A week had slowly passed, and Marshal was finally moved into the new apartment with Ryker. He wasn't as nervous after the second day. It was new to both of them, and Ryker was always compassionate enough to make sure Marshal was as comfortable as possible. On day three of living with Ryker, Marshal was beginning to treat the place as his home, but there were things about this life and his second life that he didn't consider. 

His two lives began to mix. It was a risk---a liability. What if Ryker found out Marshal was a vigilante? Sure, he wasn't the most popular vigilante in Gotham, but he was still a target to all kinds of people. Ryker's first revelation of this fact happened on day four of living with Marshal. 

"I told you, it's fine," Marshal assured, sounding a little impatient. He tried to stand from the dining room chair, but Ryker forced him down for the second time. 

"If you're not gonna say how you got this, then don't say anything," Ryker demanded, sounding more impatient than his best friend. 

Ryker was on his knees in the dim-lit dining room, keeping Marshal's shirt lifted to his chest. His eyes scoured the bleeding gash on his best friend's side. The wound was about five inches in length, reaching vertically from his waist to his rib. Fortunately, it wasn't deep enough to worry Marshal too much. He'd had much worse injuries before, but he couldn't exactly use that as an excuse to get Ryker off his back.

Marshal stayed quiet for a moment, glaring at the table as he refused to look at Ryker. His face was flushed; half because of the pain, and half because of Ryker on his knees in front of Marshal, lifting his shirt. He felt a glimpse of relief when Ryker stood up and went to the kitchen, but that relief was short-lived when a hand towel was placed on his wound. 

Marshal winced. "Ow," he said to Ryker in an annoyed tone.

Ryker kept the towel gently pressed against Marshal's wound, ignoring Marshal's irritation. "Gonna tell me what happened?" he asked bluntly, refusing to look at Marshal as if the wound would get worse if he looked away. 

I got mugged," Marshal quickly said, as if that lie was planned ahead of time.

"I don't believe that for a second." When he first saw Marshal keeled over in pain, he assumed it was a mugging because of the high crime rates in Gotham, but that explanation went out the window when he saw Marshal's phone and wallet in his pocket, completely untouched. 

"Fine. Fuckin' hell." Marshal quickly caved in Ryker's presence. He had never been able to lie to the guy, and it screwed him over a couple of times. "I...got in a fight." That was a half-truth, but still not the full answer Ryker was looking for. 

"And, what, the guy pulled a knife?" Ryker finally looked up at Marshal with frustration. "That's a massive cut, Marshal," he scolded. Something caught his eye once that foreign frustration faded. A bruise spread across Marshal's cheekbone, making Ryker question how he didn't see it earlier. 

Ryker put his hand on Marshal's cheek, looking up at him from the floor. Marshal's stomach was rife with frantic butterflies as soon as he felt Ryker's touch, but he tried to ignore it. Those butterflies were quickly replaced with a pit of guilt in his stomach when he saw the worry and sympathy in his best friend's eyes. 

"What happened to you, man?" Ryker asked in a quiet, sad tone. He was practically begging to know. He was always concerned about the shady people or plain old douchebags Marshal always hung out with.

Ryker's worry struck Marshal's heart a bit. He didn't like it when people cared about him. "Can you stop?" he finally spoke, taking Ryker's hand off of his cheek by his wrist. "Don't worry about it, okay?" he grumbled. 

Ryker bit his inner lip as he glanced between Marshal's two wounds, looking for more. Marshal didn't like that his body was being...admired? No. Examined. The pity and care he was receiving were killing him. 

Ryker took Marshal's hand and placed it on the towel, making sure the wound always had pressure on it. Ryker's brows furrowed as he stared at the covered wound as if he was angry at it, but he was really angry at whoever did this to Marshal. 

He finally sighed and ran his hand through his hair, letting a bit of worry fade from his mind. "You kill me, kid," he chuckled. This wasn't the only time Ryker was concerned about Marshal. Back in high school, whether the kid was being bullied or doing the bullying, Ryker was always worried about him. He tried to protect him, but he felt like he was failing. 

"Don't call me 'kid,'" Marshal grumbled. Of course, he didn't want to be called a kid by the guy he was into. Besides, he was three months older than Ryker. 

For the first time since Marshal came home with a gaping wound, Ryker smiled up at his best friend. 

Cute, Marshal thought as he admired that smile that never got old. He blushed when Ryker ruffled his hair; granted, in a friendly manner, but it made his heart beat a little faster.

Ryker stood up, and Marshal's heart picked up even more, beating as urgently as the returned butterflies in his stomach when Ryker gripped Marshal's hair and directed his head towards him. By gently forcing Marshal to look at him, the unrequited feelings in Marshal's spirit had been activated, reminding him of the moment he first realized they were there. 

"You know you can trust me, right? With anything." He tilted his head at Marshal, never letting his smile cease. That infectious, comforting smile. 

"I---" Marshal hesitated, stealing one more glance at those bright green eyes before his gaze retreated to the floor. "I know," he finally said, his voice shrouded with guilt. He hated keeping secrets from his best friend, of course. But he would hate it more if he put Ryker in danger by bringing him into the crimefighting world. 

Ryker could only sigh. If Marshal didn't want to tell him, that was fine. He was only worried about his friend's safety. "Good," he said in a more lighthearted tone. He bent down and kissed Marshal's head. It was acts of affection like that that made Marshal fall for Ryker in the first place.