark's judgment and telling him he's right and then backtracking from there; that way, hopefully, they'll reach an agreement on it. (He should hate Mark, but he doesn't. That much becomes increasingly clearer all the time, with all the work he puts into trying to keep things civil, to keep his one-time best friend happy.) "And that's what seems to be the case when people are ordering sushi and salad for every meal." He's still self-conscious under Mark's eyes, and it almost shows, though he manages to keep his expression as neutral as possible. There's no sense in letting on to the degree of conflict that's followed him at every turn, the lengths he'll go to to keep this okay, if only temporarily. "And not necessarily you, just, you know. In general."