"No?" Mark asks, his chin raising with a blink as he stares straight in front of him, derailed from his progress towards the hut, the one he doesn't even know the exact location of, having still just arrived on an island that isn't on the maps and sounds like something Dustin would come up with for a comic book. There are a lot of responses from Eduardo's end that Mark would have understood, but 'no' doesn't really fit, doesn't illuminate a clear path from A to B. No, he doesn't want to fight? No, he doesn't believe it? Or no, Mark's wrong, and Eduardo actually wants nothing more than to be on an island drinking coconut juice with girlfriend and once best friend for the rest of time? This little quandary is more than enough to keep Mark's thoughts off of the actual emotion underlying everything else; his brow knits again, his shoulders shrug, a little tense from the confusion. "What kind of response is—"
He quiets down as soon as he turns, watching Eduardo laugh, seeing tears stand in his best friend's eyes. And suddenly, he remembers a moment from their past, a moment from before everything was torn so solidly, irreparably apart. He remembers, the scene slightly hazy, running back to Kirkland House to add a line before thefacebook went live, a line asking about relationship status. He recalls Eduardo stepping into the room after waiting for, now he realizes, probably god knows how long next to the dorm entrance. He remembers seeing that familiar tuft of hair in his peripheral vision as he updated that line on the profile page, before the page went live only seconds later. But what he remembers is that brief glance in Eduardo's direction as his best friend stared at the masthead, at his name on the site, just the tiniest of gestures that would end up meaning the world to his father. This, this reminds him slightly of that, and Mark isn't sure what's causing it— if perhaps Eduardo has, over time, developed a need for validation from Mark as well.
The idea of it feels so strange that Mark blinks again, before offering a crooked smile.
"Me too," Mark replies, and maybe he does feel a little light-headed, though he's pretty sure it's not the drink that's the problem. It isn't too often that Mark feels completely overwhelmed, but this is one of those nights, far too much to process and emotions tugging him in every direction. It's understandable, he thinks. They've just hurtled toward one another, four years' worth of time crossed in under an hour. Rebuilt a bridge that was chopped to pieces, if not burned. Doesn't matter what kind of ridiculous metaphor he pictures in his mind, all of them hint at how monumental the change is, small though the circle of influence is, personal to the two of them. "Probably should crash. Tomorrow will be... interesting."
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He quiets down as soon as he turns, watching Eduardo laugh, seeing tears stand in his best friend's eyes. And suddenly, he remembers a moment from their past, a moment from before everything was torn so solidly, irreparably apart. He remembers, the scene slightly hazy, running back to Kirkland House to add a line before thefacebook went live, a line asking about relationship status. He recalls Eduardo stepping into the room after waiting for, now he realizes, probably god knows how long next to the dorm entrance. He remembers seeing that familiar tuft of hair in his peripheral vision as he updated that line on the profile page, before the page went live only seconds later. But what he remembers is that brief glance in Eduardo's direction as his best friend stared at the masthead, at his name on the site, just the tiniest of gestures that would end up meaning the world to his father. This, this reminds him slightly of that, and Mark isn't sure what's causing it— if perhaps Eduardo has, over time, developed a need for validation from Mark as well.
The idea of it feels so strange that Mark blinks again, before offering a crooked smile.
"Me too," Mark replies, and maybe he does feel a little light-headed, though he's pretty sure it's not the drink that's the problem. It isn't too often that Mark feels completely overwhelmed, but this is one of those nights, far too much to process and emotions tugging him in every direction. It's understandable, he thinks. They've just hurtled toward one another, four years' worth of time crossed in under an hour. Rebuilt a bridge that was chopped to pieces, if not burned. Doesn't matter what kind of ridiculous metaphor he pictures in his mind, all of them hint at how monumental the change is, small though the circle of influence is, personal to the two of them. "Probably should crash. Tomorrow will be... interesting."