Without quite explaining why or how it had come to him, Matt slowly approached Sylar and placed a hand to his temples, fingers spread. His usual go to was eye contact. He'd noticed it increasingly lately, the way it seemed to open something up. He wasn't expecting touch to do the same even if it seemed he would have on a more subconscious level.

It was crazy. It was fractured. He wasn't ready for the onslaught of that sickness in his head - hadn't felt anything like that before, the split open, barely-together ideas that yet ... yet, they were so focused, striving so hard onwards. It was like an animal, a predator, all teeth and no sense, except for the instinct that was terrifyingly clear.

He only fought it for a moment before he had to back away like he was burnt. It was like recoil, shooting up his arm, clawing at his head, and god, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

That flinch let both Sylar and Mohinder loose. Matt felt faint. Was quickly growing to hate that feeling.

"You sick fuck --"