Now that he was certain that his telepath hadn't left him, checked out, or been replaced by one so much harder than he was truly willing to think as possible, Mohinder relaxed into the kiss, into his arms. This ordeal wasn't over. It would be difficult, but they were together. Protected. Mohinder pulled out of the kiss long enough to look down at Matt, to repeat a gesture from earlier that day, forehead to forehead. A meeting of the minds, perhaps.

It didn't matter. They needed to reconnect.

"You're going to need some new clothes," Mohinder said quietly, his dark knuckles ghosting Matt's cheeks. "Your jeans barely stay up."

He didn't care a smidge about Matt's weight, but he did miss the bulk a bit, the way the largeness made him feel safe. And besides, his gauntness now was unhealthy. The California glow to his cheeks was missing.

Mohinder's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned down to kiss him again, softer. His lips trembled and a month of emotion slipped from him at once, a great wall of relief and terror and loneliness rushing out of him. He couldn't stop it.

"Matt--" Too many words. Too much to say and he'd never quite managed it. He shouldn't be the one about to break down into tears, he'd had a fairly reasonable time of things. But Matt-- Oh, he'd ached for him. Ached.