"No, it wasn't," Eduardo agrees, like Mark could possibly need his agreement at all, though it takes a considerable deal of effort to keep any bitterness from showing in his expression, and the accompanying comment from getting any farther than the tip of his tongue. Of course size wasn't the goal; cool was the goal, and they fucking achieved that, at his own expense. (He has to wonder, sometimes, if it was really worth it, for Mark to lose the one person who ever really cared about him. It's only ever a moment, though, and then he remembers that of course it was. He could never have compared to the website, to Sean in that world. He doesn't regret trying, but it was always going to have been a fruitless battle.) Even for all his desire not to ruin this by starting another argument, it's still more than he can think about; he has to take a bite of his own burger to prevent himself from saying what he knows he'd regret. He focuses instead on the rest of Mark's actual comment, what he can't quite wrap his head around. Maybe it's the product of those four years he missed out on; maybe it's just trying to make sense of what otherwise doesn't. Having no idea either way, he shakes his head. "I haven't heard anything about it getting sold, though. Would you even want to?"
It's curiosity that prompts the question, the reminder, again, that he doesn't know Mark like he thought he did. Or maybe it's just that the idea is surreal. God knows he never expected them to go as far as they did, and certainly not as far as he's heard they'll go. They were a bunch of college kids writing on a window, comparing female undergrads, but the impression they leave — and he excludes himself from this, now, even having been told that Mark means to put his name back on the masthead — is apparently a lasting one. In a way, it's almost eerie, how something so big could start so simple. For all he knows, that was the problem in the first place, too much too soon.
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Date: 2011-05-21 02:42 am (UTC)It's curiosity that prompts the question, the reminder, again, that he doesn't know Mark like he thought he did. Or maybe it's just that the idea is surreal. God knows he never expected them to go as far as they did, and certainly not as far as he's heard they'll go. They were a bunch of college kids writing on a window, comparing female undergrads, but the impression they leave — and he excludes himself from this, now, even having been told that Mark means to put his name back on the masthead — is apparently a lasting one. In a way, it's almost eerie, how something so big could start so simple. For all he knows, that was the problem in the first place, too much too soon.