"I can take care of myself," Mark argued. Barely a beat passed before he burst out laughing. Seeing as Roger had come along and bailed him out twice by that point, they both knew that wasn't exactly true. "Which reminds me, you really should put something on that." The bruise on Roger's face was growing from a punch he'd taken and Mark was just silently grateful no blood had been shed. Apparently the Apocalypse didn't cure you from HIV.
He was afraid to ask. He knew Roger sometimes thought he nagged, and maybe he did. But as much as Roger took care of Mark, Mark did the same for him. After April's suicide, he'd gone into a paternal sort of mode and part of him had stayed there. Sorry, he worried, so? He'd told Roger in a moment of anger, but it was true: some day, he'd lose them all, and he'd be alone. The better care Roger took of himself, the longer he'd have before that happened.
"You said you're seeing a doctor," he asked quietly, sitting back down to prevent his shaking knees from giving out. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"