Peter tilts his head, moving even closer, as if separation would be difficult. It is, suddenly. He wouldn't call it love even if it killed him, but it's close. He kisses Stiles just as gentle, and deep, and reassuring. That they are here, together and alive.

He sees that look on Stiles he can smell it too. It grips his chest and makes his limbs weak for some reason. This is a confession and it almost cripples him. Peter closes his eyes and leans into Stiles' touch. He likes words because it's easy to hide behind them. It's easy to distract, to hide, but Stiles took it away. Peter is not sure about it, he's the wolf with a mouth after all. He hides for a reason. Yet, he can't say a word now.