It's surprising enough to stop Eduardo in his tracks. The first comment, he'd been about to take as his cue to leave, and he would have been fine with that, too, knowing that it had been done at Mark's behest, after having been the one to try to make an effort. Even that was more than Mark deserved from him, anyway, but maintaining the distinction between them is important to Eduardo, even if he doesn't expect Mark to care, or even notice. (He hasn't usually seemed to in the past.) So the fact that the words, unintentional as his own first statement was, actually seem to have some impact comes as a shock, so much that Eduardo can't hide it, eyebrows raising and mouth falling slightly open. That Mark has turned his attention elsewhere is infinitely relieving. He can't imagine that acknowledging something like that would be easy for Mark, anyway, given that it's the first time Eduardo can recall him ever having said as much.
"You son of a bitch," he sighs, shaking his head like he can't believe what's going on. In a way, that isn't far from the truth. He made a decision, storming out of the Facebook office in Palo Alto, came to the realization that there was nothing in that room he had to go back to. Mark had chosen the site, and he, in turn, chose his own fucking dignity, finally, after all he'd put up with. There is, though, a reason why he dealt with as much as he did: at the end of the day, he's unable to shut out people he cares about, and there are few who have ever meant so much as Mark Zuckerberg, one-sided though their relationship may have turned out to be. It's a stupid inclination, one that makes him question just how much self-loathing he's developed, but he can't walk away, not after that.
Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he exhales slowly, and resignedly crosses the few steps to the refrigerator, leaning against the top of the open door so he can look over it at Mark. "C'mon, man," he says, something about his voice sounding more tired than would probably have been the case before the debacle with Facebook. "They don't keep any in here, but if you want to go grab a beer or something... I can show you where to get one."
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Date: 2011-05-15 06:38 am (UTC)"You son of a bitch," he sighs, shaking his head like he can't believe what's going on. In a way, that isn't far from the truth. He made a decision, storming out of the Facebook office in Palo Alto, came to the realization that there was nothing in that room he had to go back to. Mark had chosen the site, and he, in turn, chose his own fucking dignity, finally, after all he'd put up with. There is, though, a reason why he dealt with as much as he did: at the end of the day, he's unable to shut out people he cares about, and there are few who have ever meant so much as Mark Zuckerberg, one-sided though their relationship may have turned out to be. It's a stupid inclination, one that makes him question just how much self-loathing he's developed, but he can't walk away, not after that.
Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he exhales slowly, and resignedly crosses the few steps to the refrigerator, leaning against the top of the open door so he can look over it at Mark. "C'mon, man," he says, something about his voice sounding more tired than would probably have been the case before the debacle with Facebook. "They don't keep any in here, but if you want to go grab a beer or something... I can show you where to get one."