finchwoodacademy | IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

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.

Edited (gross and bad sorry) 2019-02-12 20:02 (UTC)

"What?" Marty says, following his gaze to the candle. "I was in a hurry, someone challenged me to a race." He's not bothered, though. Dingus is hardly the worst thing that he's been called, so he laughs and kisses Liam back. He rests his hands on Liam's waist, tugging him along as he backs towards the ladder to his bunk. Luckily, his share of the room is clean, even if it is an under-the-rug cleanliness. Don't open any drawers, but at least the floor is clear. Then, suddenly he stops. "Do I need to put it out?" he asks. "The candle. 'Cause of your asthma."

It's such a silly little question, but it catches Liam off guard - that he'd thought to ask at all, and so naturally. He ducks his head, a bashful sigh of laughter escaping him. When he turns his chin back up to look at Marty, again, there's a wrinkle to the corners of his eyes. "You know, it should be fine, but..." Liam slips out of Marty's arms and disappears beneath the bed, himself, licking his thumb and forefinger and then snuffing the light out between them. He pops back out, returning to where he was, and rests his hand heavily on a ladder rung. "Just in case. Now, where were we. Up and away?"

Marty catches the expression, the little laugh, but doesn't understand it. Did he embarrass him by asking? But then, he doesn't seem upset, and he does put it out, so maybe it was the right thing to ask. Showing concern for other people is so complicated.

"Up up and away!" he agrees, a playful grin returning to his face. "After you," he says, then gestures, gentlemanly. This is quickly revealed to be a ruse, however, because once Liam is halfway up, Marty uses it as a chance to smack Liam on the butt and say, "Hurry up, slow poke!"

Edited (forever bad) 2019-02-13 01:58 (UTC)

Liam yelps, loops his arm around the left rail and swings to the side, mischief in his eyes as he tries to swipe his arm at Marty in retaliation. Clearly, the bed was not built for the swashbuckling antics of a 6'1" idiot, because it rattles precariously under his flailing. He freezes, clinging to the bed, eyes wide. A low, startled cackle rushes out of him, he catches it in the palm of his hand before returning to his brief ascent with considerably more care.

Once he's up top, he immediately moves to drape himself back over the side, again. As soon as Marty's in reach, he grasps for him, running his hands up and down the other boy's arms. "Pick up the pace, Ice Man." Ostensibly, he's trying to warm Marty up - actually, his intent is just making the journey more difficult. "I'm cold."

Marty cackles unabashedly when he gets the response he was hoping for, and only laughs harder when the bed wobbles under Liam's retaliation. Maybe he should worry about his bed being reduced to rubble, but the thought of Neal and Noah's expressions once they came back and saw the state of the room would more than make up for it. "You'd think Gladstone could have sprung for a little better than Ikea," he says to Liam's back as he makes his way cautiously up the ladder. He follows right behind, swatting at Liam's hands with one of his while he climbs the ladder with the other. He considers falling off the ladder just for show, but if they make too much noise, one of the rooms on either side might come complaining. "Then scoot the hell over and make room."

"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?"

"Keep joking, but he owes us," Marty insists as he tries to position himself on his bed. The Finchwood bunks aren't an ideal place to makeout at the best of times, close enough to the ceiling to risk smacking your head if you aren't careful, but put two tall boys together and it's even more precarious. Someone is at risk of getting kneed or falling off the bed until they finally settle. "Finally. No thanks to you, throwing snow on me. I'm weak to cold, you know." Marty mirrors Liam, with one arm tucked under his head, and he wraps the other around Liam's waist, pulling him close. "I'm comfortable," he says, into Liam's curls. And, he is. The room is dim, lit only by a lamp now that the candle is out, and they are warm and close. It is undeniably nice.

"Mm, don't tell me your weaknesses. I'll exploit them." Liam says, voice gone quiet, his body aching but finally relaxed and thoughts starting to feel a bit like spun taffy. They came here for a reason, but here, in Marty's bed, the horrors of the Shadow World can't find Liam, and the gentle rise and fall of Marty's chest is so peaceful. There's no harm in laying still for a few seconds, listening to the rhythm of Marty's breathing - feeling safe.

Without looking, Liam brings a hand up and runs his fingers over Marty's cheek and jaw, exploring the sharp lines of his face. "I am, too." He admits. "Weak to ice. I..." Liam doesn't finish his thought. His touch goes heavy as he drifts off to sleep.

The beginning of that sentence hangs in the air, an unfinished thought, and Marty listens for a moment. All he hears is Liam's slow and even breathing. Marty laughs softly, just a couple of quick exhalations through his nose. Maybe he should be offended that he isn't exciting enough to stay awake for, but he's just glad Liam found some peace. For once, he doesn't even wish he had a Sharpie on hand. Instead, he hooks his foot under the blankets and bends his knee, slow and careful, to pull them high enough to reach with his hand, then just as slowly pulls them the rest of the way up. Liam stirs a little, but doesn't wake, so Marty nuzzles back in, arm winding around his waist and cheek pressing against his curls. It only takes a few minutes before he falls asleep too.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam

Marty & Liam