Marty breaks the kiss, but doesn't move any further back than that. It's frigid out, and though Marty had thrown on a shirt and coat before bolting into the night, that was all. His blue jeans don't do much to stop the wind, and his bare neck and hands and face almost burn with impending numbness. In proximity, there's a shelter from the cold. "I know," he responds with a smirk that can be felt more than seen. He feels Liam's fingers, and wonders whether he's trying to take the flask while his guard is down or hold his hand. "Don't mention it," he responds nonchalantly, but he does meet Liam's gaze again. "I'm glad." And he is. He didn't do much talking, but Liam does seem less tense than he had a little while ago.

"Now—" he says after a brief silence, interrupting himself to press a quick but chaste kiss to Liam's lips "— are we going to sit out here and freeze our asses off, or...?" With considerably more difficulty than he anticipated, he manages to disentangle himself, using the hand on the rope to push himself away. He immediately starts shivering, but tries not to show it. Instead, he unscrews the flask with a flourish and tips it back, a central casting bad boy. When he's done, he extends it again, but out of reach. If Liam wants it, he'll have to get off the swing.