This is what boyfriends are for, right?

[notarrowette]

Who: Cissie and Sylar
What: ...Cissie's a little tipsy, angry at Tim, and hurting. Abandonment issues are go.
Where: Sylar's room
When: Sunday night
Warnings: ...Sylar dealing with emotions?

Comments

[gray_atonement]

Sylar wasn't expecting anyone and that's why when the knock came at his door, he stared at it for a moment in confusion. He had been reading, lost in a book, and he wondered for a moment if he had imagined the knock. Then the killer rose from the bed and stood in the middle of his room. Finally, he lifted a hand to open the door from a distance, the knob turning and the door pulling forward at his silent command.

His brow furrowed when he saw Cissie there and he slowly moved forward as his hand fell back to his side. It occurred to him that many of her friends had left as well, despite that his mind was busy worried about Tim.

Of course, there was always the possibility that something else was going on. "Are you alright?"

[notarrowette]

Cissie leaned against the doorjamb, her expression something close to a pout. "Yes. No. Yes." She stopped, frowning and considering the question. It was surprisingly complicated.

"...Can I come in?"

[gray_atonement]

"Of course," he responded without hesitation, almost with a hint of accusation; how dare she think otherwise. That attitude faded as quickly as it had come, however, and then he was moving to close the door behind her. The movement brought him nearer to her and, once the door locked behind them both with only a short glance, he stepped up in front of her.

The inmate's head dipped to bring him down to her height for a moment, checking her expression carefully to see where she might be at and what she might be feelings. There was something about her that was off, more than just being upset.

[notarrowette]

The accusation went right over her head, thanks to the rum, and being tired and moody. But she came into the room, and when he was close enough, she stepped in to hug him, burying her face against his shoulder and pressing close to him. Before she did, however, he could probably spot the fact that she'd been crying not too long ago, and her eyes were a little glazed.

She also had powered sugar on her forehead and in her hair, a spot of chocolate on one cheek, and she smelled like rum, because some had spilled on her shirt. But what mattered to her right now was that he was there and she could hold on.