sirenspull_logs | i'm your villain

Entry tags:

i'm your villain

Who: Peter & Sylar
When: The morning after Sylar's post
Where: Peter's apartment.
Summary: It's the morning after Peter's begun to harbor a fugitive and let strange things happen in the night. And now Peter's making breakfast..... things're sure to get interesting, yup.
Warnings: awkwardness? shenanigans? will change if necessary

[ Peter had woken up before Sylar, something he was in fact thankful for, for a variety of reasons. One of which was so that he could stare at Sylar for an unquestionable amount of time, and try to piece together the series of events that had led them to this. Sylar was still curled awkwardly on top of the sheets, though he'd settled slightly in his sleep and Peter just couldn't stop staring. Because somehow it seemed the more time he spent around him, the more human Sylar became. The more present, Peter's own constant. And looking at the other man while he slept, well -- there wasn't much monstrous about him.

Giving his head a shake and mussing his own hair, Peter slowly eases himself out of bed, trying to move slow so as not to wake his "company." Only after he's padded out of the bedroom does he breathe a little easier, pausing at the basket to give Mr. Muggles some scritches behind the ears before Tabitha mewls and wanders by for some morning cuddles as well. Peter's apartment: a little bit like a zoo; who knows where Denzel was hiding, waiting to pounce.

But after a few more seconds, Peter stands, yawns, and heads to the kitchen because in the morning, Peter's brain is gooey at best, and coffee is an absolute necessity. Setting up the machine to brew an exceptionally full pot, Peter folds his arms over his chest, already starting to twitch with Sylar out of his sight, something he's still too warm and sleep addled to try and think about.

Because as soon as it's done, Peter's pouring himself a cup and walking slow back towards the bedroom, where he leans against the doorframe and simply watches. Stares at the fact that there's another person in his bed, that he perhaps can't curl around, and his warm-fuzzy-morning-addled mind might be pouting a little at that fact. Breathing in the warm scent of caffeine, Peter knows he can find something better to do, like make toast, or read the paper. But instead he's rooted to the spot, waiting for the rousing of Sylar. ]

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I don't want you to defend the apartment, Peter. I want you to defend yourself. Nothing you've said has made me think you have any pride; nothing you've done.

[ He picked up his mug now, finishing off he cold coffee and setting it on the plate, then took a step in toward Peter.]

I know you care what other people think of you. The apartment is just an example of that. You look ill. You could care less about your appearance, or your health, you put yourself out in the Darkness fighting who knows what, and you think that having a sociopath in your house constitutes having a social calender.

You have to want it.

Yeah, well maybe I don't deserve to have any. Ever thought of that? [ Glaring up at Sylar for a long moment, there's a thousand other things Peter wants to say, but each second he doesn't say them, it gets harder to try.

Not to mention, Peter feels intensely awkward having this argument while holding a plate and coffee, breakfast Sylar made, and he can only take it for so long before he pushes himself up off the couch and breezes past Sylar back into the kitchen. ]

And I tried having a social calendar, didn't turn out so well.

[ Peter's edging up on getting actually upset, rinsing out his cup and giving off the tell tale signs of anger. He tried to come back out of his shell after months of regressing, tried to date, tried to get involved. And then Amy had a fiance and Claire put herself in jail and the world managed to close in around him again, just when he'd started to try. ]

[ He should know to keep his distance, but what would Peter do, really? He was as meek as a pussy cat, powers or not. So he followed with the cup and plate, both empty, and came to lean on the sink beside Peter, slouching down so that he might look up at him, but doing so no less severely for that. ]

So because you tried once and failed, that means you have nothing to try for? That there's no hope for you?

[ He touched Peter's arm with the tips of his fingers. ]

The world owes you nothing, Peter.

[ The touch, only because it's unexpected, makes Peter twitch and stop what he's doing -- giving in and looking... strangely down at Sylar. It's an add sense of perspective, considering Peter's used to looking up at most men, and having Sylar place himself at some standing that's supposed to make him appear less threatening, makes Peter shake his head. ]

Yeah? And I owe the world everything, so I guess it all works out, huh.

[ Shutting off the water with telekinesis and leaving his cup in the sink, he takes a step back, arms folded more protectively over his chest than defensively. ] And it's not the first time i've tried.

That's what I'm trying to say. You have it the wrong way round. The world owes us, we owe it nothing.

[ He didn't leave Peter to take the room, to escape from him just by putting distance between them again. This time when he stepped forward, he placed both hands on Peter's shoulders, and there was no give in them at all. He stood at his full height, with his head tipped forward, looking through his eyebrows at him with concern, with deliberate intention weighing his words. ]

We're the ones that are special, Peter.

[ Though the stare makes him anything but comfortable, it's the hands on his shoulders that make Peter quite literally want to phase his way through the floor, but he stays put. He stares up at Sylar for as long as he can, before his gaze is thrown sideways, like a puppy losing a staring contest. ]

After everything we've done to it? How can we owe it nothing.

[ He shook his head, apologetic, leant down to speak the next few words into Peter's hair, his hands working out the knots across the other man's shoulders. ]

Look at what it did to us.

[ Just that alone is enough to shift Peter's emotions from angry to demolished, dropping his gaze even further down, his hands falling down into the pockets of his sweatpants and tucking his shoulders up higher instead.

He's far too sensitive at the moment, easily knocked down a few notches and prone to thinking that he's the worst thing that the world has ever seen. So that even though it's strange to have it be Sylar who's trying to work the tension from his skin, Peter's too upset to try to back out. ]

I asked for this, Sylar. It didn't do anything to me, and look what I did in return.

[ Poor broken thing. He would have laughed, if not for the clear unhappiness that came off Peter in waves. A little more delicacy, then--

He stepped closer, if only because Peter wasn't ripping himself away, worked his fingers into the invulnerable knots across the other man's shoulders. His eyes followed the curve of the other man's throat, and he wondered how his heart felt, and whether he could hear it if he leant close enough. Being powerless made such simple things so much more complicated. ]

You never asked to be used, to be twisted around the world's finger. So you went nuclear. Did you want that power, Peter? Did you want mine? You can't be held responsible for what the world has done to you. It owes you nothing.

[ If Sylar had laughed, it would have been the end of the conversation, right then and there. But instead, Peter's keeping his gaze stubbornly tucked away from Sylar's, pressing back hard with his shoulders against Sylar's fingers until he finally, finally gives in and let's them drop -- let's Sylar try to work out some of the tension from his muscles even if it's a strange concept to behold. ]

Maybe not. [ Also known as, he still doesn't believe most of what Sylar's saying, though it's not because he doesn't want to. He's trying. Peter's just buried himself six feet deep in his own self-deprecation. ]

But I still asked for this.

[ Much better. He felt Peter slump underneath his hands, and tilted his head back to one side as he worked, watching the other man's face, his eyes shut, wallowing in his misery. ]

For 'this', Peter. What do you mean?

[ Because now he was beginning to wonder what 'this' was. Was it the powers? The apartment? Being used? How had he asked for any of it? ]

[ Peter bristled again, but only slightly. Enough so that it made it momentarily hard to breathe, twitching under Sylar's hands. It didn't help that he liked the massaging a little bit too much, and he wasn't going to have a replay of last night. Nor was he fond of this intensive questioning, not about things he didn't like to talk about in the first pace, and his shoulders lifted again as he took a step back. ]

I mean my abilities. I wanted to be something special, didn't I? Something better than what I used to be. And I got it. [ Defensive. His tone is purely defensive because Sylar isn't the one he's upset with, not anymore. ] So yeah, I asked for it. This.

[ When Peter pulled back, Sylar let him go, crossing his arms over his chest again, and circled back to into the sitting room, leaving Peter behind him. He leant against the wall beside the kitchen door.

It's his own argument--we're special because we had that space in our lives, because we wanted to be, so he doesn't contradict it. ]

So that makes everything that's come since your fault? It's other people who don't understand you, Peter; that makes it their mistake.

[ Watching Sylar walk away, Peter tries to swallow whatever the rest of it is he's feeling, tries to come up with a say for Sylar to stop getting inside his head.

But he's buckling, he can feel it, because this is like salt in a wound he can't seem to heal and Sylar's just aggravating it with every word. Peter doesn't want to feel okay with what he's done -- he wants someone to take the blame, and the only person there is to do that, is himself. ]

I've stopped expecting anyone to understand. Not about this. [ Speaking under his breath as he pushes his way out of the kitchen, Sylar only gets a passing glance as Peter heads towards his bedroom, fully intent on escaping this conversation. ]

[ Gabriel watched him, waited, still folded against the wall, the hell of his right foot angled against it behind him. He didn't have to speak, so he didn't, but cracked the thought like a whip between them, loud enough to fill the quiet apartment. ]

But I do understand, Peter.

[ It was enough to stop him in his tracks, his jaw going painfully tight as he stands there, staring but not looking at the space between him and his bedroom. There was a million things he could say, a million things he could do, but he stays rooted to the spot before his gaze drops to his bare feet. ]

I know. That's why I haven't.. kicked you out, yet. [ That wasn't wholly true, but at least it was a start. ]

[ He tilted his head back the other way. Peter pinned down by a mere thought. By a thought. He was too easy. Sylar didn't move away from the wall, but kept watch on Peter's back.

He kept his voice low, inoffensive.]

Is that all?

Is what all?

[ Glancing back over his shoulder, Peter glared hard, turning just enough so that he didn't have to crane his neck uncomfortably to stare down Sylar. Peter knew he had lost this battle of a conversation, whatever it was, and all he could do now was look pissed off. Not that that earned him anymore points, but it was all he had.

And when it came down to it, he knew he didn't really have anything at all. ] What i'm letting you stay here for?

[ A lesser man might have flinched; Peter's glare was fierce. Sylar, on the other hand pulled himself forward, moving over to the couch. The television was still in pieces from last night, and he spared one glance for it, then looked back toward Peter. ]

That's what I asked. It's perfectly fine if you don't have an answer.

[ Watching Sylar move, for a second Peter considered waving a white flag. Just giving in, telling Sylar he'd one and could they stop talking about this now please. Sylar had already seen Peter ruined last night, he didn't want to start off the morning the exact same way.

But he stays where he is, rocking his weight slightly. ]

You already know the answer, Sylar

[ He tilted his head to one side. The answer. It wasn't such a simple thing at all. Not when the truth was so much more complex than understanding, than the fact that Peter felt responsible for him, and perhaps more difficult things to give a name to. They were the same. The strange and uneven balance of power struck between them.

And Peter's desire. There was no doubt that played its part. It was undeniable what Peter felt for him, though it had been difficult to understand at first. It wasn't just about demonstrating power. It wasn't just about how ironically safe Peter felt with him.

It was all those things together. ]

Do you mind fixing the television before you hide in your room?

Fine. Not like I haven't done it before.

[ Obviously avoiding eye contact, Peter keeps one arm wrapped around himself while he lifts his other hand. It takes less than a second for all of the pieces to go whirring back together, slotting into place and fusing back together He doesn't even have to look at the television while he does it, but at the very least it's something to stare at for a few seconds.

But he's done this enough times now that he's already walking away by the time it's turning itself back on in fully functioning order and Peter even goes so far as to telekinetically drop the remote on the couch besides Sylar before he slams the door to his bedroom behind him. ]

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