He backs up and off, almost immediately--wary. Not because of Liam and trust, but that he doesn't like what he's saying in the least. He'd been denying himself, maybe, but it's more complicated than that. There's still some tiny, tiny spark--the same gut instinct that helps him still pull strings when he's high--that knows Liam's bullshitting him. Who knows Liam's always bullshitting him.

"I don't really want to," he mumbles, but it's not defiant of accusatory: it's simple fact, and he eyes it uncomfortably. He has no doubt that he needs to let Liam do his thing and he'll learn to love this, too, but his gaze flicks over at Liam, hopeful anyway. It takes barely a second before he reaches up to take the jacket.

It'll never work, he's stuck whether he wants it or not.