Out of all the times to feel weepy again, this isn't good time management, and he's trying to force too many feelings back down where they belong. Allowing the kiss at some junctures and refusing it at others gives him back his power and he's left with too-destructive thoughts and not enough love in his heart; enough guilt to power a small lighthouse.

Pulling away just enough to fall back into the pillows, he's looking up at the dingy ceiling as if it'll give him answers. Everything about these dreams is wrong, as if he's stealing something from Peter he didn't even know he could. Some part of him feeds on it with riotous triumph but another piece is crying out for it to stop.

He glances over at Peter, wondering how to say the things in his head, but instead finds himself pulling the other man over him and into a slow-burning kiss. Even conflicted and with his chest in knots, all he wants is as much closeness he can squeeze out of whatever time they have left.