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Peter loved New York, so Wade did too.
Not that his life revolved around him. It didn’t. Never had, never will.
But still, his feet carry him back to Peter’s doorstep every night. Peter used to love it. Not anymore.
Wade heard laughter and cringed. Peter used to laugh with him.
But they don’t need each other. Peter doesn’t need Wade.
What Wade needs is a taco. So he leaves.
He’d eaten a few before, on the Empire State building with Peter. He’d painstakingly climb to the very top just to be with him.
And to think Peter said he never tries.
Not that Wade didn’t think Peter would ever leave. Of course, he would; everyone did. But maybe just this once, he wished it would have been different.
Wade didn’t think of himself as an optimist. A daydreamer, maybe, but he always knew Peter would get tired eventually.
Wade was tired, too. So, so tired.
Peter used to say Wade made him feel small. Wade never understood. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
Wade’s like a kicked puppy, and he grapples with himself every moment he's awake. Peter fights crime.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
Maybe Wade misses him. Maybe he wore Peter thin.
Peter saw the good in everything. Wade was everything he hated and more.
So of course he would leave. It was only a matter of time. God knows Wade loves ripping old band-aids off.
The worst part? Wade understood. That he’s impossible to love-- that not even the world’s most beloved superhero could break down his titanium walls.
So what if he wanted to play pretend? So what if, just for a second, he wanted to believe? It was nobody’s business but his own.
Wade Wilson is a fool. He would get over it.