Matt Parkman had shaken his head, watching Peter Petrelli walk out of the door almost hand in hand with his brother's murderer.
He was too naive.
All right, Sylar MAY have seemed different, but what Matt had read in his head was strange, disturbing.
It wasn't normal.
No one in their right mind had that tangled up mess in their brains.
Nevertheless, he had let the nurse leave his home to go and save the world, because, after all, there were many lives at stake, and he couldn't let his paranoia towards the serial killer decide for them all.
So, not without concern for the empath, he had let them both go on their ways, hoping only that what Peter seemed to firmly believe was true, or there would be major consequences on the horizon.

It was months since they defeated Samuel.
Sylar had moved in to live with Peter, in a two-room apartment hidden in a corner of Manhattan. Things were going smoothly, without excessive ups and downs, at least until that day.
Peter had just slammed the door while exiting the house after their violent fight.
"Why are you doing this?" said Sylar. "Peter, our powers are not something to be ashamed of! We should be proud! We're different, we're. . . "
"What? "SPECIAL?" Peter yelled back. "you don't understand! Samuel put us in the eye of the storm, drawing people's attention so much on our abilities! I've seen these things before, Sylar, I've seen what's going to happen and. . . believe me, it won't end well. For none of us" he had bowed his head with despair, as if lingering in a horrible memory.
"Peter, the whole future isn't already predestined. You know it, I know it, even Hiro knows it! Look at all the things he was able to change, just by doing. . . " Sylar had tried to explain himself.
It was all clear and straightforward, why didn't Peter see it? Why did he have to be so negative about the future? He really didn't get it.
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" the younger man had confirmed his thoughts, smashing a piece of furniture straight on the ground in his explosive rage.
Sylar had blinked, taken aback by that sudden bout of violence.
Peter had growled like a lion, giving his back to him and leaving the apartment.
"Where are you going?! PETER" Sylar had called him, feeling the world collapse on him.
"Away from here!" was the answer, muffled by the door already closed.
The watchmaker had sat on the only chair in the room, his head squeezed between his hands.

When Peter came back, it was already late night.
"Where have you been?" Sylar asked him, closing the book he was reading violently on the table.
"Outside. " The empath had mumbled, after a long silent look full of hatred.
Sylar had made a mockery sound, laying down maliciously the cup of tea he was drinking next to the abandoned book.
"What?" The nurse was immediately blown up, his eyes fixed on him.
The former killer had turned his head, piercing him through with his dark irises.
"I know you've been with HER. " he growled at him in an accusatory tone.
Peter had almost done to deny it, but the sparkle in Sylar's pupils convinced him not to try his luck.
"Stop getting in my head!" He'd imposed him, really pissed off at that point.
"I only do it because you exclude me AND WON'T SPEAK TO ME. " The watchmaker had raised up the volume, leaping up and taking long strides towards him.
"If I'm not, it's only because I've had ENOUGH! I'm sick of having you around, sick of having always to listen to you, sick of having to hold your hand as if you were a child for anything you do! I'm not your mother Sylar, and especially NOT YOUR FRIEND!" Peter had exploded, almost crumbling the walls with his screams.
"Just because we spent five fucking years in that nightmare, it doesn't mean we're best friends now! I forgave you for. . . what you did to Nathan, but if you hope to gain anything else from me... you're wrong." He continued, pointing at him with an accusatory finger, before turning his back on him once again to lock himself up in his bedroom.
Sylar had stood still in the middle of the living room for a few moments, before making a decision and promptly leave the apartment.
Once in the hallway, he had stopped to wait for the elevator, and when the doors had opened, he had almost screamed: he had never seen himself crying before.

Peter spent the next few days looking for his former flatmate.
He felt terribly guilty about what he had said to him, and he knew in his heart that in reality, when he had shouted those things, he had told them at himself more than at Sylar, because it was what his brain wanted to hear.
Those words would have been a lot easier to hear than the truth.
When he had finally captured Sylar's mental wave, after hours and hours of research, he almost risked going into cardiac arrest.
"Oh, no. " He had murmured, running as fast as possible in the direction of the watchmaker. "No,no,no,no,no. "

Sylar had sighed, opening his eyes, keeping his victim firmly planted against the wall, just where he wanted him.
The boy had whined, choked with terror, his blue eyes barred and fixed in his own.
Sylar could feel his power flowing through the floors and walls (he could control water, just like Tracy), floating like a drug around his being.
He had lowered his eyelids, enjoying the moment, One part of his brain was screaming, screaming loudly not to do it, that he was no longer that person, but he had ignored it, calling among his many powers the one of telekinesis, the first from a long series of stolen abilities.
He had heard the Hunger mount inside of him, as he lifted his index finger towards the boy's forehead, remembering only for a moment how he had once had Peter in that same position too.
PETER.
He had slowly blinked, shaking his head.
Peter had seen something which no longer existed. He was SYLAR; and he didn't deserve to be loved.

"SYLAR!" had shouted Peter with all the will he had in his body, crashing through the door behind the killer.
The watchmaker had turned in his direction, a sad smile all over his face.
"Have you come to stop me like you used to?" He whispered in a tone of defeat. "It's too late now, Peter."
"NO. No, Sylar! Let him go, you're not like that anymore!" The empath had shaken his head, approaching him without fear.
Sylar had telekinetically choked him, while continuing to hold a firm grip on his potential victim with the other hand.
"S-Sylar. . . " had sobbed Peter, bringing his hands to his throat.
"You can no longer save me, Peter. This is who I am. A murderer. A fucking serial killer. " He heard his voice break. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not!" The nurse had managed to snort without ever taking his brown eyes off his own.
"I am." He had countered, turning back to the blond boy, who had witnessed the appalling exchange.
"Then kill me." The empath had whispered him, so softly that hadn't it been for his superhearing, Sylar would never have heard him. "Let him go. Take me. "
The watchmaker had looked at him in shock, but when he had seen the expression, determined and incredibly gentle at the same time, in the irises of the other, he had left his grip on the neck of the hydrocontroller.
"Forgive me, Jesse. " he murmured him. "Get out, run, before it's too late."
The boy had collapsed trembling to the ground, but had found the strength to abandon the place quickly.
"You're never gonna change, aren't you, Peter?" Sylar had exhaled, shrugging his shoulders.
"I won't. . . but you already have. " The empath had whispered, taking a deep breath as Sylar loosened the telekinetic grip on his neck.
"No, I. . . I have not, unfortunately. " He'd shaken like a leaf, giving his back to the nurse.
"Yes, you have! You've saved the world. . . and you didn't hurt that boy, even if you could have. " Peter had incited him, taking him by the shoulders and turning him towards him.
"No. . . If it hadn't been for you. . . " the watchmaker had shamefully bowed his head, failing to meet the other's gaze.
"But I was there, Sylar. And I'll always be. " Peter interrupted, unexpectedly hugging him.
"That's not fair, and you know it. I can't put that burden on you. You were right, the other day, you're not my mother, and you're not even my friend, I can't expect you to. . . "
"You're right. I may not be your mother, and maybe not even your friend, but. . . " the other seemed to be stuck in an eternal reverie.
"Peter. . . ?" Sylar called him, alarmed.
"I'm sorry I hurt you the other day. I didn't mean to. " Peter confessed. "The truth is, I. . . I didn't want to admit it to myself either, I guess. "
Sylar had stared at the nurse in fierce distress by then.
"Peter, what are you trying to tell me. . . ?"
"All those years we spent together in the wall. . . made me realize. . . I. . . "
Sylar had lost control of his telekinesis, for the first time in ten years, by blowing the glass of the painting behind them.
"I'm sorry" he half-smiled, a couple of glasses on the coffee table at the entrance wobbling dangerously as well.
Peter had looked at the man who had been in front of him in the five years they'd spent in the nightmare. He couldn't ignore it anymore.
He got up slightly on his toes and kissed him shyly on the mouth.
Sylar's reaction was immediate, as if he had been struck by lightning: at first he had pulled back, surprised, then he had flashed him that smile that only a few could see, open and honest, before holding him in his big arms and kissing him open-mouthed.
Peter had desperately clung to his neck, pushing his tongue against his, sighing slightly.
Sylar had passed a hand between the rebel strands of his hair, pulling on them almost violently, making him whine in his mouth, his other palm coming down to caress that incredible firm butt that made him just go crazy.
Peter had whispered something incomprehensible, pushing his growing erection against his thigh, sighing in pleasure, detaching himself from him for a moment to kiss a fiery trail down his neck, just under his ear.
Sylar had leaned against the wall behind them for support, but Peter had pulled him in the opposite direction, towards a chair.
He had slipped the coat from the watchmaker's shoulders, stroking his chest and putting his hands under his shirt, making him shiver.
Sylar had returned to kiss him possessively, pushing his tongue all the way down his throat, while Peter moved his hot fingers from his navel into his pants, holding him tight between his fingers, causing him to lose his mind.
Peter had murmured inconsistently on his lips, when he had lifted him a few inches off the floor by the buttocks, bringing their erections into contact through his pants.
They had stalled like that for a few seconds, then Peter had pushed him away, making him fall down on the seat behind his long legs.
He'd slowly unbuttoned his pants and lowered them languidly around his hips, while Sylar, hypnotized, did the same with his own.
When he had finished, Peter had mounted on top of his open legs, kissing him again, biting his earlobe and blowing into his ear "Fuck me"
Sylar had obeyed, taking him by the hips and slowly lowering him on his own: it had been difficult at first, they had not used anything and Peter would certainly have felt it the next day.
"Are you okay?" Sylar asked, looking him in the face.
"Yes. . . it's nothing. . . "
After the first defaiance, Peter had started to move on him, riding him hard, moaning with pleasure as he'd moved on him, screaming his name. Towards the end, he had placed his hands backwards, on his knees, arching more and increasing the angle, completely lost in the rhythm.
Sylar had raised a knee, grabbing his ass and brutally shifting him to help him better reach the best position, making Peter raise his voice by two tones, the chair cracking dangerously under their weight.
Peter had called out, staring at him with his incredible eyes.
"Sylar. . . I'm. . . " he had exhaled, silenced by the thunderous kiss that the other one had crashed into his mouth.
"Yes" growled Sylar, biting into his neck until he bled. "Come on. . . let me hear it... "
Peter had convulsely contracted on him, shouting against his shoulder, while Sylar impaled him almost cruelly on his dick and came swearing in turn.
After several minutes of complete silence, where Peter had slightly rubbed his cheek against the one of the former killer and Sylar had kissed him gently on the chin, the empath had hidden his face against the inside of his elbow.
"Do you understand now?" he'd asked him, a look that told many unspoken words.
Sylar had just watched him.
"I'm sorry, maybe I shouln't have. . . " Peter had shrugged, getting up.
Sylar had stopped him, holding him by the arm.
"I understand. Please, stay with me." he'd whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth that always formed the asymmetrical crease.
Peter had smiled.