About that episode that dragged me into the actual fandom...
Title: Silence
Author: wouldbeashame
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Summary: Sylar counts the moments between breaths as Peter sleeps next to him, dreading that moment of awakening, of breaking and defensive hardening and noise. (Expansion on #21 from my third sentence set)
Sylar knows that Peter doesn’t sleep well unless he’s either exhausted or sleeping next to another person. He remembers being that person, in a life that wasn’t his. He doesn’t say anything, because it’s not his place to say.
Peter tries to exhaust himself. All the time spent pounding away at that damn wall would have been far more than enough in the real world, but there’s a part of Peter can’t seem to let go of the thought that this is a dream. Won’t let him slump down, completely worn out and aching with pleasant soreness, and sleep soundly no matter how hard or long he works.
Sylar watches him run through the motions, failing again and again. He has to say something, because Peter is going to drive himself insane. Because the person whose right it is to say something isn’t here, will never be here again.
He corners Peter where the wall turns a street into a dead-end alleyway. He wonders if Peter can see the words coming.
"I owe you everything I can give, Peter, and a million things I can't. The least I can do is just be a warm body so you can sleep at night," is all Sylar says. He doesn’t explain, because Peter knows what he’s talking about too well. Any further words delve into dangerous territory.
Peter doesn’t answer him, just looks him in the eye for a moment too long and steps deliberately around him. Sylar makes no move to stop him or elaborate or cajole.
At day’s end, Peter is standing in the doorframe of Sylar’s bedroom, still wordless.
Sylar is just as good at ignoring Peter, continuing his nightly rituals and getting into bed as if nothing is different. He curls up on his side and feels more than hears Peter get into bed behind him. Hands tentatively reach out to grasp the back of his shirt, tightening in grip when they encounter no resistance, indeed, no indication that they’re even noticed.
The breathing behind Sylar evens out much faster than Peter probably wanted it to, but it’s been too long. Sylar listens to Peter breathe and feels Peter cling for the entire night and part of the morning, until Peter wakes up and leaves. Sylar feels more rested than the nights in which he had actually managed to catch some sleep.
This continues exactly the same every night afterward.
Sylar always wakes up first, if he falls asleep at all. A quick catnap in the embrace of security and calmness is the most he ever takes away from the time he’s generously allotted.
Sylar could treasure the thought of someone willingly near him, someone come to save him. He could treasure the hands that cling to him while eyes refuse to even glance at him. He could treasure the trust that falling asleep next to him isn’t a death sentence in the making. He likes all those things, but what he treasures is this exact moment.
The moment between the last sleeping breath and the first waking breath that Peter breathes, silent under the slant of light splayed across the pillow and blankets. He holds that one moment of peace and tranquility dear, dreading the moment’s end. Dreading the influx of sound and tension that comes with wakefulness.
Peter’s return to wary alertness stings no less with each time it is inflicted upon him.
But for now he has his one, treasured moment before being broken again.
Author: wouldbeashame
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Summary: Sylar counts the moments between breaths as Peter sleeps next to him, dreading that moment of awakening, of breaking and defensive hardening and noise. (Expansion on #21 from my third sentence set)
Sylar knows that Peter doesn’t sleep well unless he’s either exhausted or sleeping next to another person. He remembers being that person, in a life that wasn’t his. He doesn’t say anything, because it’s not his place to say.
Peter tries to exhaust himself. All the time spent pounding away at that damn wall would have been far more than enough in the real world, but there’s a part of Peter can’t seem to let go of the thought that this is a dream. Won’t let him slump down, completely worn out and aching with pleasant soreness, and sleep soundly no matter how hard or long he works.
Sylar watches him run through the motions, failing again and again. He has to say something, because Peter is going to drive himself insane. Because the person whose right it is to say something isn’t here, will never be here again.
He corners Peter where the wall turns a street into a dead-end alleyway. He wonders if Peter can see the words coming.
"I owe you everything I can give, Peter, and a million things I can't. The least I can do is just be a warm body so you can sleep at night," is all Sylar says. He doesn’t explain, because Peter knows what he’s talking about too well. Any further words delve into dangerous territory.
Peter doesn’t answer him, just looks him in the eye for a moment too long and steps deliberately around him. Sylar makes no move to stop him or elaborate or cajole.
At day’s end, Peter is standing in the doorframe of Sylar’s bedroom, still wordless.
Sylar is just as good at ignoring Peter, continuing his nightly rituals and getting into bed as if nothing is different. He curls up on his side and feels more than hears Peter get into bed behind him. Hands tentatively reach out to grasp the back of his shirt, tightening in grip when they encounter no resistance, indeed, no indication that they’re even noticed.
The breathing behind Sylar evens out much faster than Peter probably wanted it to, but it’s been too long. Sylar listens to Peter breathe and feels Peter cling for the entire night and part of the morning, until Peter wakes up and leaves. Sylar feels more rested than the nights in which he had actually managed to catch some sleep.
This continues exactly the same every night afterward.
Sylar always wakes up first, if he falls asleep at all. A quick catnap in the embrace of security and calmness is the most he ever takes away from the time he’s generously allotted.
Sylar could treasure the thought of someone willingly near him, someone come to save him. He could treasure the hands that cling to him while eyes refuse to even glance at him. He could treasure the trust that falling asleep next to him isn’t a death sentence in the making. He likes all those things, but what he treasures is this exact moment.
The moment between the last sleeping breath and the first waking breath that Peter breathes, silent under the slant of light splayed across the pillow and blankets. He holds that one moment of peace and tranquility dear, dreading the moment’s end. Dreading the influx of sound and tension that comes with wakefulness.
Peter’s return to wary alertness stings no less with each time it is inflicted upon him.
But for now he has his one, treasured moment before being broken again.