Archive of Our Own

Bored Spidey is just Sportacus because who else starts doing one-arm handstand push-ups without breaking a sweat?

(Important: what are we doing if Spidey is rocking a mustache under that mask?)

We've seen the bottom half of his face, we know he isn't.

(That's why it's a hypothetical.)

Don't use that tone with me.

You two can't possibly already be arguing.

("Arguing.")

Anyways something something Spidey back to the topic at hand. He's hot or whatever. Wade thinks so.

He stopped once we got close enough.

Can we talk about the weird thing?

Oh, yeah.

Despite what they'll have you believe, Spidey doesn't always make the same thwip hand gesture with his middle and ring finger down. His thumb varies, his pinky varies—sometimes he doesn't even have any fingers extended.

The main hand you think of though, with the two outer fingers and sometimes the thumb, is not only his thing, but it's also the "rock" symbol—thumb and no thumb—and 19 in finger binary—18 no thumb—and also "I love you" in ASL—with thumb. Spidey, as far as we know, does not know that information. Except maybe the thing about rock.

(Spidey sees us. He stops working out or whatever and he waves.)

That's the weird thing. When he greets us, right, he waves his hand at us. Makes sense. But his middle and ring finger are halfheartedly bent. And this isn't a one-off type thing, otherwise the analysis would be unnecessary.

(But it still might be overthinking.)

Yes. While he might have taken up saying hi or bye to us with "I love you" he could also just be telling us to rock on.

(Not to be the sentimental type, but I kind of like the idea of him telling us to rock on. Once a punk, always a punk.)

Punk is not rock.

And I, who am not the sentimental type, think he doesn't like saying "I love you" so he's showing it instead like the tsundere he is.

To each their own.

"What are you thinking about?" Spidey asked.

"Do you want to do something?" Wade asked back.

"Like what?"

"Do you want to go on a date?"

Spidey crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head.

"Like dinner?"

"I was thinking more like the Met, my hungry hippo."

He immediately shook Wade off, like always.

"Spider-Man can't just be seen at a museum, Wade."

(Oh, but when he says out name like that…)

He says our name a lot. Has anyone else noticed that?

(He likes it.)

"They'll think you're just a cosplayer," Wade argued.

"That does happen," Spidey muttered.

"We can go as masked civilians," Wade continued. "Claim you're a fan."

(Would you ask a luchador to take off his mask? Exactly.)

Spidey shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, you're not doing anything. It'll be fun."

"Fine."

"Really?"

Wade expected at least two three more pleas. That's how it usually went. Spidey had to be dragged, he had to thawed and the resistance chipped away. It was like a game. Wade had a set of keys, and he had to check each one to see which opened the lock.

Spidey didn't just nod softly after one poke. Except, he did now.

"I didn't know you liked museums," Spidey said.

"I don't. The Met upholds the idea of the elite while contributing to the idea that poor shouldn't be allowed the same luxuries and, uh, maintains colonialism."

(The hesitation makes it sound like you were reciting buzz words.)

Regurgitating talking points you've heard somewhere else without really understanding what you're saying. Very classy.

I lost my momentum.

(Fake.)

"We can just not go to the Met then," Spidey replied with a shrug.

"No way." Wade placed his hands on Spidey's shoulders, which will surely end up shrugged off by the end of this sentence. "You already agreed to the date."

"You should put your money where your mouth is."

"And you should follow through on your promises, how about that?"

Spidey rolled his head so that we knew he was rolling his eyes.

"Fine, Wade, you win."

(Let's do a Wade counter.)

That's so much work.

Guys, do not ruin this for me. Now it's going to stick out like a sore thumb.

(He never calls us by our names.)

You have names?

(Get a load of this guy.)

"Wade?"

"Yes what? My closet?"

Spidey stepped back—the hands actually just now falling off his shoulders.

"I'll meet you there," he said, but lingered for a beat too long before swinging off.

Maybe he thought it was weird too. There's something in Spidey that Wade recognizes as different. Hell, a date like this? That was already such a leap for them—for him, but Wade won't look a gift horse in the mouth if he doesn't have to.

(Plus, we need to decide what to wear!)

What do you mean we always wear the same thing.

(Boo. I want to look artsy-fartsy.)

Well, we don't want to outdress Spidey. We really don't know his sense of style, do we?

(How exciting!)

Wade had practically emptied out the closet of two separate safe houses when he got a text from Spidey asking what mask he should wear, and that really did make it feel like a date. He raided a third safehouse after that.

All that and what he ended up with as an outfit was: a sweater.

The 3-piece suit was too much.

(The best time to wear a striped sweater is all the time.)

It's not even striped. Also, pants, of course. It's a museum. And our mask. (It's a public museum.)

Anyways, Wade arrives to the Met first, presumably. (Remember, it's not nice to stand someone up or be stood up.) He's standing at the bottom of the steps when Spidey practically materializes behind him.

(Wade does not jump thank you very much.)

They do match in the way Spidey also has his mask on—the normal one.

(And a sweater! He's wearing a sweater! We win. We're the cute matching couple at the museum who talk about how the paintings make them feel.)

Calm down. You're getting ahead of yourself.

(Sorry I just get excited.)

It's okay.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Spidey muttered, keeping his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"It'll be fun!" Wade said back.

He sticks his arm out like a gentleman knowing full well Spidey would not take it. And Spidey does spare a glance at the gesture but nothing else. (No hard feelings.) They still go up the stairs side by side.

They were far from alone. The further up they went, the more people. At the top of the stairs was a line into the front doors. Spidey leaned over to ask:

"Do we have to wait on line?"

"Say that again."

"Do we have to wait on line or did you get tickets already?" Spidey turned his face to look at Wade, tilting his head slightly. "What?"

"You say it funny."

"What do I say funny?"

"Oh a lot of things. But yes, we have to wait in line."

Spidey turned away with a shake of his head.

"Shut up. What'd you call a hoodie?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Bunny hug," Spidey said with a snap.

"I don't even remember saying that, so moot point. You lose, I'm right."

"Yeah yeah sure sure."

"Hoser."

"What?" Before Wade can respond, Spidey added, "Whatever, I'm going to meet you inside."

And then Spidey's gone before Wade can say anything to that. The crowd of people working in his favor.

(He's probably entering as a civilian and doesn't want us to see.)

Valid.

Wade let out a short breath. He's not sure what he expected—he didn't think anything through. He's not even sure how this works, but he went through the front and is met with a metal detector that, surprisingly on Wade's part, does not beep when he walks through it. Immediately after that he ended up in a second line for tickets.

Wade doesn't see Spidey again until he's well into the museum, stranded in the lobby. And it's Spidey who finds him. Again.

"Surprised you got through the metal detector," he said, materializing next to Wade again.

(No, we did not jump, stop asking.)

"I actually have nothing on me," Wade replied—proudly even.

"Seriously?"

"It'd appear so."

Spidey hummed, shrugged half-heartedly.

"Don't believe me?" Wade teased.

"No," Spidey replied, "it's just I seem like the bad civilian now."

"Why? Did you get caught."

Spidey shook his head.

"But I do carry a lighter around. I even used to carry a swiss army knife when I was younger."

"Huh," was all Wade managed to get out.

Young Spidey fascinated him. The way Spidey spoke about his past self with disdain and a hint of shame. Like someone he was happy to never have to be again. And Wade gets it. He's also haunted by this past version of himself even though Wade knows he's talking about an older age than Spidey is.

But there's a person there, of young Spidey. Someone Wade thinks he might like, and he wonders sometimes if he ever makes an appearance in their conversations. This younger, more vibrant, more rebellious teenage dirtbag that, realistically, doesn't give a damn about Wade.

(He sounds like Peter.)

Your idea of Peter anyways.

We've watched those old clips of Spidey's TV debut, of course we have. It's fake, but it's the closest thing we have to put a face to the name. There's even one guys shitty recording of Spidey in the cage with Crusher on that first night New York City would hear the words "Spider-Man."

He was smaller back then—less muscle we mean. And he was so young. It's hard not to notice, but maybe that's just because Wade knows this hardened older version of him. (Honestly, there's such a deep sadness we feel because Spidey is unhappy. There is a fundamental difference between the person on the screen and the one right in front of us that isn't just due to distortion of being in front of a camera. And Spidey hates that guy. That kid.)

It's sentimental bullshit, Wade knows that. He didn't know Spidey back then, but it feels a little wrong. Like loving someone only when they're sad.

It's not something you know until much later. If you loved someone despite them being at their worst, or because of it. Loving someone's potential instead of loving them. It's the illusion of unconditional love.

But there's a person there that doesn't go away. And someone has to love him. And if Spidey won't, Wade will.

"So," Spidey asked, "what are we looking at?"

"Everything," Wade replied simply.

"Everything?"

"Whole thing. Top to bottom."

"Okay." Spidey nodded his head slowly. "Where are we starting?"

Wade shrugged. They both took the time to look at all their options: left, right, and, of course, forward.

"What happens if we go full steam ahead?" Wade asked to the air.

Spidey had wandered not far off, to a lady on her way out. He must have handed her something she dropped if whatever she had clutched to her chest and her smile were anything to go by.

Wade is suddenly aware of the fact he's in a public place where people can see him, and even more so, that he's not in gear. Sure, his face wasn't on full display but there was that always there, creeping insecurity whenever he exposed skin.

(We went a surprisingly long time without that old friend showing up.)

You were distracted by the sweaters.

(Oh blissful distractions. Thou dost return to us.)

"Are you two together?" Wade heard her ask.

She motioned towards Wade and usually he doesn't like being perceived, but she has the demeanor of innocence that kept Wade listening. And the need to hear Spidey, who he thinks replied with:

"You can say that."

(That's not bad at all.)

Well, together means a lot of things. Are we here together? Yes. Are we together? Depends.

(So, I think that's a good answer. It would get the rumor mill going in high school.)

Low bar, friend.

("Friend.")

"She recommends statues by the way," Spidey said when he made his way back to us.

"I love acting on the whims of a stranger. Let's do that then!" Then: "Which way is it?"

"Forward, Wade."

Is that fondness Wade hears in his voice? (Or is it just the sound of the Wade counter going up?)

The first room they enter is Medieval Art, which has statues. And Wade realized he had no idea what statues the lady was referring to, and he's not quite sure if Spidey does either.

(Don't all the rooms have statues?)

I have never been to the Met in my life.

"So," Wade started.

For as many people as there were outside and such, their numbers were no match for the scale of the museum. The further Wade and Spidey walked in, the more it felt like they were the only people here.

"What?" Spidey asked.

"I take you out, I treat you nice–"

"Where is this going?"

"How do I seduce that spider consciousness of yours?"

Spidey faltered. It's hard to believe the question actually took him off guard. (But maybe it was whatever internal answer he gave that did.) He is slowly becoming this version of himself that isn't letting himself run away from the thing he craves. He—in our lovesick mind—wants us. And he—in his anxiety riddled one—fears nothing more than us wanting him. And maybe Spidey is starting to face that head on, loosening himself from biting his own hand.

"I think it's why I like you, actually," Spidey replied softly.

"What?"

Spidey spared a glance but kept a steady pace maneuvering through the gallery. His head mostly turned towards the exhibitions.

"What's that thing you call us?" he asked.

"Heart mates," Wade said.

"Right. And what's that mean?"

"That our hearts match."

They stopped. Spidey spared another glance, longer this time. Then he grabbed Wade's hand and positioned each lax finger until everything but the pointer and middle finger were raised. He lightly placed them just below his own jawline. The comforting beat of a slightly heightened heartrate started pulsing against Wade's fingers.

He could have chosen the farther distance of his wrist, but that would have been, in Wade's mind, more intimate. His wrists are his weapons. His essence.

(Sticky white stuff comes out of them.)

Okay, well. That ruins that, thank you.

"Feel that?" Spidey asked and Wade just nodded. "This isn't me."

The pulse disappeared as Spidey dragged Wade's hand down to his chest, now open palmed. He kept talking:

"I grew this heart all on my own but I'm not the one pumping it– that beat is not natural." He shrugged. "My soul is mine, and then we could talk, but it's kind of an awkward split. Technically, hypothetically, the way I see it, my heart isn't."

"You're complicated," Wade replied. "I think it means metaphorical heart."

Spidey dropped his grip of Wade's hand and they both let it fall. Then he turned his eyes back to the art like they didn't just have a moment.

"How does that work?" he asked.

"Well, in my heart, my emotions, I've decided you're the one for me. And in your heart you must have also made that decision. Ergo heartmate. There's something about us that meshes like gears in a clock."

"I don't know," Spidey said with a shrug, "sounds fake."

"I think it's physical. I mean souls are this outside thing that are put into us and are eternal and made out of stardust and I don't know. But our hearts are formed once, and it's something about the way we grew up and who we are as people that just make us right for each other here and now.

"It's seeped into us deep. Not even love– connection. You know, some type of safety. Humans are pack creatures Spides. I think everyone in the world has more than one soulmate."

He gave us attention again, head tilted in some sort of engagement in the conversation.

"What do you think a soulmate is?" he asked.

"You ever seen Tinker Bell: Secret of the Wings?" The silence was indicative enough. "No? Okay, well there's different interpretations. Sometimes soulmates just mean someone that you match or you're destined to meet lifetime after lifetime and other times it's literally the other half of your soul. Soulmates transcend human bonds. If we incarnate, the soulmate sticks. I feel like there are people you'll meet in every universe, but I don't think your relationship is the same each time unless you're soulmates. You know? Or maybe not even then. I don't know. They might be fallible."

We lose him again, but Wade had also turned away. The topic settled between them, Wade waiting for a rebuttal and forming his potential response in his head.

How many more ways are there to say that they're just right? (How many more ways are there to say that they're not?)

"How far does identity go?" Spidey asked suddenly. He doesn't look at Wade while he spoke. "When do I stop saying that's an alternative universe me? When he has a different name, a different face, a different life–when does it stop being me? If the only thing we have in common is Spider-Man then, I mean, that's not me. What part of me is me?"

(There's something very strange, very weird, not about comics, but about DC and Marvel comics specifically and the handling of their IP. A refusal to let things end—not die, but end—and the inherent complication in storytelling that comes with that. These comics don't tell stories, they detail and represent an idea. And the thing is- okay.

Big in Europe are the Walt Disney Comics. These, just, books of stories—comics—of Donald Duck or Mickey Mouse or other characters of the sort doing things. Like a longstanding serialized cartoon, Looney Tunes if it never ended.

They're not telling stories either, not really. We spend time with the characters, but the difference is that it allows itself to be this consistent serialized world rather than an overarching narrative. But, and I'm going to use Spider-Man here to stay on topic, wants to be both. They muddle themselves like that. They want to write Scooby-Doo and still be treated like Mystery Incorporated.

You think of comics, and you think of one shots and comic strips like Peanuts or Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes in the Sunday paper where nothing ever changes. You think of comics, and you think of comic book ongoing series where things are just a little different but always the same like Josie and the Pussycats—what's that? Not that one? Uncultured—and Archie. You think of comics, and you think of limited series stories like Bone. Maybe you even think of graphic novels like Persepolis because you read it in school.

But you think of comics and you want to say Marvel, say Spider-Man, but what you really want to say is this storyline by this author and this artist in this year because they just don't make themselves that simple.)

"I," Wade hesitated. "don't know. But I… don't think any of them are. I'm not sure an alternate universe counts as the same soul. And it's complicated for us, you know. Cuz we're titles as much as we are people and we have multiverses of us that matter–i.e that there are stories about. We're a collective. There are so many spider-people around that it might as well be its own race you can check off. Do you know why I like you though? And not any of the other Spider-Men and Women out there?"

"I don't know," Spidey muttered in a sort of detached, rhetorical way that Wade ignored. "Are we original?"

"No one's the original. Earth-616 is the main, yeah, and I guess you could argue it's the original and be fought over it, but that's not even us right now. You're an interpretation, characterization even, of your Spider-Man just like I'm an interpretation of Wade Wilson Deadpool. No, I like you because–"

"Because you're supposed to?"

"Also no. I mean, other mes have killed other yous. But I assure you, you can't hold it against me and we're best friends in every universe. Unless we're not but we are. But you also have bigger things to worry about because the idea of your character is literally stuck in a time loop–"

"If you're aware of all these different universes," Spidey interrupted again, "then how come you don't know my identity?"

"Because they're not you. And also cuz they don't let me. The authors. They choose what I do and don't know. I mean, there are rules, you know?"

"Where does that leave"—Spidey motioned between them—"this?"

"Don't get me wrong, you have free will."

"Do I?"

Wade shrugged.

"From what I understand."

"What do you understand?"

"Admittedly, not much. But this isn't a reader's choose your own adventure so, yeah, I think we have free will."

Spidey hummed. He crossed his arms over his chest and got them moving through the museum rooms again. (Wade wasn't really looking.)

"Wade?" Spidey asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you consider us real?"

Wade paused, letting out an involuntary:

"Huh."

"Huh?"

"I guess in a way," Wade said. "I also think this level of meta-awareness is too much for you."

"Don't patronize me."

"I mean– we're different people. Like getting a Type A personality and a Type B personality to do the same task. Some people, me, don't think too hard. Other people, you, care a little too much."

"Fine," Spidey said curtly.

"Aw, don't be like that."

"Whatever."

"I'm sowwy," Wade said, dragging out the "y" longer than he had to.

"I'm more offended that you think I'd lose it."

"That's not what I said. You'd just be different, and… I don't know."

Spidey has always been nice to us about our "delusions." (Enlightenment.) But nice is very different from understanding. He's never understood Wade, just smiled and nodded like a when a toddler does anything really. In some ways Spidey can't understand us, and in other ways, deep down, he might get it more than he thinks he does.

Still, if Spidey turns around and starts believing the things Wade said and saying he's a character, then they're going to lose something in their dynamic. (So really this is a gatekeep-y and selfish act of preservation more than anything.)

"Maybe you're right anyways," Spidey said with a shrug.

"That's the spirit!"

"Can I ask you a weird question though?"

"Please do."

He paused for a moment before asking:

"Do you think that this level of awareness takes away from your humanity?"

Not the question Wade thought he would ask.

(What question did we think he would ask?)

Something more like "why don't we make out more you're so smart and sexy and cool?"

You are not a serious person.

(That's why we've never wondered this before. Have we?)

"To know everything," Spidey continued, "doesn't that position you as godlike?"

"Well I don't know everything. I know that I know I don't know, you know?"

(Like a redacted document.)

"That's worse I think. But for you to also be this effectively immortal being also puts you in a uniquely higher power position."

"Don't give me a crisis now."

(Or a big head.)

"You're right, I probably couldn't handle it."

There's a version of Spider-Man that has driven a man to suicide after just a few conversations.

Somehow the next room they wandered into was completely devoid of people. (Fuck this exhibition then, huh?) There were statues though.

"Can I ask you a question now?" Wade asked.

"I can't stop you."

"If you could do your life again, knowing what you know now, would that change anything? Honestly? If you had access to a book of your whole life, would you be able to read it?"

Spidey hummed.

"Those are two separate questions."

"You don't hate being Spider-Man, right?"

"I hate that it wasn't a choice more than anything. If I had a choice– if I could choose– God who am I kidding? If I could choose, I'd still be Spider-Man. Despite everything."

Wade leaned into Spidy's space, garnering a glance his way instead of at the exhibit. (He's such a nerd.)

By actually paying attention to the art in a museum? Yeah, who does that.

(Oh we're looking at art.)

"Well," Wade was saying, "you had to meet me of course."

"Oh yeah of course."

There's a small hint of amusement to his voice and a shake of his head—probably an eye roll somewhere under the mask too—that protects Spidey from being genuine. But we know.

Even when he turned away and kept walking slowly through the room. Never going far enough to leave Wade behind—as if he wasn't always at his heels.

"If I did anything different," Spidey continued, "would we still be 'heart mates'?"

"I don't know." Wade said with a shrug. "But what ifs don't concern us. Except…"

"What?"

(Get ready for this absolutely smooth transition.)

"Well, I've thought about how we'd have sex–"

Spidey snapped his head towards Wade.

"Why do you talk about these things in public?" he admonished.

(Cue wide shot of empty room.)

"You have enhanced sense," Wade continued unperturbed—he had expected no other reaction, "but also, lucky you, enhanced sensitivity. Meaning you probably only last about 3 seconds."

Spidey covered his face with his hands, muttering something or the other about how Wade should not be speaking, but he kept going:

"I figured I can't peg you."

"Wade, please."

(Do we take pleasure in this? A little bit.)

Now when Spidey walks it is definitely a couple steps farther from us.

"Hear me out. I figure your heightened sense would just make that wildly uncomfortable for you and that's not sexy. So you'd have to peg me–"

"Wade."

At that point Spidey figured closer was better lest Wade raised his voice. He was two sentences away from just covering Wade's mouth.

"Listen! You'll peg me but in a strap. Genuis right? What do you think?"

Spidey kept his face covered, his body almost completely turned away from Wade.

"I could just have normal sex with you," he mumbled out, unconfidently.

"I don't think you could and that's ok. We don't have to play the rules of sex normative culture–"

Before Wade could finished his sentence, Spidey sharply lifted his head from his hands with:

"Says the man who's brainstorming how we would have sex."

He groaned and let his hands support his head again.

"You don't want to have sex with me," Wade stated.

"No," Spidey replied before Wade could close his mouth.

"Which is fine because I'm an ally–"

"Wade I'm not," Spidey hesitated, holding his breath searching for a word before, defeatedly, letting out a breath. "I don't even know what it is you think I am."

"I just think the A in Amazing Spider-Man is part of a spectrum."

Spidey cocked his head to the side and Wade could physically feel the squint.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you're a lot of things to be honest."

A noise escapes from the back of Spidey's throat. Something between a whine, a hum, a groan, maybe a growl-

(Oh yeah just throw the whole dictionary out there.)

Moral of the story: he does not approve.

"Why do you like labels so much?" Spidey asked.

"Most people find them helpful," Wade offered.

"Well, I don't want them."

"Are we finally having that gender talk?"

"Why should you give the power to words to dictate how you do or don't feel? I don't need a descriptor to be."

"This feels like the gender thing."

"God what is there to say? I'm just…" Spidey waved his hand, floundering for a word.

(20 bucks on it being "me.")

"A for amalgamation," he finished.

(Fuck!)

"See, it's a good letter."

Pay up bucko.

"It's an amazing letter! It's the first in the alphabet."

(Surely I can pay you another way.)

"It's the first letter of alphabet."

Will you two shut up?

"I don't like you."

"Now you're just a liar."

There's a pause, or rather, Spidey doesn't respond immediately. He has his arms crossed over his body and he's keen on staring somewhere other than Wade—a small section of the floor has his attention.

There's always an element of uncertainty on if Wade will "go too far." Push too far in a conversation and Spidey is no stranger to shutting down and leaving. There's always this level of Wade driving the pick-up truck. Of him reading the map and choosing the roads and all Spidey can do is point at the rest stops when he's hungry or needs to pee. And they both know that if Wade doesn't take that turn eventually, Spidey can and will jump out, any locked door or uneven concrete be damned.

"What difference does it make?" Spidey asked eventually.

So, to say it's a surprise that Spidey stays on this track, is not the right word, but it's instead a sort of testament to… something.

(Trust you could say. Or on the other side, defeat.)

Something else.

"You don't want to be touched," Wade said simply, softly. "They have names for people like you."

"It's, like, fine, Wade."

He's just as soft. Shrugging his shoulders and still looking away. There's something there.

(Defeat. It feels like defeat.)

No, it's not that. It's a vulnerability that doesn't come easy. It's something we exposed, yes, prematurely, sure, but there's a layer of film over it. Like the part between the shell of an egg and it's insides.

(You can't say it's choice. To be pushed and pushed until you say something is not choice.)

We weren't pushing per say- I mean we've down worse. We were leading with a slack leash, we were pulling a thread.

(And we ruin it.)

"When's the last time you had sex?" Wade asked.

"I'm not telling you that."

Spidey shook off whatever tone was there before. He looked at us. Then to the side at some statue and then to the opening for the next room.

They will be on the move again, and Spidey will keep his arms crossed over his chest and an even pace.

"Not even with someone else," Wade said. "You and your hand."

"Stop."

"Maybe a toy."

"Shut up."

"A doll."

"Wade!"

Wade gets Spidey's full attention again.

"Have you had sex at least once in the past year?"

And Wade lost it just as fast.

"We're not talking about this."

Spidey walked faster when he's avoiding a conversation.

"Have you ever been with a man?"

"Wade. Please."

And stopped every time he needed to emphasize something.

They stared at one another, both defiant in their own right. Spidey at the line of questioning, and Wade at the defiance itself.

"What?" Wade asked. "What's wrong? We're in the exposed boobs aisle for Christ's sake."

Spidey did take the second to look at the surrounding room of whatever exhibit they had wandered into, especially the adeptly placed naked statue in the space between them.

"Those," he hesitated, "are, yeah. No, you're right. But it's artistic."

"I don't see it."

"Well what type of art do you like?"

"I…" it's Wade's turn to hesitate, "don't know."

He himself also took the moment to, for once in this trip, actually look at what was on display. (We've really been focused on Spidey more than anything. Museums aren't our scene for a reason.)

This stuff, fine art, doesn't inspire Wade in any way. He feels nothing looking at statues other than "I can't do that." Old artifacts evoke nothing more than a "shit, that's old." And don't get him started on the so-called greats from a time long past.

"That's a good question," Wade continued. "I guess I like the stuff that's not artistic."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to think about how something makes me feel, I just want to be shown something that I wouldn't have seen otherwise in a way I wouldn't know to look at. But I want to look at something you know? Like if you're showing me a photo of a mangy dog, just show me the mangy dog so I can be like 'cool, a mangy dog.'"

"Like, um…"

"Like photography from a high schooler who's never taken photos seriously before, but they saw something sick that they wanted to snap so they could show their friends"

"Realism essentially?"

Wade shrugged.

"I guess if that's what you call it." (The lightbulb goes off.) "See what you just did there? You used a label when I didn't."

"That's different," Spidey dismissed, shaking his head.

"How?"

"Art genres don't have complex or changing feelings."

"No, but the person who made it does. And maybe they don't want to label their work."

"So they shouldn't have to. You're agreeing with me."

Wade opened his mouth a good couple seconds before saying:

"Okay I see how you got me there."

Remember that thing about Wade being pushy? (Yeah.) Well this would be the time when other people might think to stop. (Not us though.) Exactly.

"Listen boss–" Wade started.

"Boss?"

"My bad, listen sweetheart"—Spidey let out a small noise of dissent that Wade ignored this time—"let's cut to the chase: do you even get turned on?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What butters your rolls?"

Spidey took in a breath, but faltered.

"You don't know?" Wade goaded.

"Shut up."

"Don't hurt yourself, baby."

"Pheromones?"

"We'll keep you away from certain people."

(Who's pheromones would win if you put Spider-Woman and Daken in a room together?)

"I don't know. I– I like when people like me?"

"You don't like when I like you though."

"Because you're…" he motions vaguely, "you."

"Way to make a guy feel special."

"What's the point of all this, Wade?"

"I want to know what gets your bits excited," Wade said with a shrug.

He's met with a scoff and:

"That's disgusting."

"It's biology. You love nerd shit! You mentioned pheromones!"

"No, but it's– this is, like, dirty."

(Says the web guy.)

"So, you're a germaphobe," Wade stated more than asked.

"No, I'm not a germaphobe. Most people gag at, like, slugs and– and residue."

"Who brought up slugs? You were the kid who poured salt on slugs, didn't you?"

"What do you like?"

(Notice how he avoided that?)

"Nice asses."

Almost instinctually, Spidey dropped his arms and grabbing his hands behind his back like some sort of covering act. (Our boy is modest.)

"Don't look at me when you say that," Spidey mumbled. "You make me wish I had one of those costumes with a skort like the magical girls."

"Just wear the skort coward."

There's the slightest drop in his shoulders.

"Did you not know you could do that?" Wade asked.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Genius level intellect everybody."

"Shut up it doesn't work."

"What?" Wade stifled his laugh as he spoke. "Are you playing dress up in your head?"

Spidey, in all seriousness, replied:

"It looks weird."

"Are you trying to tell me magical girls—the magical girls—are poorly designed?"

"I'm telling you they don't wear full bodysuits."

Wade had to roll his eyes. (Our boy is cute.)

"Well," Wade said, "you're wearing clothes right now."

"And it somehow still doesn't stop you."

"Do you find yourself sexy?"

Wade missed whatever the reaction to that is, and that's really the problem with having serious conversations with Spidey. There's so much information that gets lost. No micro expressions to go off to tell him he was hot or cold.

But the silence had to be sign enough of a negative answer.

"Aw baby–" Wade started.

"Don't 'baby' me," Spidey interrupted, maybe a little nasty, "I hate that pet name."

"You've never hated it before."

"Yeah well–" he held his breath for a second, let it out, and started again in a nicer tone, "I'm uncomfortable and feel like lashing out and that was the only thing I could think of."

Spidey stared at their feet, and it's like that reminded him that they were supposed to be walking through a museum. His steps are slow and small at first.

"I love this self-aware you."

"I've always been self-aware."

"Sure. Self correcting then."

But Spidey found the tempo again, and Wade followed close behind.

"Do you really not like when I call you baby?" Wade asked.

Spidey shrugged, prompting:

"You gotta tell me these things man."

"I don't gotta tell you anything." He breaks the sentence with a huff, separating the kneejerk from the real response. "I wouldn't tell you to call me it, but I guess I don't really care. I hate it when you act all nice and make me feel bad."

A stupid, amused smile slapped itself onto Wade's face. (That's our boy.)

"Do you like any of the names I call you?" Wade asked next.

"Why do you ask? You've never asked before."

"You know me. Shoot first, ask questions later. So?"

Spidey shrugged.

"I don't know. But they don't bother me."

"Good."

It was stupid for Wade to feel pleased with himself. He can't even tell you why this made him happy because even to him, the pet names meant nothing. (Because why use more words when you can use less?) Still, here he felt weirdly special. Like using a compliment no one has before. You don't win anything, and it doesn't mean anything, but there's that undeniable feeling of pride. An inside joke that it felt like no one could take away from him. Because it didn't mean anything.

(This is confusing.)

Like I said, it was stupid. It's not original or unique or special and yet Wade wasn't going to let this win, if you can even call it that, go.

"You know," Wade started, "you always call me by my name nowadays."

They weaved in and out of these comfortable and uncomfortable conversations—mainly due to Wade repeatedly pulling them back to the latter.

"I call everyone by their name."

"Yeah, and it shows a lack of respect for the time and care put into creating an alias." He faked a scoff. "That's why no one cares about your hyphen."

"Yeah, my bad. Sandman had to think real hard to come up with that."

"Says Spider-Man."

"Fine, Deadpool, you could just ask."

(You've made a grave error.)

"No 'Pool," Spidey continued, "no D.P., just Deadpool from now on."

"Okay, well, let's not be dramatic now."

"No you're right, Deadpool, this is what you wanted. Now is that a Mr. Deadpool?"

"Please, Mr. Deadpool was my father. Call me Wade."

Spidey laughed. A good chuckle or two but it's contagious. The way the grin settles on Wade's face like it's a natural expression.

And Wade remembers that he is completely, irrevocably, head over heels in love. (How corny.) Yeah. How corny.

"Let's go to the MoMA," he said suddenly.

Spidey looked at Wade, tilting his head slightly.

"What happened to going through this place top to bottom?"

"I'm easily distracted."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Come on!"

Spidey shook his head and walked past him, bumping shoulders as he did so.

"You couldn't find the exit if you tried," he teased.

"Lead the way lover."

Spidey just hummed noncommittedly.

"Isn't alliteration beautiful?" Wade rambled. "Lesbian lover- great. Bi beloved? Okay, I guess. Can't think of anything else though. Kind of obsessed with lesbian lover."

Are we MJ and Gwen shippers or MJ Black Cat truthers?

You want to get metaphorical?

(I love metaphorical.)

Wade really hasn't moved at all. He's still the same distance behind Spidey that he was before this whole "sex talk." I mean, realistically, the goal here was to…

(Gain a deeper understanding of-)

Those are fluff words and you know it. At the end of the day, Wade wants to know two things: 1) could Spidey like him and 2) does Spidey like him. Is he any closer to answering even one of those?

(Well, those are the wrong questions. You're thinking about it wrong.)

Enlighten me.

(I like Glory Grant, Em Jay earth-65's—the counterpart to 616's Mary Jane "MJ" Watson—canonical girlfriend/ex-girlfriend. What I don't like is Em Jay's status of also being Gwen's love interest with an active crush on that universes Spider-Vigilante despite being in a relationship. Why I don't like it is because it positions Glory, a black woman, to fall into the same pitfalls of many black love interests in media, which are ignored in favor of the white characters. Additionally, let's talk about how it's a little racist that Glory was never dignified the same female side character treatment of being a Spider-Man love interest? They're just friends though they have called each other hot—was that supposed to be flirting? Am I asking too much from the 1970s?)

I'm not going to even pretend to defend racism, but I will say that there is this kind of retroactive effort of positing her like a love interest even though she never was. The fact that she's in The Mary Jane's, a band comprised entirely of old love interest except her, and her feature in a love interest pin up page from the 80s kind of give the vibes of… cowardice? They want us to believe she was a love interest, because she's a woman he became friends with, but without doing any of the work, because she's black.

(Can I say something? I'm going to say it: we gotta do better today. Why are the only options for POC, largely darker skinned, characters to 1) be in an interracial relationship where the audience will resent them for "getting in the way of the main couple" and get treated like the disposable love interests to the end-game white love interest or 2) not given a thought out love interest or even one at all slash pairing them with the only other character who looks like them not due to any chemistry but simply because they're both the same race?)

Hollywood is not your friend. Character casting is never done for you. I'm sorry. Even when it's 1997 Cinderella with Brandy.

(There are critiques to be made of the decisions being made with the portrayal of certain characters in media as well as the fandom interactions with said characters. Another big example: Miles Morales.

That's all I'm saying.)

So, how does this relate to, you know, this?

(Well, not to self-flagellate but this is a MLM fanfiction with two white men and zero female characters because the canonical female love interest of a widely portrayed to be straight character has been written out in favor of a male relationship which, to people keeping count, begs the question about the fetishization of gay men.

At what point can we start to critique our own contributions, wittingly or unwittingly, to the problems of society because vacuums do not exist and fandom spaces have power, not only at times on the canon but also the people who inhabit those spaces. That's why people write headcanons that represent them. Anyone can be under the mask, right?

And sometimes you just look at yourself and think shit. I mean, we're the diversity hire here by being the guy who would, hypothetically, not on screen, kind of consider being with another dude not as a joke, you know?

Real talk, and I'm not even going to bring up the man thing because we already know, but why have we also never had a black love interest? Emily was right there even if she was married and in our head, but there's been weirder. I mean not to check boxes but I mean it's cool that we've been around the block and the industry realizes white people aren't the only options and it's got totally nothing to do with the fact that light skinned Asians and even Latinas can be treated as just exotic white people, but not dark-skinned people.)

Don't call people exotic.

(That was sarcasm.

I miss diversity. This is legitimately why racebending exists which is another topic entirely. Go ahead and draw Hatsune Miku in your culture.

But also, sorry, not a hot take, but make characters of color to begin with and stop setting them up for failure by just changing their race later.)

Those are two sentences to put one after another.

(I will keep talking, don't tempt me.

I just- characters of color deserve better love stories and better writing in general. There is simply no excuse. Write better love stories. Write better queer stories. Write better women.

Just write better period.

All this soapboxing to say: we're gathered here today because we want something from Spidey. And what we want from him, is his complexity. Complexity is the point. It's not either or, it's not two questions. Simple is beautiful, but don't be afraid of complexity. Of something different.

We're not going to get a straight answer, we never will. We shouldn't expect one and we shouldn't want one because that's not something he's ever going to give us because I don't think that's something he can give himself.

That's the first thing he said to us. And can I be honest?)

That's all you've been doing.

(Are we really so simple? We don't even know what we want from Spidey's affection. We're not gunning for sex at the end of this. We just… want to know.

How much more do we have?)

A bit.

(We should probably tune back in.)

Yeah, you're probably right.

(Thank you.)

Wade and Spidey were sitting across from each other in the MoMA's cafe because Spidey, get this, got hungry. They were sharing cheesecakes—one and a half for each because, for context, Spidey had told Wade he couldn't handle the embarrassment of asking for more.

Spidey had his mask rolled up over his nose and like this, clothed and all, if you covered the top half of his face it'd feel like Wade was eating with- (Peter.)

A civilian.

You know those quizzes that are like "identify the celebrity by the mouth?"

Yeah.

I don't know if I could do that for Spides.

He's kind of got no clues. No facial hair or freckles or birthmarks or scars around his lip line where he bit down too hard as a child. Not even an identifiable way of resting his mouth except it's maybe a little downturned.

"You do have scars, right?" Wade asked abruptly.

Spidey shrugged.

"Just the ones I guess my healing factor considers to be, uh, part of me?"

"Healing factors aren't alive." He paused. "Are they?"

"I know but,"—he waves his hand—"that's how the body works. It makes decisions. You know how molting spiders can regenerate their legs?"

"They can?"

"They lose a leg, and the body decides I can either regenerate this leg or keep growing—the answer is usually regen."

Wade hummed.

"Explain your healing factor to me."

"Okay, my bones and bruises heal faster, but if I lose it, I lose it. But I have a sort of–"

"Status quo?"

"Right. My body knows what it's supposed to look like and it does everything within its limited power to maintain that. The problem is I don't molt. If I lose a limb, it's gone. It's detached from me and now a foreign object and it's not going to stitch itself back or regrow, and I think I'd have the scar of where it should be because that's part of me. When I cut my palm it can heal that and it's not part of me, so the cut goes away. Does that make sense? That's how I think of it."

"But if you lost a limb and molted, then it'd come back?"

"If I could molt."

"Which you can't."

"It's been done to me, but I've never done it, no." Spidey shrugged. "The only way I can think of is if I hurt myself like really badly. Or maybe if I went to sleep for a while." He paused for a moment. "Maybe I could do it myself…"

"Do what?"

"A bootleg molt."

"Please don't, I'm scared."

Spidey shook his head.

"You always think my experiments will end in disaster."

"Yes. Yes I do."

Spidey's mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. Those are the things we missed behind a mask.

(And Spidey seemed to be in the habit of sucking his lips in so he could gnaw at them. Maybe it's got to do with how he's always hungry.)

Maybe it's how we pick him out of a line up.

Maybe he just needs to calm the fuck down.

"I think you'd like BDSM," Wade said then, causing what was staring at Wade to turn into Spidey staring at his food and the fight against a smile won.

"Public, Wade."

"You would though! Like ropeplay."

(A.K.A Mcfarlane's barely disguised fetish.)

Don't kink shame.

(Us? Kink shame?)

"I honestly think–" Wade cut himself off. "I don't want to say you're missing out that's, like, homophobic."

"What?"

You meant aphobic.

(Acephobic?)

Sexnormative?

(Okay, so only one of these words doesn't have the little red squiggly line underneath it.)

"I mean there's non-sexual rope play," Wade continued, "and I guess what I'm saying is there are things that I think you would like if you liked them, you know?"

"Well, if I like them then of course I like them?"

"I meant–" Wade bit his tongue and let out a low hum instead. "Actually, any way I put it would sound bad."

Spidey hummed too, sarcastically though.

"Maybe because this doesn't concern you?"

"No, it does, trust me."

"How?" Spidey asked with a huff, dropping his shoulders and letting his head roll to a tilt.

He was frowning pretty deeply.

"Cuz we're partners, duh." Wade motioned between them. "This is the open communication part of the relationship."

"It sounds a bit pushy to me."

"I would never."

"You kinda did."

"When?"

Spidey copied Wade's motioning.

"The fact we're talking about this at all."

"We have to talk about it."

"No, Wade, we don't because we're not in a physical relationship."

"Well, cuz we're still in the negotiation phase."

"I- okay. I'm not comfortable discussing my body with you."

"Okay." Wade said simply. Then: "Why not?"

"There's no why," Spidey's tone is exasperated, "I don't have to explain anything to you."

"You don't, I was just curious."

There's a beat of silence. Spidey had his arms crossed on top of the table. (There he goes again biting the inside of his lips.) Underneath, Wade had his legs extended so they encroached on Spidey's space. When he tilted his foot, he'd bump into a leg. So, he tilted his foot.

"Do men make you uncomfortable?" Wade asked.

"No," Spidey answered without a moment of hesitation.

"I meant like, males. Specifically male anatomy. In sexual situations."

"When you say it like that, yes, actually."

"What about women?"

"What about women?" Spidey repeated, changing the emphasis to "about."

"Do they make you uncomfortable?"

"You can't let things go, can you?"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Let me put it this way: unless we're actively in a relationship, which we're not, I don't care… about… you."

Wade nodded, then stood quickly. He stuck his hand out.

"Gimme your hand."

"Why?"

"I wanna hold hands."

Spidey stared for a moment, tapping his finger against his arm. Then, with a long breath and a pull of his mask back over his face, he placed his hand in Wade's.

(Wade's own mask found its way back down.)

"My lead this time," Wade said while Spidey stood.

The response was just a noncommittal hum.

They weave their way through the museum, Wade glanced at every wall and read most of the signs looking for something specific that might not even be here.

It's photography he's looking for. Not any photography, but people photography. And eventually, he finds it.

He dragged the two of them to one of the walls of photos, pointed to a model, and asked:

"Do you like her?"

Spidey glanced at Wade, to the photo, and back to Wade.

"She's fine."

Wade pointed to another model on the wall.

"How about him?"

"Fine."

"Do you prefer someone more in the middle?"

"Wade," Spidey said, peeling his hand out from Wade's to cross his arms across his chest, "they're all fine."

"If you were in a room with both of them"—he pointed to both of the models with his now extra free hand—"which are you leaving with?"

"What?"

"Answer the question. Assuming they have identical pleasant personalities and vibes and you had to choose on physical aesthetics only."

"Why are you like this?"

"Answer the question!"

Spidey rolled his head and stared at the photos. And kept staring.

"You're really thinking about it huh?" Wade asked.

There's more pause between his question and Spidey's answer of:

"I'd pick you."

"Adorable, but I'm not an option."

"You're always an option you're–" he stopped himself short. "You're Wade. I'd leave the room with you."

"I… Um. Okay." Wade shook his head. "Right okay, but if you weren't you– like if you were you, but– okay I mean if I wasn't–" (Get it together Wade.) "Okay, so hypothetically, what would you do?"

Spidey just stared at him.

"You know what?" Wade said. "Forget this."

"I don't get it," Spidey muttered.

"Get what?"

"I don't… understand being attracted to someone's physical looks and that's it. Like I get it, someone's pretty and you think wow she's pretty I wonder if she'll look at me."

"Okay we're getting somewhere."

"But you can't make decisions based on that."

Wade nodded slowly.

"But you do care, right? Or do you like men?"

"I like women."

"Good for you! I asked about men though."

Spidey shrugged and shook his head in the time it took for him to sigh.

"I don't understand how there's really a difference, uh, emotionally," he decided to respond. "If I like a woman and everything about her is duplicated onto a guy then…"

"I can't tell if your ambivalence is from equal attraction to both or neither." (Perhaps just pure inexperience.) "Physically they're different you know?"

"Not really."

Wade paused. He still didn't know if that response came from equal attraction to both or neither.

"I'm nothing like some petite woman even if everything else is the same though."

"Yeah, but we're not too similar either."

"Okay," Wade said carefully, "what? You're agreeing with me."

"No, I'm saying everyone's different, but in the same way. Mostly."

"But, hypothetically, you see how we are less different than I am to a girl."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Let's sit down for this."

There's a bench a couple of steps away from them which was facing a blank wall with a movie projected onto it. They ignored that and just sat facing each other.

"When you're, uh," Spidey waved his hand until his muscles tightened, and he covered his face with his hands. "Do we have to talk about this?" he asked.

"You started it."

"It wouldn't matter if I was a boy or a girl."

"Okay. But I'm pan. Omni depending on who you ask."

"But you either like or dislike how I act because, I mean, there's no difference for– I mean… if you– if your…"

"Dick. Cock. Penis. Chose one."

"I'm an adult. I'm just being courteous of any pious grandmas listening."

(There is no one in earshot mind you.)

"The only pious grandmas is you. Let's try a simpler topic: kissing."

"Thats my point though: people's mouths are the same as people so instead you think of who they are."

Wade opened his mouth to respond. Then closed his mouth. Slowly his head tilted to the side. He was a little lost for words.

(Spidey is that girl you meet who finds girls intrinsically pretty and she doesn't hate all men she just doesn't find most of them attractive because, she says, she only likes a specific type of guy she finds once every couple of years if she's lucky. But she is straight and she knows she'll marry a guy because that's what girls do but you know that if one of her girl friends asked her out she would say yes because girls are so pretty and they'd be perfect together but she's also never been with a person in any capacity and is a little sheltered in the way that sex is something invented for TV shows she doesn't watch and she doesn't realize people don't see dating as another type of friendship and she doesn't really understand that people can't just choose to be with a certain gender. And she is straight.)

"Okay," Wade said slowly. "For the record, when's the last time you kissed someone?"

"A while ago I guess. Do resuscitation methods count?"

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss is not the word I'd used."

"What is?"

"I don't know Wade. I don't get…" he hesitated.

"Horny?"

"I hate that word. I hate the way the h and the o sound together. And anyways, that's not it."

Wade let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Not in front of the children!"

"Don't act shocked."

"Oh. Right. Spiders have a biological need to reproduce."

"That makes me sound gross."

"What word were you looking for?"

"I don't know."

Wade gave him a moment to think. (Not that we thought this elusive word would click anything into place.)

"Kissing is weird," Spidey continued instead.

"Why?"

"I feel like it doesn't always mean that much. Putting my mouth against your mouth that is."

"That's why people stick their tongue down your throat instead."

"Bleh," is all Spidey had to say to that.

"So," Wade started, "you think everyone is the same person whether they're a boy or a girl and so it, what, is down to who's funnier?"

"I mean, I know the dimorphic differences between men and women I just think at the end of the day everyone is a man and isn't human compatibility about more than… you know?"

"Well technically everyone's a woman first and then the shit kicks in."

"I meant man as in human."

"Right."

The conversation lulled again. Spidey fiddled with his hands.

"You know, uh…" he hesitated.

"What?" Wade goaded.

"When I think of spiders I think of girls."

"Huh?"

"But that's funny because we have opposite chromosomes." (Nerd alert.) "I mean humans are XX and XY while arachnids are X0 and XX. Like males start as female and get changed into male by the Y addition, but spiders are male because of the absence of the additional X chromosome. Does that make sense?"

"Gonna be completely honest, I'm not following."

"Yeah, I don't know either." Spidey shrugged. "I think if we were spiders, you'd be the girl."

(Oh, I love it when he does this. Quickly guys, what response?

Y: That's woman to you.

B: How heteronormative of you.

A: Interesting reaction.

X: …)

Let's go with A.

"Interesting reaction. Is that because you see femininity as below you?"

(Ouch. Spidey will remember that.)

The misleading responses strikes again.

"No, Wade."

(And you can't forget the doubling down!)

"That's really why you use he as a gender-neutral pronoun. Internalized misogyny much?"

"I was saying because you're bigger than me and that's how sexual dimorphism works in spiders."

(Damn if we keep up like this, we won't get a full heart meter which is required for the good ending.)

Saboteurs. The lot of you.

"You could just say you want to impregnate me, it's okay."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Just out of curiosity," Wade continued unperturbed, "what do you know about omegas?"

Spidey tilted his head slightly.

"Use it in a sentence."

"In some fictional society's, omega, beta, and alpha categories might be assigned alongside sex."

"Yeah," he said with a nod, "I know the book."

"I had feeling– not the book babe."

Spidey's head tilted even further.

"Dominance hierarchy isn't fictional Wade."

"Is that the scientific name for A/B/O dynamics?"

"Insects, Wade. Bees, wasps, ants."

Wade straightened.

"Okay so when one person loves two people very much, they place them in this–"

"I will stop you right there," Spidey interrupted. "I don't want to know."

"We gotta work on your Internet literacy my love."

"I don't want to know what's on whatever side of the Internet you inhabit."

"Don't you ever read?"

"No, not really."

"Wait, seriously?"

Spidey shrugged.

"When would I read? Yes, seriously. You do?"

"Yes?"

"What?"

"Does that make me sound hotter to you?" Wade teased.

"It makes me confused. I didn't know you read. When?"

"The voices in my head don't sleep when I do, so he's been studying the medium."

(I like it when the narrator thinks I'm smart.)

Spidey scoffed.

"Okay, well that's cheating."

"No it's not. It's in my brain."

"Uh huh. And on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being always and 1 being never, how often do you have evidence that you've done things that you do not remember doing?"

"I see what you did there. But that implies you've tested for dissociation before. Checkmate."

(Can we make out again?)

Again?

He's confused.

(You're right it was more like 3rd base.)

How does that even work?

"What's that face?" Spidey asked.

"The voices in my head are getting more action than us."

"Is this your weird way of flirting again?"

(Nothing like learning philosophical debates to impress your crush.)

You're so sick.

(In like a meet me tonight way?)

God what else do you two get up to while I'm sleeping? Off camera development? Really? You're going to do that to the readers?

He's obviously lying. You're going to trust this guy?

"Earth to Wade."

(Jokes on you, this is turning me on.)

He has problems.

Is this how Spidey and I sound to literally everyone else? Oh my god.

"Wade, I'm going to kiss you."

"Promise?"

Spidey shook his head, more in concern than in answer to the question.

"What is going on up there?"

"Aw, do I worry you?"

That results in a much longer pause than Wade anticipated. And he doesn't even get an answer at the end of it.

"Okay Wade." Spidey started. "Let's say you date someone and they say–"

"I'm dating you and you say–"

"'I can't give you what you want from me.' Are you okay with that?"

"Of course I'm okay with that, what am I a rabbit?"

"But?"

"No buts I mean– okay. Do I like sex? Yes. Do I want to have sex with the people I like? Usually. And I going to die? Probably not."

Spidey hummed, playing with his hands in his lap again.

(I think we're talking about sex and he's talking about something else.)

Maybe. Or he's talking generally about anything that's missing.

"Isn't it sad?"

"No it's not sad. What are we talking about? What's supposed to be sad?"

"I mean being in a relationship with someone where you have to seek out what's missing."

"If you make an agreement you're not seeking out. It's just if it happens it doesn't have to ruin us. But if there's no agreement that's cheating and it's shitty."

"I couldn't…" Spidey shook his head. "I'd rather give it up, you know, before that."

"We could… I don't know, do a lego build together and I'd count that as just as deeply intimate. I fucking love legos."

"I like them too." Then he shrugged. "I'm not a whole thing Wade. You're always going to want to find something else."

"Yeah, but, I'm not a civilian. I'm not stressing over my boyfriend disappearing the same time trouble shows up. I'm on the winning side."

Wade tilted his head, making sure to stay within Spidey's line of sight no matter where he looked.

"And I don't love the mask," he continued. "Gee Spides, we have dinner and there's this blank face staring at me. Do you know how strange it feels? I have to guess what you think of me and it's not this sexy mystery. I pull up my mask and I know you can see my skin and I have to believe that you're not making a face. I have to think you smile at me when I show up and you roll your eyes when I do something amusedly stupid. I have to think your face scrunches when you're worried about me and when you squint it's not out of hate. I listen to your tone and your hums and watch the way your head moves, but the mask is a shield I can't bypass."

"You resent it," Spidey started rather than asked.

"I understand it. Cuz I'm wearing one too. And you don't see how my eyes look, or the little things face does when I don't mean it to." Wade scooched closer. "You gotta remember Spides, I'm butt ugly."

"Wade–"

"The only thing I can still provide someone is that I put out."

Spidey shifted, sitting straighter to fight Wade, but it just made it so that they were positioned in front of each other even closer.

"That's not true. You're romantic."

"I think we're in the same boat my love."

The fight gives way to confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"My romance needs to follow through. Yours needs to be shown. And people may decide for us that the bedroom is where that should take place. I'll do it, maybe you'll even do it, but the idea of consummation as proof of love is an illusion." Wade hesitated for a second. "I don't even know if you can love me, and I guess I'm okay with that too. As long as you can't love anyone else either. But even then."

He ended the sentence with a shrug. Spidey's confusion from before had also left him. His shoulder's had long dropped from when he straightened, and every muscle seemed to be lax.

"I'm tired." (And he looked it. Sounded it.) He worked himself up the longer he spoke. "I'm tired of trying to figure this all out. I'm tired of having a secret identity around you I'm tired of you calling me the wrong name and hating me–"

"I don't hate you–"

"I don't know Wade. I don't know anything. Any question you ask me, I can't answer."

Spidey brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them against him and dropping his head.

"I messed up," he muttered.

"Why?"

Wade leaned closer in an attempt to get Spidey to look at him. He didn't.

"Because I always do. I always find a way to be in the worst position imaginable."

"Hey."

Spidey sighed, lifting his head to rest on one knee while the other lowered.

Wade felt the small smile on his lips, and without second thought he lifted his mask up to his nose so Spidey could see it too even if all he stared back at are two white, oversized lenses.

He took one of Spidey's hands, which came easily, and placed it on the side of his neck, taking up the space between Wade's jawline and clavicle.

"You know why I like you?" he asked. "And not any other of the other Spider-Men and Women out there?"

"Don't tell me," Spidey replied softly.

Because at the end of everything we know how this is going to end. Poorly. And we've probably already said too much that's going to haunt Spidey. And he's already stuck around too long for us to forget him.

(I figured it out.)

Figured what out?

(Our mistake. Spidey, he thinks of relationships like a civilian. You think of them as Deadpool. You always think our relationship starts and ends with Spidey, but that's why he fights us. What if the point is we could be, should be more? We can be the civilian that wonders where our partner goes when Spider-Man appears, and we can be antihero that knows Spider-Man goes somewhere when he's not in the suit and doesn't care.)

I don't do civilian though.

(You're doing it right now.)

Spidey slipped his finger under Wade's mask, then held it with his thumb.

"Don't tease me, I'm sensitive," Wade muttered.

"I know."

Panel 1: Spidey and Wade's faces take up the whole panel. Spidey tugs Wade's mask down.

Panel 2: Close in on the bottom half of their faces. Spidey's head is tilted. And where their mouths should be, contact.

It was over before Wade could even react. In other words, masked and chaste, Spidey kissed us.