Eduardo doesn't know how long it's been. The thing about the island is that there are no real obligations, no meetings or anywhere to be, and so it's easy to lose track of time, to let days slide into weeks. He still isn't quite so accustomed to Tabula Rasa's idle lifestyle (truth be told, he wouldn't want to be), but he's much better about it than he used to be these days, and the fact of the matter is, when he has few ways of filling his time, there isn't any reason to sit and count the hours. He has a girlfriend he's crazy about and a handful of classes, and that's been all he needs.

Despite the fact that it's never bothered him, when he catches sight of an all too familiar face in the rec room — one that doesn't belong to some doppelganger named after a city, he knows instantly — the first thing he does is try to calculate how much time has passed since he last laid eyes on his former best friend, since he stormed out of the Facebook office after having been stabbed in the fucking back or since the two days he spent thinking he was back at Harvard, even if he was supposedly here all the while. He doesn't know. It's enough to keep him still for a moment, though, blankly staring, as if he can't quite believe his eyes. (There's a part of him that wants to punch the douchebag right in the face, that thinks he deserves it. The rest of him is disturbingly tempted to hug him. It isn't an easy thing, throwing away two years of friendship.)

"Mark," he says flatly, outwardly impassive, most of the room still separating the two of them. They'll have an audience, he thinks, if things escalate, but that wasn't a problem before, and it's the least of his concerns now. There's nothing he needs to keep secret.