When Liam looks at him that way, Marty feels like he's reading him like a book. Specifically, one of Liam's kind of books, the ones that you can use to hold a door open. Which is unusual because not only was Marty pretty sure he was already an open book, it's a picture book at that. It's almost uncomfortable, not because he's afraid Liam will see something he doesn't want him to, but because he looks like he's taking time reading things that aren't there at all, like when they try to dissect books in English class. Sometimes curtains are just blue. Marty glances away.

Liam grabs his wrist, pulling them as close as they can be with the tire still between them. Marty can feel his breath on his face. If Liam wants the flask, he'll have to fight him for it, because he's holding it firmly in place. "I did promise that," he answers, not quite an agreement. Because he's a liar when it suits him and he knows that he has made other promises he would break that one for. There are people here he would take a bullet for, and it's strange. The fighting was always easy, it's caring that's new and hard.

But he doesn't really want to talk about that, and he figures that if Liam had wanted to talk, he would have texted someone else. Marty knows what he's good for. He is a lit bottle rocket, great for a distraction. He leans in without warning, giving Liam a quick and fervent kiss, just enough to break the hold of the somber topic. "You know. My roommates are conspicuously missing. Shame to waste an opportunity like that."