"He's saving the money for that big payout you're going to ask him for," Liam deadpans, wriggling away to let Marty up. Once he's there with Liam, the bed's inadequate size becomes immediately apparent. Amid a cacophony of creaking mattress and bedframe and springs, Liam squirms, trying to find a place to put his arms, eventually settling for tucking one under his head and draping the other over Marty's arm. It occurs to him, then, that he's never done this before. Making out, fooling around, other things? Yeah, sure. In fumbling, frantic moments of stolen privacy in cars or closets or empty back hallways. But never this. And never somewhere soft and warm and safe. Never with someone who makes him feel soft and warm and safe. (He refuses to unpack the fact that Marty makes him feel that way.)

Liam's heart jumps into his throat again, heat spreading across his cheeks. To hide it, he presses close to Marty. "Much warmer," he mumbles against Marty's chest. He's joking, but it's undeniably nice. "Are you comfortable? Need me to move?"