Stiles believed in the theory that catastrophes were the consequence of a series of unfortunate events. And that, in turn, miracles were the consequence of a series of good used opportunities.
Just the thought that most people wouldn't exist if it wasn't for a train coming too late, causing their parents to run into each other that would've never met otherwise, or if it wasn't for a mutual friend bringing them together on a party one didn't want to go to, at first, or something equally trivial.

But let's stay with the catastrophes, since one had just parked in front of the house and was at that very moment coming up the stairs, in the form of his father, being (for once in his life) too early.
Stiles mentally went over a list of all the possible hiding spots and ended up haphazardly pulling Peter into the direction of the bathroom, since under the bed and in the wardrobe was no room, besides the fact that those two places were far too obvious for his liking.

He was eternally grateful that Peter didn't fuss, but instead followed quietly, probably still berating himself for not hearing the car earlier.
Stealthily, they made it to the bath, where Stiles instantly closed and locked the door behind them, before glancing around in search of a distraction. He shoved Peter into the shower and turned the water on, a hand over his mouth to keep him silent.

The werewolf narrowed his eyes at him, though there was no heat behind the glare, and Stiles was inclined to make a joke about wet dogs, or maybe cats, since the other man didn't seem too happy to get wet.
He, on the other hand, was rewarded with the sight of an already tight v-neck clinging to all the right places, water drops on Peter's lashes and running down his skin. He focused on a particular slow one, watching as it slid from his temple over the cheekbone to his chin and then all the way down his neck, before it disappeared in the fabric of the shirt the older Hale wore.

Stiles nervously ran his tongue over his lips, glancing up just in time to see Peter following the movement with his eyes.
He could barely hear the rushing sound of the water over his own heartbeat, then, and was shocked out of his daze by a loud knocking on the door.

"Stiles? I'm home early today, kiddo. I'll start on dinner, so just come down when you're finished and hungry."

"Okay, Dad", he called back, voice unusually high-pitched, even for him.

Stiles quickly tiptoed to the door, pressed an ear against it and heard the faint footsteps of his father fading away. This once, they had been lucky.
He returned with a wide grin, grateful for the additional time they'd have now to get Peter out of the house and imagining him to walk home in the state he was in. But Peter didn't appear to be that amused, pulling him under the shower spray, as well, and pressing him up against the wall, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the warm body in front of him.

A shiver ran down his spine, even before Peter breathed against his lips, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes", Stiles only nodded numbly.

"So much for not getting involved, huh?", Sheriff Stilinski hid his knowing smirk behind a cup of hot coffee, watching as his son and their guest nursed their own drinks while shivering under some blankets, teeth chattering and still dripping wet.

He got his answer in the form of a sneeze.