"What's that?" Sylar asked, curiously pointing to the triangularly-shaped pastry in Mohinder's hand.

"This? It's a samosa. Just an Indian snack. The one I'm eating has a potato stuffing, but I suppose you can try pea, onion, minced meat, or fish, if you want. It can be spicy too… do you like mint or -"

"Ok, that's enough. Shut up."

"-Coriander or – wha-I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, shut up. I know you're a scientist and all, but it's just a damned samosa."

"Excuse me? You asked me what it was so I -"

Mohinder shut up. Not because he wanted to, but because Sylar's lips were in the way and Sylar's tongue was pushing its way in and Sylar's hand was clutching the back of his neck and Sylar's –

Mohinder dropped the samosa.

Sylar pulled away, snickering.

"See, I told you to shut up, but you just had to make me do it myself."

Mohinder stared at the wasted samosa, silently grateful for its existence.

Perhaps he would have biryani for dinner.