bakerstreet | texts from last night, bitches.

[ Yes, Sylar. Please to not being a creep.

But, Peter is of course home. White t-shirt, sweat pants. And he was setting the beers in the fridge. He hates putting the whole carton in there, it takes up so much space. Leaving the rest on the counter, Peter moves out of his small kitchen and to the door. He unlocks it and then opens it. ]

Hey. [ So, they're hanging out. The Chinese food smells good. ] There's an Austin Powers' marathon on Bravo. [ Other stuff, too. But, crazy-silly-stupid, right? There's also a Hitchcock marathon on TMC but... ]

[ Hitchcock is probably more inoffensive, strangely enough. It's the kind of intellectual film marathon he could appreciate from a purely observant point of view, whereas he gives a terse smile hearing that Austin Powers is going to be on. It's fine. He'll watch whatever Peter prefers if it means he can stay ~~and not get hit~~. ]

I never watched all of those movies, they should prove interesting. [ Stepping inside, he sets the bag down and takes out Peter's order, along with his own. And then the extras, of which there are four foil packets. ] I, uh. I was told they had fresh spring onions in so I got some rolled up in pancakes, that sounded kind of nice. The duck came in cashew nut sauce. You said you weren't allergic, so. There's that. [ Fingers card through his hair while his attention remains lowered to the packets he tweaks into an ordered line. ] I didn't know which fruit you like so there are banana and pineapple fritters in syrup.

[ God. Stop being twitchy. He stands in the middle of Peter's kitchen and loosely holds his hands, looking up searchingly. Five years in a mindscape and I don't know what fruit he likes best, what the fuck is wrong with me for bothering to care. He certainly won't. Peter will eat anything. ]

You said you worked forty-eight hours, that deserves some kind of congratulations, right?

[ Peter closes the door behind him, before watching Sylar move to the kitchen. He should get their beer, so he decides to do that as Sylar unpacks his order. Behind Sylar, he uses the bottle opener on two beers before putting the three warm ones into the fridge. ]

I'm not. [ He stands next to him, offers the beer. Maybe Sylar will calm down with more alcohol in his system. ]

It deserves something. [ He brings the beer to his lips, before adding, ] It's not unheard of. Some surgeons work longer hours. [ Setting the beer down, he turns, grabbing two plats. They can fend for themselves, take what they want out of each carton. He goes to open the drawer with the utensils but Sylar is standing there. His hand isn't deliberately crotch level. ]

Thanks for the congratulations, though.

Sometimes I pulled all-nighters fixing clocks and watches, but never for as long as you.

[ Side-stepping that hand, he sets about piling food on his plate. Just enough to tide his first course over. The beer's nice and cold, which he appreciates; Peter really didn't plan to leave. ]

When I was alone, I went out and looked for them. It got so boring.

[ He didn't. How would Peter leave his own place and get out of plans that way? He might as well not show up or cancel plans by text. Sylar, stop thinking the worst. It's called optimism. LOL, Peter and optimism. God, everyone's lives suck in this universe. ]

You're not alone.

[ He takes out two forks, bringing his beer to the coffee table in the living room. ]

You looked for all-nighters? As a distraction?

No, I looked for watches. How would you look for all-nighters, Peter? That makes no sense.

[ Optimism his ass, this is still all new territory. He follows him into the lounge, picking at his food with a fork like he most definitely never tried to murder Peter or actually succeeded in slashing Nathan's throat. Wow.

Good duck, though. ]

I ended up fixing a lot. They just kind of ... piled up. Depressing, really.

Watches that needed more work done. Lost causes. Watches that led to all-nighters.

[ YOU MAKE NO SENSE.

Maybe, don't bring those things up. He sets down his plate and the beer, realizing Sylar grabbed his own fork. Whoops. Well, they have three now. He takes a seat on the right side of the couch. ]

Sometimes, I take extra shifts. If I'm not ready to come back here. Some days I don't want to stop. [ Don't want to think. ] I get it.

[ NOW SIT DOWN. ]

[ NO, YOU MAKE NO SENSE. Peter, stop, it's making a smile twitch. Nice duo of forks there, forget the part where he's got all your brother's memories much? He knows this apartment better than he has any right to.

Sitting down on one end of the sofa, yep. ]

I wanted to stop. I couldn't. [ So there, don't get too buddy-buddy with his motivations yet, bro. He does, however, try and explain. ] Remember when you had my ability for a while and you couldn't keep it in check? I've always been wired that way, it's not really a conscious thing. Hasn't been for a long time. If I hadn't been approached about it, I ...

[ I might not have been here at all. Time to switch direction. ]

I stopped when you showed up, anyway.

[ Yeah, can he forget that? Please. Don't bring it up. It might ruin things.

Wow, Sylar. Does Peter have the plague? ]

I remember. [ Of course he remembers. He remembers everything. It's why sitting down with you is hard in its own right. ] How's the duck?

[ He shovels some rice into his mouth. ]

[ Everything is hard and he wants to escape back inside his own head. That would be so much easier. ]

Yes.

[ Awkwardly, he falls silent as Peter drops the cadence his own thoughts were working toward, rebuffed by the staccato reply. Brown eyes search his lap when he isn't turning them unseeingly on the television, wondering if this was a bad idea all around. ]

It's strange not seeing you as often.

[ That's something. There, have your smalltalk. ]

[ That wasn't easy on anyone.

Peter's not really paying attention to the TV yet. It was on mute from before and he hasn't changed that yet. Peter swallows his bite of rice. What does he do with that? Maybe, be honest. He'll try that. ]

I know what you mean.

[ After seeing each other for so long. It's strange not waking up to him. Not begrudgingly trying to talk. Not picking at the wall. ]

You were compelled. [ Watch-wise. He's jumping back. ] You wanted to see how things worked. [ And he wanted to fix them. ]

I feel that way about you now. You've been a constant in what felt like my life for five years, letting go of it is hard.

[ His way of melding the two subjects. ]

Sometimes, I wake up and think I should walk the streets calling your name to see if you'll come out and talk to me. There are always people there when I look, so I know not to. There's no way I wouldn't look like a weirdo.

[ Peter picks at his food, eyes on the screen. Austin Powers is leading a parade of people through the 60's. It's laughable. It juxtaposes the moment perfectly. He takes a breath before looking over at Sylar. ]

We're not inside your mind anymore. [ It's hard understanding Sylar and at the same time, he feels like he knows him more then he should. It's very confusing. How it balances out. ] You want to see how I work? [ He asks the question genuinely. But, it sounds... it sounds like something he can't really confront or give a name to because it sounds like Sylar likes him and that leads to a lot more questions and reshuffling in his mind. He hasn't flirted with anyone since Emma. Hasn't fallen in love, really, since Caitlin. Maybe, since Simone.

Also, all women. ]

You can text me. Or call me. You don't have to walk on eggshells.

[ It's a good job that's all Peter's inner monologue, otherwise he'd up and leave on the spot. He comes to attention by stilling when asked if he wants to see how Peter works, the phrasing niggling him (I'm a person, not just that ability) but he lets the irritation go. ]

You say that, but you still don't know how to act around me. I know this isn't my mind, that was my point. I'm glad I'm out.

[ Mostly. He doesn't know what he expected; that he'd have Peter to himself again, that they'd spend a lot of time talking and in each other's company, sure. But they haven't, and he doesn't want those five years to become worthless.

So he's sitting in Peter's apartment eating food he doesn't want while he waits to do or say something wrong. This shouldn't be so hard. ]

[ He doesn't mean to define Sylar by his ability. He knows Sylar is more than that. That Sylar has surpassed that and genuinely fights it. That he wants to be a good person.

He narrows his eyes, furrowing his brow, he sets his fork down. ]

Is there one way to act around you? [ He looks past Sylar, searching for words, pushing down thoughts of Nathan, focusing on their time in his mind. ] I don't know what you want. Or, why you want something from me. Or, how to even give it to you.

[ He sets his plate down. ]

Trust. Whatever... I believed you after the carnival. You haven't given me reason not to. You have to understand, whatever - however I act around you is going to take time. I don't know if I can - [ Forgive you. ] I know you want to be a hero. Because you want to be. [ This is going badly. ]

I think we're friends.

[ He doesn't know how it happened. Somewhere between the Wall and the carnival - and now - something changed. He knows that. ]

What do you want?

I want to not feel so alone when I'm sitting next to you, of all people.

[ I don't know how to do that. ]

It feels like I'm ... Like I have to be someone else again. [ That terrible conditional kind of affection where Gabriel is never enough unless he reaches for unrealistic goals to please someone else. Not talking about anything remotely explosive relating to Peter's family is a big part of that, here. ] I keep censoring myself for you. You don't even realize that I have to do it. Maybe you do. I don't know.

I think I'd like to be your friend.

[ YOU'RE NOT ALONE. And, I feel alone all the time. Which is by design. I lose everyone. Or, my niece drops down from a ferris wheel on the news. The fallout with that is fun. Luckily, she let him and Sylar go under the radar. She's the poster girl. ]

You don't have to be. [ That never ends well. ] Then don't. Don't censor yourself. Say what you want to say when you want to say it. I don't want you to be alone. [ He doesn't know what he wants Sylar to be but he knows that somehow, they've both come out of this caring about one another. ]

Sometimes, I don't even know who I am anymore. I spent days in another person's body. I lost my powers... I got them back.

You really don't want that for me?

[ It's impossible to tell out here. Do you really not want me to be alone, is this like it was before? Haven't you already moved on with your life? He watches him attentively, intelligent brown eyes flickering over Peter's face to decode whatever hints he finds there. ]

Nobody deserves to be alone. [ But, so it's not a generalization. ] I don't.

[ For you lie detectors, he's being 100% completely honest. ]

[ Hmmm. No tingles, that's a very good sign. Not that he expected one, but. Y'know. Always nice.

He nods and looks placidly back to his food. ]

You're always kind to everyone. I admire that.

[ His legs shift as he faces the plate, grabbing it up again, taking the fork in hand. ]

Not always. [ But, ninety percent of the time. ] Thank you. [ And he finally tries the duck. Which is actually really good. ] Thanks for picking this up.

You always are to me, recently. You don't have to walk on eggshells either, Peter, I'm not going to throw you into a wall.

[ A nod's given to the gratefulness he receives over the food. Trivial, but he's glad he bought it now. ]

I know. Besides, I could take you.

[ Or, at least live forever. Wait, I have to remember accuracy. It's been so long. Peter has Claire's cells or something, right? Gosh, it's been so long. Anyway, funny bravado is bravado-y. ]

I won't walk on eggshells, then.

[ Let's not put that to the test, welp. ]

You couldn't take me.

[ SNORTS, smiling as he takes a real mouthful. ]

[ Mhm. He'll just take another shovel of rice and pick up the remote, de-muting the TV. Then he hands Sylar the remote. ] You can find something. I hate these movies.

texts from last night, bitches.

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The first tag of the day, NGL

WOOT