"Hey, easy, easy," Eduardo says, expression somewhere in an odd middle ground between concerned and fond, falling back a step so he can rest a hand on Mark's shoulder, attempt to keep him steady. The response isn't quite what he was hoping for — though still better than a good number of alternatives — but for a moment, at least, it's easy to put that aside. Mark looks exhausted, and though it's worrying, it's not unwelcome in the sense that they've been here before. In that instant, it isn't difficult to pretend that they're back at Harvard, with Mark coming off a too many hours long coding tear, needing to be coaxed away from the computer and into bed. (It was never strictly why he tended to spend more time at Kirkland than in his own dorm, but he thought it a benefit to his being there, certainly.) Such a train of thought is dangerous, sure, but he doesn't think he could be blamed for trying to seize upon whatever familiarity he can when everything else has turned completely on its head, something that Mark's always had an uncanny ability to do where Eduardo's life is concerned.

So it's easy for Eduardo to let that take priority, to want to focus on that instead of his reasons for wanting to have Mark crash at his place. He isn't sure how he'd begin to explain it, anyway; this is as good a reason as any not to. "You are absolutely taking the bed. You — no offense, but you look like you need it." Eduardo can't blame him, really. He's hovering on the verge of exhaustion himself, attention paid to Mark the only thing that's keeping him from really feeling it, and he had a relatively normal day up until now, if trying not to think about his ex-ex-best friend's birthday and talking about sex with his girlfriend on the beach counts as normal. (He likes to think it does.) Only with that said, he bites his lip, adding more quietly, "And it's not just because I'd feel bad."