Sylar was already looking thoughtfully toward the door when he noticed that Peter was watching him, and he turned back, his expression questioning, and listened. It was the first truly lucid thing that Peter had said since he'd met him in the dark the other day, and invited himself back to his apartment. It didn't sound pitiful. It didn't sound pathetic. It just sounded... Normal. Like for once Peter was truly himself. Inviting him to stay.

"I can," he answered, and glanced toward the bed. It was still perfectly made, the way he'd left it. He lifted one hand, rubbing at his hair with the towel on his head, and shuffled over to his side of the bed - the side he'd stayed on before - sitting on the edge of it and looking up at Peter as though there was nothing at all odd about him putting himself there.

He reached across to pat the other side of the bed, then dropped his shoulder against the headboard.

"Someone has to keep an eye on you," he said, as though that was the only explanation for his actions, nothing more. "Are you feeling any warmer?"