Day one: Peter finds Hiro in Isaac Mendez's loft, bent over and curled in on himself as he shakes and cries and sobs something terrible.

Peter places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and Hiro looks up at him through broken brown eyes.

"We didn't... save the world," Hiro whispers.

Peter sits down beside him.

Day four: They live together in run-down New York, teleporting in and out at different times and barely catching each other. The term 'live together' is only in the vaguest sense. Sometimes they manage to speak to each other for five minutes. Other times they're too busy moving around from place to place and helping any casualties they find.

Peter lives for the days he gets to tell Hiro 'good morning'. Hiro is too blinded by destiny to say it back.

Day sixteen: They're comrades.

That's what Hiro said, when he took up his sword and strapped it to his back and looked at Peter and told him the government was going to do something horrible to the superhuman population. They're comrades, and that means they have to fight together. The two of them.

"Two heads are better than one, isn't that right, Peter Petrelli?"

It's difficult not to notice that Hiro can say his name right, now.

Day twenty-three: Hiro has a horrible wound in his side and Peter tends to him, hands soft thanks to rapid cellular regeneration, movements knowledgeable thanks to his background as a nurse.

"You're going to be fine," Peter says, wrapping the bandage tight around the other man's middle and sending him a promising smile.

Hiro looks ashen, and Peter holds his hand for as long as he needs him to.

Day twenty-five: Hiro still hasn't left the loft, and neither has Peter. Comrades stick together-that's how it goes-and Peter will never leave Hiro's side.

It's just the two of them against the world; that is how it is, and that is how it always should be.

Peter gives Hiro medicine from god knows where (or when), and Hiro sleeps a lot. Every time he wakes up, Peter is always there to say 'good morning'.

Hiro finally says it back.

Day twenty-nine: "I have to go," Hiro says, muttering as he stares at the television screen and the burning buildings in Odessa. "Peter, I must save-"

But he's pushed down by steady hands, and Peter looks at him with knowledgeable brown eyes. "I'll go instead," he insists. "I can't die, remember? But you have to stay here."

Peter only leaves after Hiro makes a pinky promise to remain.

It's childish, but unbreakable.

Day thirty-four: Peter finally stays in the loft for more than five minutes today. Hiro never realized how much he missed him.

When Peter appears beside his bed, Hiro pulls him into a hug, muttering softly in Japanese about how happy he is that his friend survived.

Peter hugs him back, and Hiro has never felt warmer.

Day forty-two: They find solace in each other.

Hiro's wound is good, now, but the two of them make schedules so they can spend at least fifteen minutes a day side-by-side. Hiro is thankful Peter can read minds; it's so much quicker than stumbling over words.

It becomes routine to hug before they part. Hiro feels empowered every time Peter grins at him and they disappear to save the world at the same time.

Day fifty-five: Peter is spattered with blood when Hiro sees him next, his eyes wide and haunted and his hands stained with crimson that Hiro knows won't get out from under his fingernails.

"Are you o-" Hiro's cut off by Peter's arms around him, and the man smells like rot and decay. Peter cries into his shoulder, and Hiro isn't sure what to do.

Day seventy-two: Hiro finds Peter sitting on the floor of Isaac Mendez's loft, string in his hand labelled 'Peter Petrelli'. He ties it around another string named 'Hiro Nakamura', and then twists them together forevermore.

"We're going to save the world together," Peter says, determinedly.

Hiro sits down beside him, and when Peter kisses him on the mouth, he finds that he's alright with that.