There are so many things Eduardo could say to that. Too many, in fact, most of them unpleasant, all of them variations on a theme. He doesn't want to fight either, though, and if there's one thing he's learning, it's that he can't expect perfection. Mark may still be -- unbelievable, incredible, so many things that Eduardo never could be, but he didn't hang the moon, he isn't the pinnacle around which the universe revolves, even if Eduardo has found himself drawn into Mark's orbit again regardless. He isn't perfect, is the point, and while it's tempting to snap, to point out the gall it must take for Mark to even think something like that when he's the reason Eduardo lost so much (if he should have it all, then why the fuck was he only worth three hundredths of a percent?), he can't bring himself to. When it comes down to it, the words themselves hit too hard for that, Eduardo falling silent for a long few seconds following them.
The thing is, it isn't like he never knew Mark liked him. Mark, at least to Eduardo's observation, always made perfectly clear when he didn't like someone, pulling no punches and speaking what he saw to be the truth. The chances of Mark keeping Eduardo around if he didn't like him seem, to the latter, slim to none. That doesn't make this any less difficult to wrap his head around. With Mark, it was a constant fight for approval, the way so much else in his life has been, and he was lucky to just get an ounce of that, not even questioning its worth when it came from Mark of all people, Mark who was so quick, so smart, everything Eduardo wasn't, the kind of person Eduardo was probably supposed to be. He was lucky just to be deserving enough of being in Mark's presence at all. Now, though, with this -- it's too much, it contradicts too much of what he knows to be true, and yet capable of deceit though he knows Mark to be, he thinks it might actually be something he means. How he's even supposed to begin to know what to do with that, he doesn't know.
"No," he says, with a slight, tense shake of his head, relieved after Mark shuts his eyes that he doesn't have to try to hold eye contact any longer. He can't look at him while dealing with something like this; the look on his face alone, he suspects, would be enough to get Mark to change his mind. Maybe it's just the few years of distance that have done it, skewed his perspective so he doesn't remember Eduardo the way he really is. Whatever his reasoning, though, it's too hard to listen to, to reconcile this Mark with the one he knew before, with everything he's heard all his life. Of all the things for Mark to be wrong about, he thinks, this is not one he ever would have seen coming. He just hopes that first response, an instinct he couldn't help, is easily dismissed enough as an agreement that he doesn't want to fight, either. Swallowing heavily, his throat suddenly feeling thick, hoarse, he draws in an unsteady breath, rubbing at his eyes as nonchalantly as he can where they've begun to grow damp. "I -- no."
He can't, when it comes down to it. Can't pretend that it's not a big deal, and can't pretend that it's true, treat it as something of less significance than it really is. There's no point in telling Mark that he'd never have it all anyway, that he doesn't get better than this. More important is that it's just inaccurate. Besides, with a girl he loves and a second chance with his best friend, why should he want better? He already has more than he ever should have gotten to. "I don't, but -- Jesus, Mark, you actually --" he tries again, but in the end, he has to give up, hating too much the way he sounds, all weak and broken. He lets out a laugh instead, watery and self-deprecating. "Shit, I am so drunk." It isn't anywhere close to the truth. If it were, though -- if he could somehow manage to be remotely convincing -- he thinks it might make his reaction, far too overemotional, a little less pathetic.
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The thing is, it isn't like he never knew Mark liked him. Mark, at least to Eduardo's observation, always made perfectly clear when he didn't like someone, pulling no punches and speaking what he saw to be the truth. The chances of Mark keeping Eduardo around if he didn't like him seem, to the latter, slim to none. That doesn't make this any less difficult to wrap his head around. With Mark, it was a constant fight for approval, the way so much else in his life has been, and he was lucky to just get an ounce of that, not even questioning its worth when it came from Mark of all people, Mark who was so quick, so smart, everything Eduardo wasn't, the kind of person Eduardo was probably supposed to be. He was lucky just to be deserving enough of being in Mark's presence at all. Now, though, with this -- it's too much, it contradicts too much of what he knows to be true, and yet capable of deceit though he knows Mark to be, he thinks it might actually be something he means. How he's even supposed to begin to know what to do with that, he doesn't know.
"No," he says, with a slight, tense shake of his head, relieved after Mark shuts his eyes that he doesn't have to try to hold eye contact any longer. He can't look at him while dealing with something like this; the look on his face alone, he suspects, would be enough to get Mark to change his mind. Maybe it's just the few years of distance that have done it, skewed his perspective so he doesn't remember Eduardo the way he really is. Whatever his reasoning, though, it's too hard to listen to, to reconcile this Mark with the one he knew before, with everything he's heard all his life. Of all the things for Mark to be wrong about, he thinks, this is not one he ever would have seen coming. He just hopes that first response, an instinct he couldn't help, is easily dismissed enough as an agreement that he doesn't want to fight, either. Swallowing heavily, his throat suddenly feeling thick, hoarse, he draws in an unsteady breath, rubbing at his eyes as nonchalantly as he can where they've begun to grow damp. "I -- no."
He can't, when it comes down to it. Can't pretend that it's not a big deal, and can't pretend that it's true, treat it as something of less significance than it really is. There's no point in telling Mark that he'd never have it all anyway, that he doesn't get better than this. More important is that it's just inaccurate. Besides, with a girl he loves and a second chance with his best friend, why should he want better? He already has more than he ever should have gotten to. "I don't, but -- Jesus, Mark, you actually --" he tries again, but in the end, he has to give up, hating too much the way he sounds, all weak and broken. He lets out a laugh instead, watery and self-deprecating. "Shit, I am so drunk." It isn't anywhere close to the truth. If it were, though -- if he could somehow manage to be remotely convincing -- he thinks it might make his reaction, far too overemotional, a little less pathetic.