A hundred different things rocket through Liam's head when Marty looks away, worries rushing in like water through a breached ship's hull. It's an incoherent disaster, and the only sense Liam can make of it is that feeling any of this to begin with is bad. Bad, bad, bad. They're supposed to be blowing off steam, not...whatever he's doing.

He's at the cusp of a sigh when Marty's lips find his. And it's the contact, rather than the heat behind the kiss, that stills everything sloshing around in Liam's head. But, the energy of it words as intended, too. Liam's thoughts go red and dense and fuzzy. And although he's left feeling even messier than before, Marty's suggestion winds something tight, low in Liam's stomach. His gaze dips. God, that does sound too good to pass up. And it's stupid to think that this is anything more than it is, right? That they could be anything more? Stupid, for sure. And a good way to get a broken heart...

But, then, Liam's a master of breaking his own heart. "That sounds fun," he responds, loosening his grip on Marty's wrist, going in search not of the withheld flask, but of Marty's hand. As he slides his fingertips over Marty's knuckles, Liam presses his lips to the corner of Marty's mouth. "Thanks," he says, finding the courage to look Marty in the face once again. "For coming down and talking with me. Feeling a lot better, now."