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As best, or as lazily, as she tried to hide herself, it wasn't all that difficult to figure out what her problem was. With a slight frown, ignoring the fresh warmth in his cheeks, he stretched the shirt down. Instead of standing there and making a show of it, he walked up to the counter. He might as well try to own it, at least. "What the hell are you laughing about?" Liam raised an eyebrow, leaning forward over the counter near opposing her. Although his face seemed completely sullen, a small spark amusement shone in those warm eyes of his, even if her own amusement was at his expense.

"Hey, hey, don't stretch my shirt!" she said. It may have been big on her, but she didn't want it bigger. Despite the snap, however, she couldn't help but laughed again into the curled fingers of her backhand. As he leaned over the counter, so did she, a sly, narrow eyed look on her face as she rested her chin in her palms. "You look dumb, Ginger. Like a metrosexual. I didn't know you were into that kind of stuff."

Liam held back a low grown, falling further onto the counter and running a few fingers lazily through his hair, pushing against his forehead against the palm of his head as if he felt a migraine coming on. Instead of bitching about it, he got a bit more comfortable, pulling his bangs back and staring up at her. "Still need the eyeliner and ugly scarf," he scoffed, a smile cracking slightly onto his face. Then he paused for a moment, shooting a glance towards Maisie. "Don't get any ideas." He looked gay enough as it was.

"I don't own any ugly scarfs," she said, still keeping her chin in her palms, her elbows resting on the counter. They still hurt, but her skin was still cold from having been wet moments before, and it soothed her scuffed palms. She paused, then added, "Or eyeliner." She never wore eyeliner. She never could put it on right, and it always made her look goth and stupid. She gave a pause as he seemed to collapse on the counter, falling under her. "You expecting to walk home like that?" she asked, absentmindedly prodding at his hair, taking a few wet strands in her fingers and dropping them inspectingly. She thought about following him with a video camera, but decided against it.

The young man blinked, pulling himself up enough that he could look down at the shirt and pajamas. Preferably, he wouldn't be caught dead by others in the clothing. "If I must," He said simply. Out of instinct, he near pulled down the shirt again before he stopped himself. He just couldn't get comfortable. "Kick me out now, you might never see these again." He could burn them for her, if she wanted.

That was true. Those were her clothes, and though she hardly ever wore the top, those pants were perfectly fine. She raised an eyebrow and sighed, stepping back from the counter where they had been close. "I could wash your old clothes if you want," she said, "And you could have them dried in a few hours." It wasn't opportune, but it was a short sacrifice for longterm benefits: he's have to stay with her, but she'd be able to get her clothes back easily and in one piece. She didn't want Liam stretching them out longer than he had to.

For the love of all that was good, yes. If he had known she was going to parade him around in fruity bottoms and a Disneyland shirt, he wouldn't have bothered walking her home in the first place. Of course, he wasn't going to let relief completely cover his face. "And you'll keep me company in the meantime?" He asked, grabbing his muddy clothing and following her out, leaning against the end of the counter. "Sounds alright to me."