Much of the time, advice that Eduardo gives Mark not only goes down the drain, but is fought against instinctively. It's a process that Mark isn't even entirely cognizant of himself, and especially not after he's had a few drinks under his belt. In a way, in spite of all of the time that has passed for him, the years that he's spent in Palo Alto without so much as a peep from Eduardo, Mark finds himself quickly stumbling back to where he was in those weeks before diluting Eduardo's shares. Feeling somehow overshadowed, stifled, like his best friend is taking up the role of a guardian, of a mother herding him back inside when the clock hasn't even struck eleven.

When Eduardo tells Mark not to worry, he does at once, his brow knitting severely— only the words stumble for once and don't quite spill over his lips. Shouldn't he worry? Never, never have the two of them actually lived together for any amount of time, even if sometimes Eduardo came over with such frequency that it felt like he was part of the Kirkland blocking group altogether. And even though this is Wardo, Mark doesn't feel like he has the right to ask for this favor anymore. There's no more ease, no right to simply siphoning a couple hundred dollars out of his friend's account for the sake of keeping his servers running.

"You sure I shouldn't worry about it?" he asks at last, once his thoughts finally break through, slipping forward like a dam broken. Still, he picks himself up and follows closely behind Eduardo. "Although I guess I'll find my own place soon, but really, if they have a room like that, they have a room like that. I mean, I could— it's not ideal to be staying in a room with so many strangers, but one night, I can manage one night."