We had finally arrived at the inn, one that Fisk described as the "cheap but clean" variety. After watching him haggle with the innkeeper on a nightly rate, we made our way to the room Fisk had secured for us.

'Twas cleaner than I had expected, given the state of the town we were in. I dropped my bags as soon as Fisk closed the door behind us, took a few unsteady steps, and collapsed face first onto the bed.

I was exhausted.

I heard Fisk chuckle behind me. "Tired?" he asked gently, still looming near the door from the sound of it.

My uncharacteristic grunt of confirmation drew another laugh from Fisk's lips. I felt the bed shift underneath me and deduced that he had sat down next to me. "Get some rest," he advised softly, running his fingers once, twice, three times through my hair. I wondered if he knew how much I loved it when he did that.

I rolled over slightly so that I was looking up at my squire. He smiled down at me; a sweet, genuine smile that I was still not used to. It seemed so out of place on his features, which I was accustomed to seeing arranged in a cynical, guarded expression. Either way, I figured I would not have a hard time growing to…to appreciate that smile.

"But we need to –"

"Don't worry about it, Michael." (If he thought I wouldn't notice – and be grateful for – the use of my full name, he was wrong.) "We'll straighten things out in the morning." Fisk bent down to unlace his boots, and I took this moment to prop myself up on my elbows and actually observe the room. One thing immediately struck me as odd.

"Fisk?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, still hunched over his feet.

"Why did you rent a room with two beds?"

From this angle, I could see the tops of his ears turn crimson. I smiled as I wondered if they did that whenever he was flustered, and I had just failed to notice it.

"I didn't want to…to raise suspicion. We are trying to lie low, Michael."

I laughed out loud at that, which seemed to ease Fisk slightly. Laying back down, I slid slightly to my right to make room for him.

Once he was finally done struggling with his boots, Fisk swung his legs onto the bed. He sat there for a moment, and I wondered if he could feel my gaze resting on him.

Even in his stillness, Fisk still projected an aura of movement. As if I could feel his mind still racing, his blood running laps. The pronounced rise and fall of his chest as he breathed seemed to draw my attention; seemed to steal focus away from everything around him. At last, I could stand it no longer. Propping myself up on my elbow that was closest to Fisk, I took my free hand and rested it on his cheek, turning his face towards mine. Though he did his best to keep his countenance expressionless, I could see a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned into the seventeen year old lad before me, so close that I could feel the gentle force of his exhalations on my face.

"Noble Sir…" he whispered, but there was no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Whatever it was he had to say may have been important, I admit. But at that precise moment, I was in no mood to hear it. Knowing how difficult it would be to get him to stop talking once he had started, I decided it would be in my best interest to make sure his lips were occupied with something else.