[ seeing peter again brings relief rushing in, heady and overwhelming. for a moment neal's glad he's at the counter, that he can hang onto the edge with a white knuckled grip and stay standing without betraying what this moment feels like, how much it isn't casual.

he coughs, lightly, and prods at the waffle maker. ]

Well, you're in luck. Now you get surreal not-quite waffles-- they're as close as I can get them, which seems to be close enough for everyone but me. [ the smarter move might be discovering new flavors for new ingredients; there are chefs who would stab neal right now for his stubborn, doomed adherence to attempts at creating old favorites without any updating.

neal chooses to think of it as more a kind of culinary therapy; it's comforting, even if it's also massively frustrating. ] How are you?