It's not quite enough, the laugh, but Mark is trying his best not to think about it. In the real world, in a world made real by the natural progression of age and the constant crawl or leap of progress, the benefits of thinking outweigh the consequences, but here, where thinking is only liable to get him going around in circles, he needs to stop. This isn't like composing code to achieve a certain purpose; instead, every step that he takes around Eduardo is venturing into unknown territory, into emotions that Mark's never bothered to fully explore (certainly, shoes that he's never tried walking in), and that he's none too eager to pounce on now.
But he can't stop. He can't, and that's what keeps him stumbling every single time, the words catching in his throat and dying before his voice can start to sound at all. The few times he's managed to sputter the words out in the past haven't been successful, anyway. Trying to get Eduardo to stay in Palo Alto. Trying to convince Eduardo that he shouldn't need ads to keep facebook afloat, because facebook is so much more than just a corporation, it's innovation, and surely there will be more than enough people in the world like him, the nerds who sit behind the computer screens, who get that and will fund it to no end. Just look at Google.
He can't even begin to explain to Eduardo that this, that the fact that Eduardo is still looking entirely down at Mark for what he's done, it's fracturing him piece by piece. In some ways, it hammers Mark down, makes him feel small— but on top of that, there's a tiny voice in the back of his head that says he shouldn't have to apologize, that a disconnect and missed communication isn't the same as being deliberately vengeful. Mark regrets how all of this has made Eduardo feel, and that should be enough, yet the weight keeps on coming with him barely still standing in spite of it.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Mark shrugs. "Plenty of animals here. Something will eat it. Fruit never goes to waste," he decides, before turning to face Eduardo again, blinking in silence for a couple of seconds. "I was afraid for a moment that you were about to say the Winklevoss. Though then again, the thought of those two running a restaurant is strangely gratifying. If I could, I would even leave them a sizable tip." His gaze turns, grows distant for a bit, before he nods. Make them work for their money. Let them get a little dirty.
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But he can't stop. He can't, and that's what keeps him stumbling every single time, the words catching in his throat and dying before his voice can start to sound at all. The few times he's managed to sputter the words out in the past haven't been successful, anyway. Trying to get Eduardo to stay in Palo Alto. Trying to convince Eduardo that he shouldn't need ads to keep facebook afloat, because facebook is so much more than just a corporation, it's innovation, and surely there will be more than enough people in the world like him, the nerds who sit behind the computer screens, who get that and will fund it to no end. Just look at Google.
He can't even begin to explain to Eduardo that this, that the fact that Eduardo is still looking entirely down at Mark for what he's done, it's fracturing him piece by piece. In some ways, it hammers Mark down, makes him feel small— but on top of that, there's a tiny voice in the back of his head that says he shouldn't have to apologize, that a disconnect and missed communication isn't the same as being deliberately vengeful. Mark regrets how all of this has made Eduardo feel, and that should be enough, yet the weight keeps on coming with him barely still standing in spite of it.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Mark shrugs. "Plenty of animals here. Something will eat it. Fruit never goes to waste," he decides, before turning to face Eduardo again, blinking in silence for a couple of seconds. "I was afraid for a moment that you were about to say the Winklevoss. Though then again, the thought of those two running a restaurant is strangely gratifying. If I could, I would even leave them a sizable tip." His gaze turns, grows distant for a bit, before he nods. Make them work for their money. Let them get a little dirty.
If only.