A/N: [Written for Livejournal's heroes_contest.] So I didn't win the contest I wrote this for, but I'm sure with a few more votes, I would have. That said, I'm particularly fond of this piece since I love drawing. Also, I kind of forgot what happened to Luke's father. I think they mentioned it in the show, but I'm not totally sure. o.0

Pairings: Luke/Sylar

Prompt: Create

Spoilers: None

Genre/Warnings: Angst, slash, hurt/comfort, mild violence, mild fluff

Word Count: 915

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The Writings on the Wall

The music blared angrily from behind the closed door, making Sylar pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The teenager, well former teenager as of three weeks ago, had begged for a new sound system for his birthday. Biting his tongue, the older man decided that eighteen was a responsible age and went out and purchased Luke what he had wanted. At first, things were fine. The younger man, too surprised to do anything but gawk at his present when he first unwrapped it, had been a good sport about it at first. He played it during the day or when Sylar was out and kept the volume at a decent volume. That was all fine and dandy with Sylar.

Then it all changed four days before.

Luke had received a letter from his mother that day, and while he didn't say what it was about, he burnt the paper, locked himself in the room they set aside as just Luke's room, and blasted the radio as loud as it would go. Understanding the difficulties of a mother who was at best, problematic, and at worst, toxic, the older man had decided it best to let the younger man have his space.

Day two was the same story, and again, Sylar allowed him the space he needed.

Day three, yesterday, Sylar had pounded on the door, demanding the younger man lower the music. Luke yelled back something inaudible and the volume of the music lowered a little bit, but not much.

Today, Sylar's head pounded viciously. He had transition from 'understanding boyfriend' to 'murderous boyfriend'. Placing the newspaper down as calmly as possible, cracking the table accidentally in the process, he got to his feet and strode over to Luke's door. The door swung open even before he reached it, his hand flicking it open as he walked toward it. The sound system exploded to pieces with another flick of his hand, uncaring how much he paid for it. Silence befell the house for the first time in four days, making the older man pause for a blissful second at the threshold to the room. Remembering his mission, he entered the rest of the way into the room and paused for a second time, surprised by the sight before him.

Luke, who was staring at him in shock, had apparently spent the last four days painting and writing on the walls of his room. Three walls were covered in various drawings of a life that had evidently been Luke's. Starting from the wall to his left, Sylar saw drawings of a woman pregnant, a smiling father, and a bright rainbow behind them. Then there were pictures of a baby boy, a newborn transforming into a toddler, smiling parents following him around. The toddler became a young boy - starting school, learning to ride a bike, reading books, pretend fighting pirates in a cardboard fort. The parents smiled a little less each picture, until the young boy was a preteen, then smiles were either thin lines or non-existent altogether. The boy smiled still though, until near the end of the second wall, when the father leaves home. Then there's hidden tears behind closed doors and forced smiles when there's no doors to hide behind.

The third wall is covered with an adolescent who doesn't know where to fit into the world anymore. Forgets what it's like to be normal and have a mother who doesn't drink when she thinks he's not looking. Discovering powers he doesn't understand. Then there's Sylar in the drawings and the journey they had together that bound them, and the older man actually holds his breath in surprise. Many of the drawings were drawn erratically, scribbled almost, some were drawn with a little more time, showing favorite moments in Luke's life - those were few, but the ones with Sylar...

"Christ, didn't you have any paper?" He asks as he continues to study the drawings of more recent times in Luke's life.

"I didn't have enough for everything." Luke answers, fidgeting slightly in embarrassment.

"Why are these so much more detailed?" He doesn't have to ask because he already knows the answer.

"They are the best moments of my life."

That's exactly what Luke has done to his room - created an autobiography of his life on the walls. The best moments are more detailed and surprise Sylar into further silence, completely forgetting his anger. At the end is the answer to what had triggered the whole event and it's scribbled almost childishly and angrily.

"Your mom is pregnant and getting remarried." Sylar states quietly.

"I'm not even invited to the wedding. She just said it's a girl and that she hopes she doesn't come out a freak like me."

There's tears now. Luke wiping at his face angrily as he rests against the mini refrigerator that had helped sustain him these last several days. Sylar, slightly torn by the tears, begins reading the fourth wall and quickly realizes what he's reading. He turns to the younger man without finishing and pulls him into a hug. Luke was writing a story of the way things should have been in his life. An impossible fairy tale he can never go back and obtain.

"Together, we'll create a future far better then any fairy tale." Sylar murmurs.

Luke only buries his face deeper against his shoulder, sobbing and holding him tighter. Sylar understands his pain and holds him for what feels like forever.

-End-