Perhaps it was a fact that when told not to worry, Sawyer started worrying more than ever, something which he felt hadn't been all that true only months ago. He didn't like caring too much about people. He didn't like it, because something would always go and tear it asunder for him, whether they were bullets from a gun, or an island hopping its way through space and time. Essentially, it was always a gamble, and when a man had built the majority of his life around trying to be smart with risks and getting other people to put their money on the table, it lost its appeal.

But he worried more than a little, when Lucy told him not to, trying his best to ignore the alcohol-steeped nerves at the back of his mind in favor of helping her shed her jeans all the way, his own pair following thereafter with a soft whisper of air against the ground. It was a worry he wouldn't allow to be voiced, one that instead was channeled into the desperation which fueled his kiss, which continued to let his hand splay over her back and press her closer. He kept on palming her inner thigh, lips leaning in to close around her ear, where his tongue lightly skimmed over the thin skin there.