It doesn't really matter. It doesn't feel any less impossible now.

"I think we had thirty whole minutes where you weren't a complete asshole," Eduardo says. "I think that might be a record." His voice is affectionate, teasing, but Mark still turns away, starts stacking dishes to carry over to the dishwasher. Eduardo's right about Mark after all, though Mark doesn't think Eduardo fully understands how right he is. He never did in the past.

"Everything. Facebook. I wouldn't have done anything differently," Mark says. "It was shitty for you, and I'm sorry about that, but if I had to go back and do it all again, I wouldn't change anything."

Eduardo gets this look on his face, like Mark's just run over his dog, like maybe he's actually seeing Mark for once, instead of the guy he's made up in his head and mentally overlaid on top of Mark.

That night, Eduardo gets back to the house later than Mark. He steps into the kitchen as Mark finishes chopping the vegetables, blinking in disbelief at Mark's neatly organized bowls of onions, tomatoes, carrots, peppers. He's not doing anything fancy, just making some tomato sauce and some pasta. He just likes to make sure everything is in its place before he even touches the stove, sort of like how he needs to have a solid design for his code before he even puts his hands on the keyboard.