"Yeah.." Glancing down at the floor of the bathroom as they went, Peter thought briefly to himself that the whole apartment was going to need a good dousing of bleach tomorrow, but he'd worry about that later, because he was being led to his bedroom and falling asleep, not dying, sounded beautifully pleasant.

Peter, however, had other ideas about where Sylar was going to locate himself for the rest of the night. And he's not entirely sure what gave him the bravado to make his sentiments known apart from the fact that being exhausted had seemingly removed his filter, both in terms of actions and words.

Staring at his bed and letting his hands fall to his hips to fidget with where he has his towel tied, Peter looks over his shoulder and up at Sylar. "Can you stay here?" It didn't sound pathetic, or all that pitiful. It just sounded like a question, and a tired one at that. Sylar had stuck with him the entire evening thus far, and for some reason, Peter just didn't want to have to do without.