ceu | a purveyor of tragedy, and all the things that follow: b-side (blooper)

Original last scene for a purveyor of tragedy, and all the things that follow. In its place I had written the three shorter (altogether longer) scenes at the end, with all of their POVs; but this was just Erica's. I didn't feel particularly like this fit or wrapped the fic up properly, even though it does display the domesticity I wanted to establish in the end.

I think it works better with the hesitance between Mark and Erica rather than the security of Mark and Eduardo in the end. Mark and Erica's relationship always had a tension and was on the line for this entire fic, so it felt far more fitting to end with at least growing the reestablishment of that rather than a sudden jump into security about their relationship and then overlooking it for Erica/Eduardo for true finality, when Erica/Eduardo was more of a plot device in this fic than anything.

Mark always had a soft spot for pancakes, too, so in the morning, you make a batch for three; breakfast is the only meal you ever cook. Eduardo doesn’t live here (yet) but he’s bought enough food to cover dinners, and Mark eats leftovers for lunch and pretends he still only lives on Red Bull and pancakes.

You stretch, in a button-up that’s not yours (in sweatpants that aren’t yours, either.) Mark is awake already, always the first, atrociously early and working at the kitchen table. He doesn’t live here yet either, his boxes and things still at his parents’ place—when he’s here, though, he doesn’t sleep in the hallway anymore. He glances at you, something newly hesitant in his eyes, like he looks before where he treads now, and sometimes it doesn’t always work. He hasn’t apologized to you in as many words as you’d like him to, yet; and you’re keeping an eye open, not quite settled, for a misstep.

You meet his gaze and he asks, “How’s breakfast coming along?” with something forced in his voice. You smile.

You go over to him and perch your elbows on his shoulder. You used to do this when you were together before, and it annoyed him then. It still annoys him now. “How’s your work?” you ask him, and he grumbles.

You laugh into his curls.

Eduardo walks in, yawning, and beaming at the sight of you. “My two favorite people,” he says, hair disheveled like on the day you’d walked into your apartment with Mark blowing Eduardo in the hall, the day Eduardo had shown you his living room for the first time and then the text messages he had been sending to Mark.

“Water the plants yet?” he asks Mark, peering to the kitchen windowsill.

Mark nods, under your hands. “I did,” he says. “Erica’s supposed to be making pancakes.”

“Oh, good,” Eduardo says brightly, sitting down at the table. He grins up at you. “I’m starving.”

You roll your eyes. “You always are,” you say, getting up. You return to mixing pancake batter, and your gaze drifts, to where Eduardo is nudging Mark’s foot under the table, where Mark is nudging his back. Eduardo catches your eye and says pointedly, “Pancakes?”

“Stop playing footsie with Mark if you’re that hungry,” you say back.

Eduardo glances at Mark. “I’m not that hungry.” But he gets up from the table, kisses you on the cheek, and says, “I’m going to get dressed.” You nod and kiss his chin back, eating between your cooking and then getting ready for work while Eduardo and Mark sit at the table over breakfast, Mark pretending Eduardo isn’t distracting him.

When you’re trading goodbye kisses, later, you and Eduardo about to head out, Mark looks directly at you and says, “I love you.” It’s the first time, and both you and Eduardo stare at him, but he doesn’t duck his head down, doesn’t try to pretend he didn’t say it.

You lean over and peck his mouth. “I love you too,” you say, because you do—between the bite he’s eased up on and his gaze where he looks at you with more wonder than indifference—he is still wild, fast, unpredictable. He still loves making you gasp in bed and his eyes do this curious thing when he makes you laugh and he always tries to make you see him better than he really is, and it’s not always a bad thing. He settles into something surprised at you saying the words back, and your lips quirk.

Eduardo’s at the door getting his shoes on, and sends you a questioning look when you join him. You shake your head and smile; behind you, Mark’s voice says dryly, “Have a good day at work.”

You snort. “Have fun with your video game,” you call back, at the sound of his typing.

Eduardo rolls his eyes at the both of you. “We will have a good day at work,” he says over your shoulder, to Mark, and Mark says, “Good.”

You and Eduardo walk out together; the sky is heavy and overcast, but Eduardo has brought an umbrella. “For the record,” you say, as he gets it open, “I love you too.”

He glances at you and smiles. “I know,” he says, popping the umbrella over both of your heads. “The feeling is mutual,” he says into your hair.

You laugh and elbow him and link arms with his. He presses you close to his side, and you walk to work together.