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The city is unreasonably loud considering how late it is right now.
It isn't uncharacteristic, of course, but it's far too much for someone who's looking for a small corner of silence.
Sirens bounce between the buildings somewhere downtown, because there's never a time when criminals decide to give the police a break. Someone three blocks over is yelling loudly, presumably at a junkie overstaying their welcome on the corner of the street. One singular helicopter circles overhead, its spotlight sweeping lazily over rooftops in no particular search of anything.
Lu Guang is far from stranger to it all.
In fact, he's been at the very centre of it since the day he moved back to Chengdu for university.
He swings effortlessly from tall building to tall building, wind catching in the fabric of his suit as his momentum carries him over traffic thirty stories below.
Night patrol has always been his favourite part of the job, despite everything else that demands Spider-Man's attention.
Compared to being thrown through concrete walls by someone with a personal vendetta, it's relatively peaceful. He'll take peaceful.
He likes being Spider-Man. Even if the job description occasionally includes near-death experiences and lots of property damage and explaining to the police that, no, he wasn't the one who destroyed the traffic light and that it was already like that to begin with— it's worth it.
. . . Most nights, anyway.
Tonight had almost become one of them.
As he's thinking he might actually make it home before midnight, the universe decides to intervene at the most inopportune moment possible.
"Spideeeeey!"
Lu Guang's spider-sense flares.
Oh dear God.
There's only one person in this city who says his name like they're announcing the arrival of their celebrity crush. That which Lu Guang is ninety percent sure he is their celebrity crush.
"Hey! You don't have to pretend you didn't hear me." Continues the voice from below. "I know you looked at me!"
Spider-Man keeps swinging. It's foolish to think that ignoring him is gonna make him give up— but maybe if he can bide some time, he can enjoy a few more seconds of peaceful—
"WAIT UP!!!"
Okay.
When he lands atop a water tower to balance himself before he takes off again, he hears metal scrape against brick just below, and then—
Someone lands beside him with a thud that rattles the entire structure.
"You know," a boyish lilt begins, pacing towards him, "running away sends mixed signals."
Lu Guang's eye twitches underneath his mask. "I'm patrolling."
"Okay, well, I guess I'm patrolling too . . . with my boyfriend." Deadpool chirps, infuriatingly bright about the nonsense leaving his mouth.
Spider-Man turns his head sharply, appalled. "What? We're not dating. We're not even a 'we'."
"Yeah, definitely not with that attitude."
Alright, he's had enough. He lets out a long, weary sigh— the kind that settles deep in his bones and drags at his shoulders.
He fires a webline sideways to the next building, but before it can latch on, Deadpool steps directly into his path.
"Hey—"
"Don't leave." Deadpool interrupts, shamelessly invading his personal space. He tips his head to one side, and Spider-Man doesn't need to see beneath the mask to know that he's smiling. "C'mon, I literally suited up just to see you."
Lu Guang stares at him. Deadpool stares back.
. . . Definitely smiling.
"I have to patrol," the hero says flatly, firing another web past Deadpool's shoulder. "And you're in the way."
"Mm."
"I'm sure you have other mercenary friends to bother."
Deadpool reaches up and tugs the web down again. "But I don't like them. Not as much as I like you."
. . .
This. This is exactly why Spider-Man can't deal with this wreck of a guy. There's never any way to get rid of him— he's like a roach that just won't die.
Spider-Man narrows his eyes.
In an instant, he sweeps a leg toward Deadpool's ankles. The latter sees right through the attack right away, hopping back a step with a delighted "Woah!" before dodging the left hook aimed at his jaw. They fall back onto the rooftop of the nearest building.
Another dodge. "Heh, missed me!"
Another. "—Almost!"
A block. Another dodge.
"Jeez, you really—" Deadpool catches his wrist, only for Spider-Man to wrench it free. "—really want me to let you leave—"
"You're in the way—" Spider-Man grunts. He flicks his wrist and webbing snaps around Deadpool's boot, pinning it to the ground.
Before he can pull himself free, Spider-Man places a hand against his chest and shoves. Deadpool stumbles, spine hitting the brick chimney behind him— and he straightens sharply when Lu Guang's fist cracks the brick an inch from his head.
Their chests heave, out of sync and frantic.
Tense silence passes for a good minute— Spider-Man holds the position for as long as he can. Then, trembling with restraint, he pulls his arm back.
". . . Fine." He huffs, his irritation fading into resignation.
What more does he have to lose? (Besides his sanity.)
. . . And, judging by the time— even a full night's sleep.
Lu Guang has hated Deadpool's guts since the day he saw him shoot a man in cold blood. It hadn't mattered that the man was armed, or that he was dangerous, or even that afterward, Deadpool had shrugged and said, "Relax. He would've tried to stab you in like, three seconds."
There was always another way. One that didn't compromise a life for victory.
But Spider-Man's morals were like playground rules to Deadpool— every line Lu Guang refused to cross, Deadpool pirouetted over like he was an Olympic figure skater.
And it should've been an easy fix— he could have had the mercenary arrested, handed over to the police, and hoped that the authorities could find somewhere capable of containing the immortal headache.
Except every time Lu Guang sets his mind on having the mercenary dealt with, he does something that throws everything into question.
On the rare occasions that Deadpool even sticks around afterward, he's usually just finished saving someone's life.
He'll shield civilians with his body, he'll drag hostages out of burning buildings, he'll save lives with the same reckless abandon he takes them with— all while dabbling in the complete opposite.
Lu Guang hates that he can't make sense of him. How can someone be so . . . grey?
It didn't take long after their first meeting for him to appear everywhere Spider-Man went. Sometimes, he'd perch upside down on the same fire escape for half an hour, talking absolute nonsense while Spider-Man answered with increasingly shorter answers.
Other times, he'd jump right in the middle of a fight completely uninvited, loudly announcing that he came to "support his local friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man," before proceeding to make everything ten times worse.
And a few times— more often than Lu Guang cared to admit— Deadpool would take a bullet meant for him.
No one had ever done that for him.
And it didn't make sense.
He'd call Spider-Man every name under the sun—
"Webs."
"Pretty Boy."
"Spidey."
— and then he'd turn around and put a bullet through the next guy who so much as breathed at him wrong.
He was both enchanting and dangerous; a mystery Lu Guang had long since given up trying to solve.
And maybe it was for the better.
There's no way he could begin to explain how things always ended up here.
The apartment door slams into the wall as Lu Guang stumbles back into it, his grip fisted in the leather of Deadpool's suit.
Deadpool exhales shakily against his mouth, murmuring something in that low, silky voice that dissolves before Lu Guang can make it out.
Yes.
Deadpool has been impossible to understand since the very beginning. And despite his contradictory nature and his lack of morality and his inability to pick a side—
He has always had Lu Guang wrapped neatly around his little red finger.
"You," whispers Deadpool between kisses, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, ". . . taste like heaven."
Lu Guang has never been one for sweet words. Yet somehow, hearing them from Deadpool of all people leaves his chest feeling strangely warm.
His heart stutters.
Would he be crazy to say that he kinda sounds like . . . ?
. . .
Yeah, there's no way.
Deadpool's thumb drags along the seam of Lu Guang's mask, which sits just at the tip of his nose. For someone who refuses to listen to reason, Deadpool is surprisingly respectful when it comes to the one thing Lu Guang guards most carefully.
His identity.
And that's the thing— Lu Guang knows he could find out. With the resources at Deadpool's disposal and his complete disregard for personal boundaries, it should be easy.
But he doesn't even try. He only ever jokes about it.
"One day," Deadpool had told him once after one particularly gruelling fight, "I'm gonna find out who you are."
Lu Guang could only stare back at him, too tired and aching to do anything else. "And then what?"
"And then . . . I'll reach into my pocket, drop to one knee, and—"
"Yeah, no chance."
Deadpool's wounded gasp and the way he deflated still brings a smile to Lu Guang's lips when he thinks about it.
It's the little things that hold sentiment to him.
It's every genuinely crestfallen look after Lu Guang shoots down his ridiculous jokes. Every tiny kindness Deadpool tries to disguise as humour, as though sincerity were somehow more embarrassing than flirting with Spider-Man in the middle of a hostage situation. Every small moment they've shared that Lu Guang spends lying awake at night thinking over until his brain is tired of it.
Because even though he'll say that Deadpool annoys him to death—
He doesn't think he could imagine a world where Spider-Man and Deadpool never met.
Deadpool's the one who breaks the kiss to breathe, tilting his head just enough for his forehead to rest against Lu Guang's. They stay there for a moment— in the silent darkness of the apartment, drinking in one another's presence.
". . . Something wrong?" Lu Guang whispers, turning his head slightly as Deadpool starts nipping at his jaw, his throat, the side of his neck.
"Nope." He replies, crowding Lu Guang further against the wall. ". . . Just wish I could have you."
The statement is bittersweet.
It's the hardest truth for both of them to swallow. That, come morning, Spider-Man and Deadpool will step back into roles that never quite seemed to leave room for Lu Guang and (Cheng Xiaoshi.)
With the hand that's still at Deadpool's chest, Lu Guang pushes him back enough to meet his eyes.
"You have me," he says without thinking.
Deadpool's smile falters a little.
". . . Not in the way I want."
Before Lu Guang can interject, Deadpool pulls away from him. Away from him. He isn't smiling the same, annoying way anymore.
"I should go," he pulls the lower half of his mask back down. "I'm sure you'd rather get some shut-eye."
Lu Guang bites the inside of his cheek hard.
Don't go. He wants to say. He can't.
Deadpool shifts his weight. Turns halfway, then hesitates, as if there's something else on his mind. He spares Lu Guang another glance.
". . . Take care, alright?"
. . .
Lu Guang doesn't like the sound of that. Why is he saying it like that? And why is he even saying it in the first place?
Deadpool finally turns, and it fills Lu Guang with such immense dread that he reaches out and grabs Deadpool's shoulder.
"Hold on— what does that mean?" he asks, brow furrowing.
Deadpool doesn't answer.
Deadpool. Is silent.
This is weird. This is . . . not normal. Deadpool is never silent. He fills every quiet moment with jokes and chatter and whatever other ridiculous thought that happens to cross his mind.
"'Pool?" Lu Guang hates how his voice comes out smaller than he thought it would. "What's wrong?"
Nothing.
Slowly, Deadpool looks back at him.
The apartment is dark enough that Lu Guang can't make out much beyond the red and black mask he's become far too familiar with. Even so . . . their eyes meet.
For a minute, neither of them looks away. Deadpool studies him with an intensity that makes Lu Guang's chest tighten— as if he's trying to memorize every inch of him.
"I'm sorry."
. . . Sorry? For what—
"I'm so sorry," he turns fully, pulling Lu Guang a step closer. "I wish . . . I wish it didn't have to be like this."
A chill crawls down Lu Guang's spine. "Like what— 'Pool, you're scaring me—"
"Don't be scared." He shakes his head, bringing one of his hands up and cupping the side of Lu Guang's face. "Please don't be scared. I don't think . . . I couldn't live with myself if . . ."
. . .
He takes a deep breath.
Lu Guang stares at him. ". . . Hey. Talk to me."
Deadpool only shakes his head, unable to even form a half-hearted response. But why not?
Seconds pass.
And when Deadpool finally speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper.
"I love you."
. . . Huh?
The cold barrel of a gun presses against Lu Guang's midsection. His spider-sense doesn't detect it until the very last second— because it has never, not once, believed Deadpool truly meant him harm. Never would he pull a gun on Lu Guang with the intention of killing.
Never would he let himself be detected like this in the first place.
Deadpool pulls him closer, close enough to whisper against his ear:
"I'm sorry,
Lu Guang."
Everything inside him stops.
How did—
He never—
Deadpool—
The gun fires.