[ As painful as it was, Peter couldn't keep staring into the distance, avoiding Sylar's presence, a figurative ghost that was begging for answers. Sylar just felt so painfully distant, and Peter didn't know how to bring him back, didn't know what the right words were, or the right stories. Peter couldn't get back the man he loved with a snap of his fingers, and no matter how much he tried to wish the situation away, there was nothing he could do to change it if he didn't at least try.
If only the trying stopped hurting quite so much.
He could even feel Sylar's own burst of radioactivity, the spike of warmth against his clothing enough to remind him of far too many things. Of when he'd ruined Sylar's collar, when they'd ruined the apartment, when Peter realized he could destroy just as fundamentally as he could create. It put a vice grip on his heart, making words impossible, and instead he just listened, watched as the plaza seemingly squeezed around him without moving an inch, his own mind as suffocating as anything else.
Glancing back over his shoulder at the other man just as he asked about Nathan, Peter watched Sylar look up, his own gaze following the same path, knowing he'd answered the question for himself but unable to keep from adding his own, quiet, sentiment into the mix. ]
He can fly.
[ It wasn't becoming any easier, not really, but Peter could at least stand this somehow. The space between them felt just as disturbing, ominously wide, but this was their past, and New York was his home, and Peter could be here without feeling as if his life was trying to twist in on itself.
These were inescapable memories, and at the very least, Peter hadn't forgotten.
Finally looking back directly towards Sylar, Peter tilted his head, watching him carefully. It was such an odd thing to hear from the man who had once taught him how to control his own abilities, from the man who knew how he worked from the inside, out - literally - if only because Peter had never known him as anything else. ]
It's different when it's coming from you. When it's your ability, it doesn't feel the same. Like going flying with someone else is different from getting to do it yourself. If it's yours, it-- [ Peter was quick to shut himself up, glancing down at his feet as if looking at Sylar was illegal. Talking about any of this was hard enough, but realizing when he was getting caught up when he was trying so hard to keep control was like punishment. ]
action
If only the trying stopped hurting quite so much.
He could even feel Sylar's own burst of radioactivity, the spike of warmth against his clothing enough to remind him of far too many things. Of when he'd ruined Sylar's collar, when they'd ruined the apartment, when Peter realized he could destroy just as fundamentally as he could create. It put a vice grip on his heart, making words impossible, and instead he just listened, watched as the plaza seemingly squeezed around him without moving an inch, his own mind as suffocating as anything else.
Glancing back over his shoulder at the other man just as he asked about Nathan, Peter watched Sylar look up, his own gaze following the same path, knowing he'd answered the question for himself but unable to keep from adding his own, quiet, sentiment into the mix. ]
He can fly.
[ It wasn't becoming any easier, not really, but Peter could at least stand this somehow. The space between them felt just as disturbing, ominously wide, but this was their past, and New York was his home, and Peter could be here without feeling as if his life was trying to twist in on itself.
These were inescapable memories, and at the very least, Peter hadn't forgotten.
Finally looking back directly towards Sylar, Peter tilted his head, watching him carefully. It was such an odd thing to hear from the man who had once taught him how to control his own abilities, from the man who knew how he worked from the inside, out - literally - if only because Peter had never known him as anything else. ]
It's different when it's coming from you. When it's your ability, it doesn't feel the same. Like going flying with someone else is different from getting to do it yourself. If it's yours, it-- [ Peter was quick to shut himself up, glancing down at his feet as if looking at Sylar was illegal. Talking about any of this was hard enough, but realizing when he was getting caught up when he was trying so hard to keep control was like punishment. ]
If it's yours, it's always different.