The longer they sit here, just the two of them and nothing else, in a way they haven't been in longer now than he can even remember, the more Eduardo finds himself trying to consider just how much his perception is skewed, how much is real and how much is the product of some vain, useless hope. He doubts he ever would have fully given up on wanting Mark to come back around, regardless of lawsuits or time spent apart, but there's a difference between wanting a thing and ever really believing that it could happen. The first, he did (he does, he reminds himself. This isn't a done deal); the second, he wouldn't have let himself. Now, though, in the way Mark is here, actually looking at him, it's kind of fucking daunting, having his full attention like this, no computer to take precedence or other people of importance around or idea being formed. What Eduardo has to wonder, through the haze of alcohol and the weight of everything that's happened this past while, is if this is all just wishful thinking, or if the seemingly impossible has become true. Mark always hears, but he rarely seems to listen (a distinction that could practically define the two of them, that's impacted so much of what happened between them). Eduardo thinks he might actually be listening now.
Too bad he hardly knows what to say, what to do, now that there's a chance he honestly has what he's wanted for so, so long. It isn't what he's used to, with Mark or, really, anyone else. More often than not in his life, he's had to fight a losing battle; frustrating as that can be, he's ready for it, and as a result, latches on willingly, gratefully, to whatever he can get. Even if getting them here took some trying, it's so simple, so real, that he meets Mark's gaze and for a moment there's a lump lodged firmly in his throat, one that takes another swig of beer to wash down.
"No," he answers with a short laugh after he's set his glass down again, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head. "I did a little better than that. It's made out of wood. As far as middle-of-nowhere island living goes, it's not bad, actually."
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Date: 2011-05-21 03:48 am (UTC)Too bad he hardly knows what to say, what to do, now that there's a chance he honestly has what he's wanted for so, so long. It isn't what he's used to, with Mark or, really, anyone else. More often than not in his life, he's had to fight a losing battle; frustrating as that can be, he's ready for it, and as a result, latches on willingly, gratefully, to whatever he can get. Even if getting them here took some trying, it's so simple, so real, that he meets Mark's gaze and for a moment there's a lump lodged firmly in his throat, one that takes another swig of beer to wash down.
"No," he answers with a short laugh after he's set his glass down again, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head. "I did a little better than that. It's made out of wood. As far as middle-of-nowhere island living goes, it's not bad, actually."