The question makes Eduardo's chest grow tight, something that he tries to hide by keeping his expression as even as possible. For his part, Facebook is probably the last thing he wants to be talking about, but he's too used to Mark's life revolving around it; as far as he can see, catching up with Mark and catching up with the website should be synonymous. (Even now, even after what was done to him, it still comes down to wanting to keep Mark comfortable and happy, even if that means it's at his own expense.) Mark is asking questions, though, and it's kind of fucking surreal, leaving him with a mess of emotions that he can't even begin to make sense of. There's the implication of change, of course — Mark wants to hear about him, and that actually feels great, even though it probably shouldn't — but he's also misstepped, misjudged, and that's frustrating and worrying all in one go. (He doesn't need a reminder that he doesn't know Mark as well as he's always thought, and he doesn't need to be fucking up this early on.)
"I thought you'd want to talk about it," he says, voice even, a little quieter. He doesn't quite meet Mark's gaze when he speaks, but he looks up a moment after, not about to press the subject. He has no reason to. "But, uh, sure, we can stop. The weather, there wouldn't really be any point, it's a lot of the same or it's — it's completely fucking batshit. I'm talking, like, a month of snow, or a hurricane at the wrong time of year without any indicators, or —" Trailing off, he shakes his head. "The point is, I wish I could, but I don't." It's the sort of thing that he could go on and on about, just like the lack of economy (and really, it's just his luck, getting stuck in a place with no economy and unpredictable weather), but despite the comment, he can't imagine that Mark is actually all that interested. There's plenty else he can talk about, however awkward it may be to segue into it. "As for people, um." He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, temporarily ignoring his food. This was bound to come up at some point, really, and it's probably better that he tell Mark than risk the two of them running into each other without warning. (He'll have to tell her, too, something he's thought about a few times over the course of the evening, but there's nothing he can do about that now.) "There's a girl. Her name is Olive. I, I really like her."
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Date: 2011-05-21 03:02 am (UTC)"I thought you'd want to talk about it," he says, voice even, a little quieter. He doesn't quite meet Mark's gaze when he speaks, but he looks up a moment after, not about to press the subject. He has no reason to. "But, uh, sure, we can stop. The weather, there wouldn't really be any point, it's a lot of the same or it's — it's completely fucking batshit. I'm talking, like, a month of snow, or a hurricane at the wrong time of year without any indicators, or —" Trailing off, he shakes his head. "The point is, I wish I could, but I don't." It's the sort of thing that he could go on and on about, just like the lack of economy (and really, it's just his luck, getting stuck in a place with no economy and unpredictable weather), but despite the comment, he can't imagine that Mark is actually all that interested. There's plenty else he can talk about, however awkward it may be to segue into it. "As for people, um." He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, temporarily ignoring his food. This was bound to come up at some point, really, and it's probably better that he tell Mark than risk the two of them running into each other without warning. (He'll have to tell her, too, something he's thought about a few times over the course of the evening, but there's nothing he can do about that now.) "There's a girl. Her name is Olive. I, I really like her."