Several times, Mark tries to open his mouth to speak, finds that his words are cut off by Eduardo actually taking the time now to work through his frustrations. And Mark doesn't get it. There are moments, usually in retrospect, when he can see the effects of his actions and wonder at how he should have acted differently, how he could have avoided the landmines that he never seemed capable of spotting. But this is just another of a long line of triggers that Mark's pretty sure he can never fully anticipate. Even now, even after hours of sitting in that room across from Eduardo, with that annoying saggy-faced lawyer by his side, Mark isn't entirely sure what he had done to deserve Eduardo freezing his damn accounts all those years ago. He still thinks of it as a childish move. Upfront, perhaps, and that's certainly one of the key differences between Eduardo's move on the board and Mark's own, but all Mark can think is that it must have been some kind of tantrum and that this is another one of those, the many topics and behaviors that go on the X list. Someday, Mark will sit down. Try to make a pattern out of them all.
Now that he doesn't have facebook to occupy himself with.
"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally stammers, quick and terse as he stuffs his hands further into his pockets. His lips press together; they're a bit dry, and he probably needs chapstick. "Mentioning the chicken was mean. I'm sorry. I meant it as— as a joke. I thought... you'd know that."
He looks down, brows pulled together in frustration, at how strangely it hurts that he doesn't get those easy responses from Eduardo anymore. Doesn't get a smile, a laugh. Admittedly, the chicken was probably a poor choice in subject, given how upset Eduardo was about potentially smearing facebok's name, given the panic he felt about what his father would say— but part of the problem is that Mark doesn't know what else he can even make light of. It's just been too long. (Yet he still thinks of that night they were hiring facebook interns, about that soft huff of a laugh from Eduardo over the ridiculous nature of final club hazing.) "I don't like this place," he decides, quietly. "I don't like this place, and it— it doesn't make sense, and I... I can't fix things, here."
no subject
Now that he doesn't have facebook to occupy himself with.
"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally stammers, quick and terse as he stuffs his hands further into his pockets. His lips press together; they're a bit dry, and he probably needs chapstick. "Mentioning the chicken was mean. I'm sorry. I meant it as— as a joke. I thought... you'd know that."
He looks down, brows pulled together in frustration, at how strangely it hurts that he doesn't get those easy responses from Eduardo anymore. Doesn't get a smile, a laugh. Admittedly, the chicken was probably a poor choice in subject, given how upset Eduardo was about potentially smearing facebok's name, given the panic he felt about what his father would say— but part of the problem is that Mark doesn't know what else he can even make light of. It's just been too long. (Yet he still thinks of that night they were hiring facebook interns, about that soft huff of a laugh from Eduardo over the ridiculous nature of final club hazing.) "I don't like this place," he decides, quietly. "I don't like this place, and it— it doesn't make sense, and I... I can't fix things, here."