Written for comment_fic on livejournal.

Peter could see the skyline from the hilltop park, but at this distance the city was eerily silent. Snow fell softly as Peter sat on the park bench, thinking about the things he no longer had.

Like Mohinder's laugh when Peter got confused by a recipe while trying to impress Mo with his cooking, Mohinder's indulgent smile as he grabbed the utensil away from Peter to take back the stovetop.

Like that mouth on Peter's neck, gentle at first, then rough. Like those elegant fingers adeptly undoing the buttons on Peter's shirt, and then his belt buckle soon after. Like those lips on Peter's dick, hot and wet and soft, and those skillful fingers slowly working into Peter, the other hand controlling Peter's cock with just the right amount of force.

Like the same strong grip he felt later that night, this time with a different meaning, as Mohinder held tight to Peter's waist when Peter tried to sneak out in the middle of the night. Then Mo's deceptively delicate voice saying, "If you want anonymous sex, Peter, find a stranger. And if you absolutely _have_ to slink off to wallow in self-doubt, then at least invite me along so I can see how pretty you are when you pout."

This was the best thing about Mohinder, Peter remembered with a smile. The way he would call you on your shit but make it clear he loved you anyway.

And Peter decided to stay that night. And for many nights after, inexplicably unafraid to fall deeper into whatever it was they had. Usually, for Peter, sex was the first step in the end of the relationship. Peter didn't do commitment. He didn't do monogamous, either. Or sweet. Or domestic. But Mohinder somehow made these things seem natural.

But it had been a long time ago that they had been together, and a lot had happened since. Mohinder was part of a different wing of the resistance now. A more violent and extreme group, who viewed moderate 'specials' as collaborators and hunted them down just like Danko used to. Mohinder had said he couldn't wait around for politicians any more, that he was sick of standing by while people were killed. Like he had done when he led Gabriel to his victims, he didn't have to say. He also didn't mention to Peter that these extremist 'heroes' were the only ones with a shot in hell of taking down Sylar, but Peter figured it out after he left.

It pissed him off. Peter could stand losing Mohinder to another man, but to lose love for the sake of hate ... seemed wrong. It seemed stupid.

So when he heard that Mohinder Suresh was back in town, he put word out that he wanted a meeting.

Replaying all these things in his mind, Peter had stopped wiping the snow away when it fell on him. He was startled when a hand gently brushed the snow off his bangs.

"Peter."

"Mohinder. You came! Are you -"

"No. I'm sorry, I can't stay. I didn't want to just leave a message though."

"You just wanted to tell me good-bye again?" The question came out sounding bitter despite Peter's intents.

"No, Peter. I wanted to say that ... even though a lot has happened... I love you still. I can't stay, I can't be with you. But I love you still."

"That still sounds like good-bye, Mohinder."

But Mohinder just smiled at Peter, with that mouth that Peter still dreamed about, put his beautiful hands in his coat pockets, and turned around. Mohinder walked away without waiting for a response, knowing Peter had none. There was no good response to an admission of impossible love.

Peter looked away from Mohinder's retreating figure. He watched the snow silently press down on the city below.