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Peter kisses him. It's not like a ray of sunshine warming him, like Marge had so perfectly described Dickie's affection; Peter is the sunshine, and Tom breathes in deep against him and it's like his whole body is glowing.
His hands leave the piano to hold Peter's face, and Peter's arms wrap around his middle to hold him close.
He briefly thinks of Dickie, and how he'd made fun of him for holding on so tightly on his bike.
He kisses Peter back harder to get the thought out of his mind.
It feels like ages before they stop kissing, both out of breath and sore from the odd position on the piano bench.
"Was that alright?" Peter asks, so softly, like he's afraid Tom might not be at all who he'd thought and hoped.
He isn't either of those things, who Peter thinks or hopes he is, but Tom just nods.
"I don't need a key," Peter says. "I don't need to see what's in the basement."
Tom nods again, and his breath shakes against Peter's mouth.
"I'd just like to..."
Peter shivers when Tom kisses the words away from him, but the words are important and Peter makes sure he hears them anyway.
"I'd just like to spend time with you. Together," he whispers.
Tom nods again, then again, and kisses him harder than he's ever kissed anyone in his life.