Liam watches Marty with curious eyes, reading every change in his expression, every gesture, with interest. Compassion needn't be expressed with words. No, sometimes Liam sees so much of it in Marty that it makes his head swim. And here, each of them holding the other in place, they're very nearly a tangle. Not quite, but close. Careful, like a dance. Isn't that how it always is? Thinking on it too long presses on his lungs, and he has to lift his head to better breathe.

In a way, they're both afraid of drowning. "Until they're all shut." he answers, meaning it to be optimistic. Liam stretches his arm around Marty's back, pulling closer, groping for the flask in Marty's hand. He finds his wrist, first, instead. And that seems like a fine thing to close his fingers around. "And you're going to keep breathing. To the last door, and on." He needs that to be true.