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Logan thinks he’s slowly but steadily losing his goddamned mind.
Not that he was particularly sane to begin with, but there simply wasn’t any other logical explanation for why he had walked past that stupidly bright red cart, only to double back because that obnoxious colour reminded him far too much of a certain someone.
He can’t remember how exactly it even happened. It’s a haze in his own memory, and a part of him thinks that it’s better off that way. All he knows is that the young girl running the pop up store had eyes which lit up at the sight of him, and there was no saying no to a hopeful smile like that. Fuck it. He’s not ashamed to admit that even though he never joined the X-Men in his original timeline, he still has a soft spot for the kids, alright?
And that’s how he ended up with a bag full of red and yellow beads, sealed tight with an over-the-top bow that the girl had insisted upon. “Letters on the house!” she offered in earnest, and Logan tells himself it's mere coincidence that the ones he ended up grabbing spells out their initials perfectly.
D&W. Wade’s going to have a fucking field day when he inevitably finds this crap, because he’s a dogshit roommate with zero regard for privacy or personal space. Just the thought of the bastard’s gloating face alone is enough to make Logan consider throwing it all out, but he’s too far in to give up now.
Yeah, that’s right — even the Wolverine isn’t exempt from the fucking sunk cost fallacy, because Logan has already spent an unreasonable amount of time stringing these tiny ass beads together; a flimsy thing that keeps slipping out of his grasp. He’s beginning to develop a pounding headache which defies his very biology, but he’s also had at least three heart attacks by now, because sinking to your knees in despair while surrounded by clattering beads on the floor is an integral part of the friendship-bracelet-making experience, apparently.
Sucking a breath through his teeth, Logan forces himself to keep going. His eyes are far too old to be concentrating on something as ridiculous as this for hours on end, and his fingers are most certainly not meant for delicate work like this. Believe him, he’s tried using his claws to spear the stubborn little fuckers up, but adamantium tends to have that effect of — well, slicing through everything. Several mutilations later, and Logan finally comes to terms with the fact that this is just his life now. Painstakingly picking out each bead one by one, slotting them in and waiting for that satisfying click, all while being terrified of so much as breathing too loud.
…Wade better keep his fucking mouth shut if he doesn’t want to end up with six evenly-spaced punctures in his abdomen tonight. Logan’s patience has been steadily wearing thin ever since this whole roommate situation; it’s left fraying at its very ends now.
All because he didn’t know how to shut down some kid on the street that resembled Laura a little too much, and absolutely nothing to do with how much Wade’s been whining about wanting to match.
Speak of the devil. “Logie bear!” an insufferable voice sing-songs from the doorway, back from whatever odd job he had picked up this time.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Logan snaps as he frantically tries to shove all traces of his various failed attempts out of sight. Wade bounds in, utterly unfazed. And of course he immediately hones in on a pile of string in the corner that Logan had somehow missed.
“Did I walk in on you, peanut?” Wade gasps, high-pitched and girly. “I always knew you were a kinky motherfucker! Into shibari, aren’t you? Don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I quite like to watch.” The absolute ass tosses him an exaggerated wink, voice dropping low as if letting him in on a well-kept secret.
For a brief moment, Logan genuinely considers using Wade’s entrails to string up the rest of the beads. Unfortunately, Wade is standing on Althea’s new carpet, and he really doesn’t want to spend hours scrubbing blood out of the whole damned thing. Still, those are the beginnings of a growl building in his throat, so thank fuck the spandex-clad idiot prancing about in front of him finally develops the good sense to settle down.
“Relax and live a little, old man,” Wade quips, head cocked to the side like some freakishly overgrown chihuahua. Lookin’ exactly like Mary Puppins, Logan realises with an internal groan. “We’re just having some good old-fashioned bonding time. What are roommates for, really, if you don’t have multiple wildly intrusive conversations about their problematic kinks?”
God, he’s truly not in the mood for Wade Wilson levels of bullshit. “Shut it,” Logan finds himself gritting out. Wade rips his mask off and puts on the biggest, most pathetic pout he’s ever seen. The fucker might’ve even been trying to give him puppy eyes, but Logan pointedly looks away before it takes effect.
“C’mon, roomie, I don’t just want to bounce on your massive dick, y’know,” Wade whines, unabashedly groping at Logan’s chest before tapping the spot right above his heart. “Well, that’s a huge part of it, but I also wanna know your ancient loser hobbies that surpass the history books, because there’s no way in hell your overbearing macho schtick is fooling me.”
Faster than Logan could react, Wade shoots a hand out and snatches up the bracelet he had shoved under the couch. “Aha!” Wade declares, triumphant — right before Logan’s claws spear through his fingers entirely and he’s forced to drop it with a satisfying yelp. “Too late, bitch!” the bastard cackles anyway, yanking his bloodied hand free. “I call dibs. That’s got my name written all over it.”
“It’s not for you, dumb fuck.” The retort comes out way less convincing than Logan hoped for.
“Sure,” Wade says, clearly sharing the sentiment. Deft fingers wrestle the bracelet out of Logan’s grasp and hold it up to the light, twisting it this way and that. “D&W is a pretty common acronym around these parts. Demons and Wizards. Detection and Warning. Or, dare I say,” Wade’s wearing a shit-eating grin that Logan wants to punch off his face, “Deadpool and Wolverine.”
A muscle in Logan’s jaw ticks. “So?” he manages gruffly. “Don’t mean shit.”
“I’m saying it’s adorable, pookie! I fucking love corny shit like this.” Wade sighs dreamily. “I hope you know I’m never taking it off, by the way. It’s going straight on my right hand so it doesn’t miss out on any of my elaborate gooning seshes.”
Logan is caught between various options — ranging from hurling Wade through the window, to feeling oddly touched. He settles for a half-hearted glare instead.
“Now, cough the stash up, peanut. I’m making you a matching one!” Wade does an annoying little come-hither motion that instantly sets him off.
“Knock yourself out,” he grunts, deliberately chucking the bag at Wade’s head. As for the answering smile Logan receives? It does not — even in the slightest — send his traitorous heart lurching.
*
Wade finishes stringing one together at record speed, all while running his mouth about how Logan should thank him for being so magnanimous and not making fun of his piss-poor imitation of fashion. Eventually, Logan snaps at him to fucking take it off, then, and Wade just laughs, childlike glee written all over his face. “Nuh uh, no take-backsies!”
And as much as Logan would love to deny it, Wade’s does look significantly more professional than the one he had spent all afternoon figuring out. He tries his damned hardest not to look impressed. Or a little jealous.
“Ta-da!” Wade waves the bracelet in his face, giggling when he swats it away. “Cheer up, gramps. We’re gonna look so fucking cute together.”
Logan stiffens. “I’m not wearin’ that shit.”
“Aw, is it threatening your fragile masculinity, Wolvie?” Wade coos in a condescending baby voice, “I would’ve thought you were above that, y’know.”
“You’re not goading me into it.”
Wade shrugs. “I’ll just slip it on when you’re not paying attention.” The glint in his eye makes it seem more like a threat than a promise.
For some reason, Logan isn’t quite as vehemently opposed to the idea as he voices aloud. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, of course.
*
Trust Wade not to follow through on any of his actual promises, but most definitely on petty shit like this.
Sure enough, Logan wakes up with the bright red-and-yellow bracelet on his wrist, and Wade must’ve dug up heart charms from some cesspit of hell, because the dangly fuckers are clinking against each other with every movement.
The culprit himself is nowhere to be found, though he has left a note. Logan mentally braces himself for the most abhorrent message ever recorded in human history.
Messily scrawled on the post-it note reads, Added some much needed flair to your original design, peanut <3 Don’t you dare think about taking it off, or I swear to Marvel Jesus, I’m making handcuffs next time.
Logan snorts, and reaches for a can of beer. It’s too fucking early to deal with this shit.
…And if he doesn’t end up taking the bracelet off at all, it’s only because Wade would make it his lifelong goal to bombard him with ‘em non-stop. Nothing more.
Wade wisely doesn’t make a single snide remark when he returns in the afternoon. There’s a perpetual smirk tugging at his lips though. Logan pretends not to notice.
*
The flimsy thing snaps one morning, right in the middle of Logan fixing the sink, because Althea has been gracious enough to let him mope around the apartment and he figured it’s the least he could do in return.
“Fuck!” he mutters as the beads scatter across the floorboards, seemingly making it their mission to get into the most awkward corners imaginable. It’s so compelling of a distraction that he loses his grip on the faucet, and now there’s water spraying directly into his face. Sputtering, he could only cough and wheeze as he scrambles to switch it off. “Logan?” Althea calls out, a hint of worry in her voice.
“All good, just Wade’s stupid little bracelet.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he takes in the full extent of the mess he’s just created.
“The matching ones?” Althea asks, amused, and it’s close enough to teasing that Logan feels his face burn.
“Yeah, I guess. Whatever.”
“Just get him to make you a new one, boy.” Althea waves her cane angrily in his general direction. “Bah, what use is being centuries old when you’re just as hopeless as he is?”
Logan gapes. And as much as it makes him sound like a dick, he’s immensely relieved that Althea couldn’t see it. “‘S not a big deal. He made it just to be annoying.”
“That what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
…He winces, choosing to busy himself with mopping the floor instead. Althea drops the subject, but Logan feels her judgement through those sunglasses anyway. Fucking hell.
*
Wade makes his grand entrance that night at a truly unfortunate timing, because he catches Logan right in the middle of his fifth attempt trying to fix the godforsaken friendship bracelet. He shoves it behind his back, and is immediately reminded of how this entire shitshow started in the first place.
The insufferable grin playing on Wade’s lips tells him that this acute sense of déjà vu is by no means lost on him either. “Need me to work my magic again? No offence, babygirl, but I think there’s a clear winner here when it comes down to being good with our hands,” he purrs, waggling his fingers for emphasis.
“Not another word out of that damned mouth,” Logan warns.
“Ooh, are we roleplaying tonight? Because you can definitely punish me, daddy! I’ve had countless wet dreams about this exact scenario…oh, peanut, you have no fucking clue.”
Logan sets the bracelet down on the coffee table and slams the bedroom door in his face. He can still fucking hear Wade’s barked laugh through the thin ass walls. Groaning to himself, he only perks up when Althea finally yells at the obnoxious dipshit to shut up.
*
Logan wakes to the bracelet laying right where he left it, but admittedly as good as new. Wade is out again, and Althea’s door remains firmly shut, so no one is there to bear witness when he slips it back onto his wrist.
Save for Mary Puppins, the ugly little creature he’s somehow grown to love. She scampers towards him, tongue lolling out and tail furiously wagging at the gentle chiming of those damned bracelet charms. He absent-mindedly reaches a hand out to scratch behind her ears.
It’s not the worst feeling in the world, Logan decides. He could get used to this. Probably already has, given that the weight on his wrist feels like a comforting, familiar one.
He still staunchly refuses to acknowledge it in front of Wade though — that’s where he draws the fuckin’ line.
A completely non-negotiable one.