Sorry this took so long. Anyone still out there reading?

Liam Booker likes pancakes.

Correction. Liam Booker likes pancakes. Like Amy likes doughnuts or, sometimes, shrimp. Or, you know, pancakes. Or, you know, food in general, baked good especially, but that is so not the point. The point, in case you missed it?

Liam Booker likes pancakes.

He's been discussing them for the last ten minutes, talking about them in the most animated of ways. It reminds Amy - sort of painfully - of how Karma gets rolling when she's talking about a plan, the way her eyes light up at the possibilities, the way she can't slow down and every word seems to be racing to beat the one behind it out of her mouth.

On Karma it's adorable with a side of frustrating along with a dash of 'this is going to end so badly'. On Liam…

On him (and that's how Amy keeps thinking of him, as him) it might be the most human and normal and sort of likeable - in an 'I hate you and all that you stand for and your misogynistic and chauvinistic ways but you at least have decent taste in food' kinda way - thing about him.

And even if it wasn't three in the morning and she hadn't just outed herself to her girlfriend and she wasn't sitting in a booth across from said girlfriend's secret boyfriend, Amy would still have less than no idea what the fuck to do with that.

Liam Booker is human. And likes pancakes.

Who knew?

Amy wonders, briefly if this is how Karma felt. If 'No, Karma. You were.' wrenched up the same feelings in her that hearing Liam say 'they're so fluffy, but the insides are always a bit cold and that just kills it for me, you know? I need warm insides' does to her.

So, basically, 'I'm gay' versus 'warm insides'.

Yeah… not quite the same thing but it's three in the morning and it's been the night from hell so it's close e-fucking-nough.

Amy watches Liam from across the booth and she's vaguely aware that he's, you know, still talking and that he's talking to her, cause she can see his lips moving and she can see his fingers pointing - two of them, one on each hand and they're not so much pointing as they are jabbing, damn near stabbing the menu - and she thinks he's talking about her options (for dining) and giving her the lowdown on what's good and what isn't, but that doesn't matter cause yes, she sees but no, she doesn't hear cause she's too far inside her own head, too caught up in what is, to her, the most shocking discovery since… well… since that other thing she's so not thinking about.

Liam Booker likes pancakes.

And yes, even at three in the morning, Amy knows it's so not about the pancakes, not really. It's about him being… sort of… human and them having something (other than… her) in common and every time, every single time that Amy thinks she's reached the absolute bottom of the well of 'what the fuck' in her life, she finds that it goes just a little bit deeper.

Liam pauses, for a moment, for a breath, and Amy speaks because… well… because.

"You like pancakes."

It's not a question, more of an observation, though - in her head - she doesn't just say 'you like pancakes' but more 'you like pancakes and that makes you human but you're fucking my girlfriend who really isn't my girlfriend but that's not the point cause you don't know that and so you're helping her to cheat on me and I know you only picked me up out of guilt and you're only talking about pancakes to avoid talking about her you little fuckboy.'

"You like pancakes," she repeats.

"Yeah," Liam says. "I like pancakes. I've always liked pancakes." He pauses, again, and Amy thinks that this is the moment, that here it fucking comes, the line, the words, the moment (she said that already) when he says something that's laced with meaning, that's a double… no… a triple entendre… when he somehow confesses to what he's been doing behind her back (and, sometimes, right in front of it) and she can go back to hating the fuck out of him.

"I hate waffles, though," he says.

Wait… what? "Waffles?"

(Karma's a pancake and she's a waffle and now he's gonna talk about syrup and then she can hate him again.)

"Yeah," Liam says. "I know everyone says they're the same thing, basically, but they're really not, you know? I mean, waffles are more like… english muffins, only… bigger. And with fewer crannies and more nooks and I know it's kinda weird but, really, I'm a total cranny guy. The nooks are just like… dents. And no one wants dents for breakfast, you know?"

It terrifies Amy - like even worse than clowns and worse than spiders and worse than spidery clowns (and why did she have to think about that?) - but she does know. She knows that absolutely none of what he just said had more than one meaning (or even just the one) and, in fact, everything Liam said made perfect sense - except for, possibly, the actual hating of the waffles because who hates waffles, a little dislike or preferring something else, maybe, but hate is a bit much - and that's it, that's her sign.

She's dreaming.

She fell down on that curb and she sat there alone in the dark and she fell asleep and now she's dreaming. Any second now, Karma's gonna come storming in with fire in her eyes and accuse them of some sort of secret affair (even dream Karma is a little… oblivious… at least to irony) and she'll probably blame the whole thing on Amy and tell everyone that she's some kind of sex addict and Amy will be shunned (by her like two friends) and have to move away and join a nunnery (do they still have nunneries?) and so what she really needs to do right now is wake up.

So she pinches herself. Hard. And yelps "OW!" and draws stares from the four other people sitting around the diner and a confused 'are you OK?' from Liam. But the pinch does nothing and she doesn't wake up (cause he's still here) and so Amy plucks her fork from atop her napkin and she gets the tines about an inch above her hand before Liam catches her wrist and holds it steady.

His grip is tight and it's strong, but not so much that it hurts, and Amy notices how delicate his fingers are. Delicate but strong and… nope… not a dream. Nightmare. Definitely a nightmare.

Liam slips the fork from her hand and drops it next to her own and then, before Amy can say or do anything, he does the same with her knife, but her does leave her the spoon, at least for the moment, but then he thinks on it and takes that too and Amy has to wonder if she should guard her straw.

"This is weird, isn't it?" he asks. Amy doesn't look at him - eyes on the straw, just in case - and he takes that as her silent agreement, which it kinda is. "We've never really… talked… before, except for like, that one time in ninth grade." She looks at him, blankly. "We kinda bumped into each other in the hall and I said 'hi' and you said ''sup' and then we both kept walking."

Amy stares at her straw and says even more nothing but, no matter how hard she wracks her brain, she can't remember that.

"I guess we just never really ran in the same circles before," Liam says. His hands are resting on the table in front of him, spread out over the menu and blocking her cutlery. "Not until Shane's party, at least."

That, Amy remembers. No matter how hard she tries not to.

The waitress arrives, cutting off Liam's trip down memory lane before it can really get rolling and she starts with Amy and that's when Amy realizes she hasn't even looked at the menu, other than seeing it poking out from under Liam's delicate, but also slightly violent, jabbing fingers.

"Um… pancakes?" she says (asks) (like for permission) and the waitress blinks and Amy stares and Liam clears his throat and they both turn to him.

"It's just nuts, right?" he asks. "That you're allergic to?" Amy nods and Liam turns to the waitress. "We'll both have my usual," he says. "But could we do extra strawberries on mine and double blueberries on hers and can you just bring the whole can of whip cream?"

The waitress nods and gives Amy one more… really?... look and then disappears to fetch their two 'usuals' and Amy stares down at the table but it's eating at her and she has to know.

"How'd you know?" she asks, without looking up. "About my allergy? And that I like blueberries better than strawberries?"

Liam's quiet for a moment, the quietest he's been since he picked her up and it's almost like he's afraid to speak and then he does and Amy understands why. "Karma," he says. "She… um… talks about you. A lot. Like… a lot."

This, Amy realizes, is why she didn't die in Karma's room. Because that wasn't bad enough, it wasn't embarrassing and humiliating and heartbreaking enough of a moment, not when this moment was still out there, just waiting for her.

"We were eating lunch," Liam says. "We were in the quad and I offered her a bite of my PB&J and she told me about your allergy." His fingers fidget on the table, shifting the menu back and forth. "But she said you'd probably risk it if it was blueberry jam because, and I quote, 'Amy would kill a man for blueberries."

Amy nods but doesn't speak. She's not entirely sure she can.

"Sometimes, she talks about you so much," LIam says, "I think I know more about you than I do about her." Amy's eyes drift up from the table and Liam runs a hand across his face. "And that probably sounded both creepy and stupid and I should probably stop talking."

"But you're not going to, are you?"

He shakes his head and there's a hint of a smile and Amy has to admit, he's kinda cute when he does that, when he really smiles and not that fake plastered on bullshit thing he does in school or at parties and yes, she realizes she just thought of Liam Booker as cute.

But come on. He likes pancakes. He can't be all bad.

"No," he says. "Probably not. I tend to ramble when I get nervous." He snorts a little laugh and smiles that smile again. "The first couple times Karma and I hung out, we just kept rambling and babbling over each other. You know, in between her thinking she might puke."

Amy stands corrected. All bad. All so so so bad.

Liam hangs his head and mutters something under his breath that Amy can't hear. His hands fidget faster, almost like he's rubbing the menu against the table, trying to start a fire.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry that I keep mentioning her and I'm sorry I keep talking about her and me like there is a her and me and not just a her and a me which, for the record, there isn't, and I'm sorry…" He runs a hand through his perfect even at three in the a of fucking m hair and huffs out a sigh. "I'm just sorry. Period."

There's a part of her, a small one, that wants to tell him it's OK. After all, he did save her from the side of the road and he's buying her pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream and really, if that doesn't earn someone at least a little forgiveness, what will?

There is that part. But it's a small one and easy enough to ignore and so she does.

"You come here a lot?" Amy asks, giving herself an inner high-five for changing the subject so deftly, even if it does sound like a really bad pick-up line.

Liam looks over at her and there's a second when she thinks he's not going to go go with it, that he's not going to play along and he;s going to keep pushing the 'sorry' issue. But then, as he's done for most of the last half hour, he surprises her.

"That depends," he says. "Is two or three times a week a lot?" Amy nods. "Yeah, well, than I guess the six or seven I'm actually here probably qualifies too."

He smiles and they can both feel the tension easing back, just a bit. It's still there cause it's them, but it's enough to make it so they can both breathe again and that's good enough.

"I don't really sleep well," Liam says. "And it's either come here and partake of the pancakey goodness or…"

"Wander the streets aimlessly until you find yourself sitting on a curb at three am?"

Liam laughs and the sound is as genuine and as real as the smile and God, why does he have to make it so hard to hate him? "Yeah, something like that," he says. "Sometimes, I end up at Shane's but most of the time he's either out with some guy or… in… with some guy." He eyes Amy across the table. "Or, lately, he's been with you."

There's a flicker there, in his eyes, and a twinge of… something… in his voice, something like anger (though not quite) or resentment (but not that harsh) but as quickly as she sees it, it fizzles out and he's just… him… again.

"That's cool though," he says. "I'm glad Shane's branching out, really. He doesn't have a lot of, you know, real friends. It's mostly just me and then all the people who love him for the parties and all the girls who love him for being fabulous and all the guys who love him for…"

Liam trails off and they stare at each other for a moment and then they both laugh cause they both know damn well what the guys love Shane for.

"He really likes you," Liam says and this time there's nothing, not even the tiniest flicker or the smallest twinge or hint of anything in his voice. "And I can tell you, it's been a long time since Shane's really liked anyone.

Amy feels the rush of blood to her face and she nods, taking a sip of her water, teeth nipping down on the straw. "He's a good friend and he's… helped… a lot," she says and then scrambles to explain. "I'm sure it seems like I've totally got this gay teenager thing down cold but… sometimes it isn't as easy as it looks."

Liam nod as the waitress arrives, lowering two towering plates of that pancakey goodness down in front of them and Amy has a moment - a good one for a change - where the smell of blueberries and whip cream and fluffy fluff fluff and the thought of Shane, her friend, and even the simple kindness of someone she thought was a total tool all swirls together and even the hell that is this night seems (maybe) survivable, at the very least.

"Yeah," Liam says, handing her back her fork and their fingers brush and he doesn't look away as he speaks. "I'm sure being gay and dating a straight girl can be a little tricky."

Amy clutches the fork and watches as he digs into his pancakes and she looks down at her own and for the first time in her life?

She's not hungry at all.