He didn't see anything except the very interesting floor. His mind caught up with him a moment later, because he was blushing, and he schooled his expression and turned his face back toward Peter as he settled under the blankets, as though nothing had changed, as though he wasn't flustered, doing his best to stay aloof and calculating. But his eyes dragged down despite his best efforts, following the line of the blankets, and he had to look away.

He'd already said that he'd stay, so there was no backing out now, no matter how uncomfortable he now felt. He shifted out of his own towels, not wanting to get the bed bloodied after their efforts to the contrary, and pulled himself under the sheets too, lying flat and awkward on his back. Glanced toward Peter.

Sylar opened his mouth to speak, checked himself, then looked back at the ceiling again. His mind whirred.

"He did it because of me," he said, very softly. "He knew how important you were." The 'to me' went unspoken, oddly enough.