Somewhere between being temporarily awarded Marty's flask and being asked if he's okay, Liam slips back into that soft, greased-lens perception of the world. His heart's still beating fast, but not from the run. And he only blinks out of his haze when Marty takes his hand. At which point he also realizes he's chewing on his lower lip. "Oh," he scoffs, dismissive. "Cold air, late nights, running and asthma just don't mix. It's fine." He allows himself to be led to the familiar dorm room and peels himself out of his coat and Converses as though this were any ordinary meet-up. The candle he only notices once he's set his things aside.

"Oh my God," Liam turns an incredulous grin on Marty, slipping back into his personal space, pressing his still chilly fingers to Marty's equally cold face to try and create some warmth. "You left a fucking lit candle." There's little to do but laugh about it, and he does, as he kisses Marty's lips. Once. "You dingus." Twice. A third time, each one of them cut with laughter and a wide, fond grin. At least the candle's attended, now.