Archive of Our Own

New York City was strangely quiet that day. I was swinging between buildings, trying to keep my mind busy, but… you know how it is. Sometimes silence is the worst. I was carrying too much: the double identity, college, sleepless nights, and the breakup with MJ that, even though a year had already passed, still hurt more than I liked to admit. And it was during patrols like these, so calm, that those thoughts slipped in as if the mask didn’t exist.

To make matters worse, it was already getting dark when it finally hit me that I hadn’t had lunch. My metabolism, as kind as ever, decided to remind me with a growl that gave me a horrible stomach cramp. I looked around for options and luckily I was close to a Mexican food place I go to a lot—an actual one, not that Taco Bell bullshit. I walked in, greeting people like always; the place is almost always packed, but the owner has this rule of letting me skip the line ever since I once saved him from a robbery. Some people smile at me, others look at me like I ruined their day… I’m used to it. It comes with the Spider-Man package.

I ordered the cheap combo and started looking through the hidden pockets of my suit to pay, when suddenly I heard a scream that was way too familiar.

—SPIIIDY, my boy!

I didn’t even have time to sigh before a huge red suit jumped into the line and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a way-too-tight hug. I looked up and, of course, there they were: Deadpool’s white mask eyes.

—Add a chimichanga combo, eight tacos, and two more burritos, all to go —he told the cashier while handing over a bill. And yes… he paid for my food too.

I just raised an eyebrow, staring at him like I was silently asking if he was out of his mind… though I think I already knew the answer.

—Did you just pay for my food so you could skip the line? —I said. It was probably only the second or third time we’d met, and yet he always had that way of acting like we were lifelong best friends. Very him.

—Come on, Spidy. I’m hungry and I didn’t want to wait. Plus, it’s a win-win —he replied, making a gesture that I think was supposed to be a wink.

I removed his hands from my shoulders and stepped aside to wait for the food.

—Just because I forgot my wallet in my other suit, you saved me from embarrassment —I said with a smile. Mistake. Or maybe not. I don’t know.

The guy squealed.

—No way! The best ass in the city just thanked me and smiled! I’m fainting —he said, placing a hand on his forehead like he was in a soap opera while laughing and leaning back.

—Come on, tell me —he insisted—. Why so alone? Where are your Avenger friends? A cute hero like you shouldn’t eat alone.

I crossed my arms.

—They’re busy. I’m on patrol… you know. I almost always eat here. I don’t mind being alone.

—Order’s ready —the girl at the counter announced.

And before I could react, Deadpool grabbed the food bags and dragged me out of the restaurant. He didn’t even give me time to adjust them before, with one hard pull, he hauled me up a fire escape to the rooftop of the restaurant building. Sometimes I forget how strong he is… until he drags me like I weigh the same as an empty gym bag.

We sat on the edge, legs dangling over the street. I pulled my mask down to my nose—just enough to eat—while he hesitated about lifting his. I knew Deadpool had scars; I’d heard it, and I also knew he hated people seeing them, so I subtly turned my body and looked out at the city to make him comfortable. After all, he’d been really nice inviting me. Less than a minute passed before I heard him absolutely devouring his chimichangas like there was no tomorrow.

—You look tired, little spider —he commented, not looking at me, like he was just saying it to the air.

I didn’t answer right away. I just bit into my taco and let the cold breeze help me organize my thoughts. But he nudged me with his elbow.

—Don’t look at me like that, I can see it in your energy… bad vibes, and oof… those dark circles? You could rent them out as an Airbnb.

I let out a laugh I hadn’t expected. One of those that slips out without permission.

—You always know exactly what to say so people don’t take themselves too seriously —I replied.

—Well, if I can’t heal the world, at least I can heal minds with my incredible jokes —he said proudly—. In another life I should’ve been a therapist.

And that’s how we started talking. About stupid things at first: weird villains, pathetic city accidents, food we liked. I don’t know how it happened, but the conversation became… easy. Easier than it should’ve been, considering who I was talking to. Deadpool was… well, Deadpool. A mercenary who does mercenary things. But he was there, listening. And it was strangely nice.

Over the next few days, the dynamic became routine without me even trying. Sometimes I’d find him first at that same Mexican place. Other times, he’d find me and wave from a rooftop with food bags in his hands. And always, always, he insisted on paying.

—Let me do it this time —I complained one day, trying to grab the bill.

—No, no, no, little spider —he said, holding my head back with one hand like I was an annoying cat—. Your money smells like responsibility. My money smells like cocaine and prostitutes. You have to let me win this one, it’s the only thing I have.

—Your logic is terrible.

—My logic is beautiful. Just like my face used to be, before of course. Now it looks like a Jewish foreskin, but that’s for another day.

And once again, I ended up laughing. Sometimes he’d say something so ridiculous it completely broke me. And there I was: a superhero carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders… and a mercenary in red was the first person in a long time who made me feel… light.

Until one afternoon, while we were eating on just another random rooftop, something in me broke. Not dramatically. More like when a thread snaps after being stretched for too long.

—Wade… —I said before thinking, which was already a bad sign—. Can I ask you something?

—If it’s whether I showered today, the answer is no, but only because it was cold.

I shook my head. Breathed. Looked at my hands. And without knowing why, without understanding or controlling it, I started talking.

—I’m not okay —I admitted. Hearing it out loud surprised me—. I’m… tired. Of everything.

He stopped eating. That was rare.

—Is it about the girl? —he asked, with a softness I didn’t expect from someone who uses katanas to solve arguments.

I nodded.

—You know… she left me because she couldn’t handle my disappearances. I was never there, I always left, vanished without explanations, I wasn’t… —I swallowed as a knot formed in my throat— I wasn’t a good boyfriend. And it’s not that I didn’t want to be. I really did. I just can’t split myself in two. And on top of that, my job… well, I can’t tell you details but—

Deadpool raised an eyebrow like he was saying “Peter, please.”

—I know, you have an idea or at least know they don’t pay me well. And they exploit me. I always have to cover everything, run, disappear, keep my identity hidden… It’s exhausting. And I feel like… like I’m always failing at everything. Her. My job. Myself. I’m a great Spider-Man, but am I good just being me?

I sighed and looked down.

—I’m sorry. You don’t have to listen to all this. I’m ruining lunch.

There was a moment of silence. Then he snorted.

—Ruin lunch? Spidey… I’ve eaten burritos in the middle of a shootout. This doesn’t ruin anything. Besides— —he nudged me gently with his shoulder— I’m an excellent container for other people’s crises. You can’t see it, but I’m taking mental notes to charge you therapy with interest.

I lifted my head. Deadpool was adjusting his mask like imaginary glasses.

—Look, little spider —he continued—. You save people. All the time. Every day. You break your back for the city, for your job that’s clearly garbage, and still here you are, feeling guilty for not being perfect. And let me tell you something very serious…

He paused dramatically. I waited.

—Your ex was extremely lucky to be with you and she’s an idiot. End of announcement.

I burst out laughing so hard I almost dropped my taco.

—And if you apologize again for feeling bad, I’m telling everyone you cried because there was onion in your nachos.

—There wasn’t any onion —I said, still laughing.

—Exactly.

And just like that, without powers, without a shiny suit, without anything… Deadpool made me feel better. Lighter. Like, for a moment, I didn’t have to carry everything. And for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel alone.

I think that was the moment I made the mistake… I was so used to being ignored that when he gave me that break, that moment of attention, I misunderstood everything.

Ned… I think I’m in love with Deadpool.

Ned didn’t say anything right away.
Coming from him, that was terrifying
We were in my room, me sitting on the bed with the suit half off, the mask tossed onto the chair, and Ned in front of me holding a bag of chips he had stopped eating the moment I dropped the bomb. He was staring at me like I’d just told him I was moving to Mars to marry a symbiote.

—…Okay —he finally said, blinking—. Okay. Let’s go step by step because my brain just blue-screened.

I rubbed my face with both hands.

—I knew you were going to react like this.

—No, no —he raised a finger—. I thought I was going to react like this. But this… this is a whole other level, Peter. You’re saying you’re in love with an immortal mercenary, mentally unstable, homicidal tendencies, who breaks the fourth wall and—

—Pays for my food —I muttered.

Ned closed his mouth.

—…That changes things a little.

I sighed, falling back onto the bed.

—It wasn’t planned. It’s not like I woke up one day and said, “Wow, today I’m into guys in red with katanas.” It just happened. He listened to me, Ned. He really listened. He didn’t see Spider-Man. He saw… me.

Ned sat down beside me, more serious now.

—Peter —he said carefully—. Someone seeing you when you’re tired doesn’t automatically mean it’s love.

—I know —I replied quickly—. I know. And I’ve told myself that a thousand times. But every time I’m with him, I don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. I don’t have to be perfect. And… —I swallowed— when he’s not there, I notice it. I miss him.

I hadn’t said that out loud before.

Ned didn’t joke. Didn’t make a sarcastic comment. He just nodded slowly.

—And him? —he asked—. Does Deadpool feel something for you?

That was the problem.

—I don’t know.

And it was true. Wade flirted with anything that breathed, me included, but always in that exaggerated, theatrical tone, impossible to read. One day he’d call me “my sexy little spider,” the next he’d talk about marrying Ryan Reynolds. How was anyone supposed to tell?

—Peter… —Ned hesitated—. You have to be careful. He’s not… stable. And you’re coming out of something that left you shattered.

I sat up again, hugging my knees.

—I know. That’s why I say it was a mistake. I confused attention with something else. I clung to it because I was tired of being alone.

Ned opened his mouth to answer, but my phone vibrated on the table.

I looked at it like it was about to bite me.

—Aren’t you going to answer? —Ned asked.

I swallowed. On the screen was a contact I hadn’t saved, but I knew exactly who it was.

W.

I opened the chat.

There were… a lot of messages. Too many. Some sent hours ago. Others just minutes ago.

W: ok this is weird even for me
W: I just got dumped… I think
W: well, she wasn’t even really my girlfriend
W: you could say it’s Death
W: yes, THAT Death (Shiklah for friends)
W: but that’s another story
W: long story, includes scythes, cosmic drama, and zero couples therapy
W: basically she told me to go fuck myself interdimensionally

A knot formed in my stomach.

I kept scrolling.

W: don’t worry, little spider
W: I’m not sad
W: ok maybe I am, I honestly don’t know
W: but I have chimichangas
W: and a manageable existential crisis
W: also… you know
W: these are the things you tell friends…
W: and you’re my best friend, Spidy 💕

That’s when it hurt.

Not like a punch.
More like realizing you were holding something fragile… and it breaks in your hands without making a sound.

W: anyway if you can’t today
W: how about tomorrow, lunch on the Mexican place roof
W: if you don’t come I’ll assume you hate me and I’ll write a musical about it that even Lin-Manuel Miranda would envy

I put the phone down on the bed.

Ned looked at me without saying anything.

—Well… he just got dumped —I murmured—. He had a partner. I mean, all this time he did. I just… —I ran a hand through my hair— God… I’m probably the only one who feels this way. I’m an idiot.

—Peter —Ned said slowly—. Listen to me.

I looked up.

—Look at the bright side —he continued—. You got out of your emotional block. That’s huge. Maybe it won’t work, maybe it was never going to work… but now you know you can feel again. And that matters.

I wanted to argue. To tell him it didn’t help.

But I couldn’t.

Because he was right.

I went to lunch the next day.

Of course I did.

Deadpool was sitting on the edge of the building, legs swinging like a kid’s, with two huge bags of food.

—Little spider! —he shouted—. You came. Great. I’m canceling act two of the sad musical.

—I didn’t know you were a writer.

—It was called “My Girlfriend Is Death and My Big-Assed Best Friend Is Abandoning Me.” Very niche.

I sat next to him, keeping the perfect distance. Not too close. Not too far.

—Are you okay? —I asked.

—No —he replied without drama—. But I’ve been worse. Once I got disintegrated and forgotten in a box for six months. This is manageable. Sad, but manageable.

I let out a short laugh.

We ate. We talked about stupid things. Like always.

Me hiding.

Him exaggerating.

And still… something had changed. And I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Weeks passed.

Rooftop lunches continued.

The jokes.

The accidental brushes I pretended not to feel.

But also the long looks.

The silences that hadn’t existed before.

And apparently… I wasn’t as discreet as I thought.

—Parker —said a horribly familiar voice.

I looked up from my desk at the Daily Bugle.

—Yes, Mr. Jameson?

J. Jonah Jameson threw a manila envelope at me like my existence offended him.

—I want photos. Good ones. Clear ones —he growled—. Spider-Man and that psychopath in red pajamas.

I opened the envelope. Inside were blurry shots of us on a rooftop.

My stomach dropped.

—I want a cover —he continued—. Something that sells. Something that alerts the city.

He leaned toward me, wearing that smile that only appears when he smells blood.

—Working title: “THE SPIDER THREATENS NEW YORK… HE HAS A PARTNER AND IT’S A MERCENARY.”

I swallowed.

—I want the public to think this is dangerous, Parker —he added—. That Spider-Man is no longer alone… and that’s a problem.

I nodded.

What else could I do?

As I looked down at the camera in my hands, a horrible idea settled into my mind.

I could hide what I felt.

I could lie to myself.

I could keep pretending.

But if the world started watching…

I wasn’t sure Wade knew how to protect himself from that.

And I wasn’t sure I’d survive losing him, even if he was never fully mine.
I had decided to avoid taking that job, until that morning, when the call came far too early.

I had barely slept when the phone vibrated on the table, making me flinch. It was an unknown number… until I answered and realized it was from the hospital. That familiar weight pressed against my chest as the voice on the other end sounded professional, calm, far too calm for what it was saying.

Aunt May had suffered a fall. Nothing life-threatening, they said, but enough to keep her hospitalized, enough to talk about tests, observation… bills. Lots of them. Even worse when I hadn’t paid the insurance last month, because after a bad fight with Rhino I’d torn my suit, kevlar is expensive and… God, I never thought something like this would happen…

I thanked them, hung up, and stared at the wall for long seconds, my mind racing faster than my body. I knew what this meant. I always did.

Money.

Money I didn’t have.

And right then, as if the universe were mocking me, I remembered J. Jonah Jameson’s offer.

The extra pay.

A lot of extra pay.

If I got that photo.

My stomach hurt just thinking about it.

I accepted.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I always ended up accepting.

I planned it for two days later, on one of those half-crumbled rooftops that Wade had declared “his favorite place to eat illegally.” We’d gotten greasy tacos from the same stand as always, and now we were sitting on the edge, legs dangling into the void, laughing while the city roared below us.

—I’m saying —Wade was gesturing with his taco— that if one day I had to choose between eating an asshole hair in spaghetti or spaghetti while eating ass, I’d eat the spaghetti only if it was your ass; otherwise, I choose the hair.

—This is exactly why I would never play “Would You Rather?” with you in front of Cap —I replied, laughing.

Wade clutched his chest, offended.

—How cruel. You know I’m dying to play it with him and ask if he prefers Bucky or Stark’s smug ass—

—If you do that, you’ll start another Civil War.

I smiled… and then swallowed.

The camera was already set up, aimed right at where we were sitting, but a photo of us eating wasn’t enough. I needed something more intimate. Closer. Something that would sell.

—Hey —I said, trying to sound casual—. Have you ever imagined hanging with me? Like… swinging.

Wade raised an eyebrow under the mask, a slight smile growing beneath it.

—Are you inviting me on an extreme date or to guaranteed death?

—I can carry you —I blurted out too fast—. It’s not a big deal. Super strength.

I said it while flexing my arm, showing my biceps.

Silence.

Then Wade laughed.

—Oh wow. I really want to see this. Go ahead, tiger.

I stood and extended my hand toward the mercenary. I pulled him in with a tug, bringing our chests together, and wrapped an arm around him, like I’d done hundreds of times with civilians in danger. It was mechanical. “Normal,” I told myself.

Except it wasn’t.

Wade was too close. His weight, manageable, felt different. More… aware. I could smell him even through the mask: old gunpowder, warm fabric, and tacos. So many tacos.

—Ready? —I asked.

—I’m always ready when you hold me like this —Wade replied, restless as ever, touching the lines of my suit.

My brain shut off for half a second.

And that’s when it happened.

Wade, joking as always, pressed one of the web shooters before the jump.

—What—?!

The web shot wrong.

The momentum went off balance.

And we both pitched forward.

We fell.

Not into the void, because I reacted and shot more webbing, but the sudden movements and fall only made us get tangled, hanging upside down, trapped in a mess of white webbing. Our bodies were way too close: Wade’s chest pressed against mine, our legs intertwined in an uncomfortably intimate way.

I stopped thinking.

Literally.

My heart started pounding so fast my ears rang. I felt blood rushing hot, alive, electric. Every breath filled my lungs with that impossible Wade smell. My hand was resting on the mercenary’s back, without me remembering when I’d put it there.

—Well —Wade said, amused—. This is new. You know? I always wanted a scene like this. Very rom-com, very “Kiss me before they, the writer, changes their mind.”

—Wade… —I whispered without realizing it, blood rushing to my head as I started blushing—…

—Yes, gorgeous?

That ruined me completely.

I couldn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

I couldn’t stop feeling him, registering him, realizing—with terrifying clarity—that it wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper. More dangerous.

I was in love.

Not just attracted.

Not just curious.

In love with the most chaotic mercenary in the world.

Finally, Wade sighed dramatically.

—Okay, okay, before you start hyperventilating… and even though I love the feeling of your spandex against my spandex, let’s get out of here.

With one of the hidden blades in his suit, he carefully cut the webbing. We fell onto a dumpster below, in the alley. Awkward, messy, but safe.

I stayed sitting there, breathing hard, staring into nothing.

—That was fun —Wade said, standing up—. We should do it again.

I didn’t answer.

The camera had captured everything.

The photo was published two days later.

Big.

Clear.

Unmistakable.

Deadpool hanging from Spider-Man, tangled in webbing, and that huge headline:

THE SPIDER THREATENS AND HIS MERCENARY PARTNER

Wade didn’t take it well.

At all.

He stormed into the Bugle office with clear murderous intent, katanas drawn, looking for J. Jonah Jameson’s office. He found me on the way. I was there to collect the payment; my stomach was sinking, and before things got worse, I stepped in front of him with my arms outstretched.

I shouted.

I begged.

I didn’t move.

—It’s not worth it! Don’t do this, Deadpool!

Wade stopped. Looked at me.

A clumsy, nervous kid with crooked glasses covering hazel eyes.

—Wow —he said—. You’re cute.

I froze.

Wade scratched the back of his neck.

—Kid, you’re probably scared shitless and I really admire your attempt to protect your idiot boss.

With a gentle motion, he brushed a lock of hair from my face and bent down just enough to be face to face with me.

—But this guy deserves to be impaled, sword up his ass and out his mouth.

I tensed but didn’t back down.

—If you do that, I’m pretty sure Spider-Man will be very upset with you.

The mercenary stopped dead and stared at me.

—And who do you think you are to know what he wants or doesn’t want? You think he’ll be happy when he realizes people are saying he’s my partner? He’s probably furious, but he’s too good to confront them and say something… but I’m not.

He placed the tip of his sword under my chin, threatening.

—I… I’m —I swallowed— I’m his friend. He’s given me permission to take his photos for a long time… and we talk all the time.

Wade stepped back and looked at me like someone who wanted to believe… but couldn’t quite.

—You know the little spider? —he asked, suspicious—. Prove it.

—He’s told me about you. About how you eat together every afternoon on different rooftops.

—Half of New York knows that thanks to the article. That proves nothing —he said, pressing the katana closer, cutting my skin slightly.

More nervous than before, I answered with a trembling voice:

—But not everyone knows you eat tacos or Mexican food from that homemade stand six blocks from Avengers Tower.

It worked.

Wade lowered the katana and rubbed the back of his head, clearly embarrassed.

—Damn it, kid… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

Quickly and awkwardly, he pulled a handkerchief from one of his many pockets and wiped the blood from my chin.

—Fuck… I really think I screwed up.

—It’s okay, he’ll understand —I said, taking the handkerchief myself and pressing it to the wound, which was already almost closed thanks to the healing factor.

Wade looked shaken. I’d rarely seen him like that.

Before I could say anything else, he ran and jumped out a window, shattering it.

J. Jonah Jameson, who’d been watching the whole thing hidden in his office, came out screaming as usual and cursing Deadpool. Still, he thanked me and added extra to my check, which helped cover a good portion of the hospital bills.

That same day, later, when I met Wade again as Spider-Man, I felt strangely shaken. I was ready to scold him, but the mercenary cut me off and interrogated me before I could say anything.

—Hey —he said—. Who’s your photographer? The one who always takes my pictures.

My stomach dropped.

—Why? W-what… what about him?

—I met him today —he replied casually, a playful tone in his voice—. He has really pretty eyes… I like him.

I swallowed.

Wade tilted his head, watching me with an attention that was strange, different from before. Not mocking. Not chaotic. More… careful.

—He’s cute —he said plainly—. Very cute. And he seems like a good person.

My brain went into full panic mode.

—Oh —I managed—. Uh… yeah. I guess. I mean, yeah, he is. Pretty. Very. Cute, I mean. Good person. Definitely.

Great, Peter. Excellent answer.

Wade let out a small laugh under the mask.

—Look —he continued—, I don’t want to assume anything. Not his orientation, not yours, not anyone’s. Labels aren’t really my thing —he shrugged—. But you two seem… close. And if anyone should know whether I have a chance.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

A chance?

With him? Wait… with me?

The realization hit like lightning.

This was my chance.

And I was completely unprepared.

—Well —I started, my voice coming out higher than normal—. Technically… I mean… he’s… very single.

—Too single. Always complaining about not having anyone to go out with.

—Oh, yeah? —Wade asked, sounding disinterested.

—Yeah. Super. Ultra. Ridiculously single —I added quickly—. He hasn’t been on a date in… a long time. Years. Centuries. A walking romantic tragedy.

I rubbed the back of my neck, laughing nervously.

—I mean, not because nobody wants him, but because… well, because he’s a functional disaster.

Wade stayed silent for a few seconds.

—Well, I fall into that category too, but… do you think he’d like me?

My stomach flipped.

—Yes —I answered without thinking—. I mean, yes. Definitely yes. I mean… probably. A lot.

I realized too late how fast I’d replied.

Wade tilted his head again, like he was evaluating something invisible.

—Then I guess Spider-Man could play cupid —he said.

—What?

—Nothing elaborate —he continued—. Just… tell him I like him. And that I’d like to ask him out.

I nodded so fast I almost got dizzy.

—Sure. Yeah. Of course. I’m excellent as cupid. Very experienced. Professional.

I lied.

The date was… a disaster.

An absolute disaster.

From the moment I arrived, I knew everything would go wrong.

I tripped over the chair leg before even sitting down and almost kissed the restaurant floor in front of everyone. I managed to grab the table at the last second, mumbling a rushed apology nobody had asked for, while my face burned.

Great. Strong start.

Wade was already there, sitting with a black hood on despite being indoors. He wore it low, casting shadows over his face, like he wanted to disappear inside it. He didn’t comment on my near-fall; he just tilted his head, clearly amused.

I sat down. Or tried to. I banged my knee against the table.

—I’m fine —I said too fast—. Totally fine. Perfect balance. Olympic gymnast.

I ordered first. Or so I thought. I pointed at the wrong menu item, mixed up numbers, changed my mind three times, and ended up with something I didn’t even remember seeing written. When the soda arrived, I spilled almost all of it trying to adjust it, soaking the napkin and part of the table.

—I can… clean that —I offered, already standing again, not knowing what I was doing.

I sat back down. I laughed. Nobody had said anything funny.

You’re screwing this up. You’re screwing this up so badly.

I didn’t know what to talk about, I was in full panic mode, and then, like the universe decided to finish me off, I noticed the hood.

Wade kept it firmly in place, fingers idly playing with the edge, like he was making sure it didn’t move. Something about his posture… closed. Guarded.

—You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to —I said without thinking—. I mean, the hood. Like, if it’s for… uh… hiding.

Silence.

Wade lifted his face just a bit. Just enough for the light to touch the fabric.

—It’s easier this way —he replied with forced lightness—. People get uncomfortable.

My brain chose that exact moment to shut down.

—Oh —I said—. No, no, I’m not uncomfortable. At all. I mean… I get it. Not like get-get it, but… well, everyone has things they… hide.

Stop.

Please stop.

—Besides —I continued, digging my own grave—, scars say a lot about a person. They’re… interesting.

Wade went still.

I felt panic crawl up my throat.

—Interesting in a good way —I added quickly—. Like… stories. Maps. Not weird maps. Good maps. Survival maps.

I closed my eyes for a second.

You fucked it up. Definitely fucked it up.

—I mean —I blurted out, red to my ears—, I… like them. Scars. They’re… uh… sexy.

Absolute silence.

I opened my eyes.

Wade was staring at me from under the hood’s shadow.

—Sexy? —he repeated slowly.

I swallowed.

—Yeah. I mean. Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe a little weird. But not bad. Just… —I covered my face—. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that like that. I’m an idiot.

Wade blinked.

And then he laughed.

A real laugh. Open.

—Wow, Parker —he said—. That was… incredibly awkward.

—Yeah —I muttered—. That’s kind of my main talent.

—Relax —he added—. I’ve heard worse. Much worse.

He didn’t lift the hood. But he didn’t pull it down further either.

And somehow, that felt like a small victory.

But as usual with me, the date couldn’t stay calm. I apologized three times for things that didn’t need apologies. I got up twice to go to the bathroom just to breathe. I sat back down and bumped into the table.

When the date ended, I was convinced he’d never call me again.

He won’t.

You ruined everything.

Good job, Parker.

We walked together for a couple of blocks. The silence was heavy.

—Hey —Wade said at last—. You’re shaking.

—No —I lied—. It’s… the weather.

—Sure —he replied, stopping—. Look.

He turned to face me.

—It wasn’t bad.

I blinked.

—What?

—The date. It wasn’t the best, but… —he shrugged—. I liked it.

—Really?

—Yeah —he said softly—. Peter, look at me and listen carefully—

He grabbed my shoulders and dragged me into a less crowded alley. There, he finally said it, in that sweet, deep voice of his.

—I like you. A lot. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but… I think I knew one day when the sun looked prettier than usual. The sky shined differently. The city felt lighter and then you laughed at one of my crappy jokes.

My chest tightened.

—We were on a roof… having lunch —he continued—. Eating tacos. And suddenly I thought: oh. It’s not just his beautiful ass, it’s all of him. This. This is what it feels like. I like this guy.

The world stopped.

My blood ran cold.

—Wade… —I whispered.

He stepped closer.

—And you —he added—. You know, your spider blood has a particular smell.

Panic exploded inside me.

He knew.

He hadn’t said it.

He hadn’t named it.

But he knew.

I stood completely still, unable to process it.

Wade sighed, like he understood exactly what was going through my head.

—Hey —he said quietly—. It’s okay. If this isn’t something you want, you can push me away. I won’t mention it again and we can stay friends.

Before I could react, before I could form a single coherent thought, Wade leaned in.

His slightly cracked, warm lips pressed against mine with deceptive softness, almost shy, like he was giving me the chance to pull away. I didn’t. I couldn’t. The contact was brief at first, just a brush, but then his mouth opened slowly, catching my lower lip between his with an intention that stole my breath.

My mind shut off completely.

I responded without thinking, opening my mouth, letting my tongue find his. The kiss, which had started chaste and restrained, turned deeper, more urgent. Wade sighed against me, and that small sound was enough to make my whole body react.

His hands found my waist, firm, sure, pulling me closer. Mine slid up his neck, tangling in the hood fabric before slipping to the back of his neck, applying pressure without me realizing it. The heat between us became overwhelming, our bodies fitting together like they’d always known how.

I didn’t know when he pinned me against the wall, or when we unbuttoned our pants and started grinding.

I only felt the cold brick at my back contrasting with Wade’s heat in front of me, his body covering mine, his quickened breathing mixing with mine. The world narrowed to that tiny space, to the friction of our lips, the frantic pounding in my ears, his large, rough hands on our—

A voice cleared its throat loudly.

—What do you think you’re doing?

We broke apart instantly.

Too late.

A police officer stared at us with crossed arms and an absolutely exhausted expression.

—Public indecency —he continued—. Moral misconduct. Both of you.

—Oh, come on, officer —Wade replied immediately—. Can’t you appreciate modern art in this city anymore?

The cop stepped forward.

—Hands where I can see them.

Wade sighed dramatically… and then, completely predictably, tried to resist when the officer tried to cuff him.

—Hey! Relax! This is homophobic discrimination —he protested, barely struggling—. Where’s freedom of expression? Isn’t this supposed to be the land of freedom?

That only made things worse.

I ended up cuffed next to him, my face still burning, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the police.

The cell was small. Cold. And yet, when we were left alone, Wade started laughing.

A loud, contagious laugh.

—Well —he said, sitting on the metal bench—. I think this is officially the worst and best date I’ve ever had.

I couldn’t help laughing too, leaning against him.

—I’m sorry —I murmured—. I always ruin everything.

Wade turned his face toward me.

—No —he replied softly—. You didn’t ruin anything.

Our shoulders brushed. His closeness didn’t make me nervous anymore. It calmed me.

—I like you, Peter —he said, no jokes this time—. A lot.

I swallowed.

—I like you too —I admitted—. Too much.

Wade smiled, leaning a little closer until our foreheads touched through the shadows of the cell.

—Then I guess it was worth getting arrested.

I nodded, laughing quietly.

Yeah.

It had definitely been worth it.