Wade doesn’t get along well with people. He never has. All they’ve ever done is caused him pain, so in return, he rips them apart. Literally and figuratively. He’s never had a proper relationship with anyone. Since the world hates him, he hates it back.
His life so far has been, to say the least, a living hell. He has the scars to prove it. He has the memories that haunt him every fucking day of his pathetic existence.
Peter’s the one bright light in a universe of darkness. He’s beautiful and he smiles at Wade like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s taught Wade how to interact with people. He’s tried to show him that not everyone is going to screw him over. He has a hard time trusting Peter. It’s nothing against him, it’s just the way Wade has been forever. He pushes him away, but Peter always comes back. Always.
Peter takes him out. They walk around New York near sundown. Peter’s hand brushes against his and his only reaction is to pull away. But Peter simply grabs his hand again and laces their fingers together. He looks at him and Peter grins, his eyes telling him that it’ll be okay.
Wade stares at the skyline late at night. He’s always done it. Peter’s apartment has a perfect view. It’s one in the morning, and Wade loves the bright lights and starless sky.
Peter stands in the doorway to the balcony and rubs his eyes. “Wade?” He sits next to him, “You alright?” It’s the first time Peter’s ever woken up in the middle of the night and noticed Wade wasn’t in bed.
“Yeah.” He tentatively grabs Peter’s hand, and Peter squeezes, scooting closer to him. He’s sleep-warm, contrasting with the cold air. “I always watch the city at night.”
Peter nods, and doesn’t say anything else. Just rests his head on Wade’s shoulder until he falls asleep and Wade takes him back to bed.
The first time Peter kisses him, it’s early in the morning. The sunlight’s seeping through the blinds and Peter’s wrapped around Wade, still half asleep. Wade twirls his hair in between his fingers and Peter glances up at him, pressing their lips together.
Wade constantly comes home bloody. Peter knows it’s not his blood, but someone else’s. Wade still gets urges, and Peter can’t stop him. He needs to take the edge off.
Instead of yelling at him for it, or lecturing him on how it’s wrong, Peter wipes the blood away with a wet towel and tells him about what he heard on the news that day.
Wade slowly begins to feel, well, human. He is one, but he’s never felt the way he does now.
Peter stays up with him to watch the skyline. Wade occasionally turns to him and kisses him.
Peter makes him happy. He makes him laugh and he keeps him somewhat in line. As in line as Wade Wilson can possibly be.
He says, “I love you.”
Wade admits, “I don’t know what that feels like.”
Peter nods understandingly, “It’s fine. You have to figure it out on your own.”
Wade presses their lips together and says, “Thank you.”
Peter blinks at him for a moment, as if he’s trying to process it. He then beams and says, “I love you, too,” leaning over the counter and kissing Wade’s cheek.
Peter reaches out and wraps his arms around Wade’s neck, sobbing. Wade doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t push it, and Peter’s glad. He rubs Peter’s back, trying to calm him.
Peter whispers, “I love you,” and Wade wipes away the tears on his cheeks, telling him the same.
“How can you love me?”
Peter looks up and raises an eyebrow, “Hm?”
Wade says it again, a little louder this time. “I’m just—ugly.”
“No you’re not.” He grabs his hand and runs his fingers over his knuckles, “Trust me.”
Wade wants to take his hand back and protest, but Peter’s eyes are bright and sincere, and he can’t help but believe him.
In the morning, Peter gets up first. He places a blanket over Wade and goes to brush his teeth. When he returns, Wade’s staring up at the ceiling. “Hey.”
Wade looks at him and grins, “Hey.” Peter motions to the balcony and Wade gets up, following him out. He slips an arm around Peter’s waist, staring out at the city.
Peter says, “You don’t watch the skyline during the day.”
Wade never realized it. “I guess I don’t.”
Peter takes a seat on the small bench and points to buildings, telling Wade short stories about them. The laundromat where his underwear got stolen, the hospital where he was born, the bookstore he used to visit every day.
Wade listens carefully, and Peter points, “That restaurant over there. I went on a great date. Had Chinese food.” Wade looks at him and Peter continues, “Taught him how to use chopsticks.” He pauses for a moment and Wade grabs the sides of his face, pulling him in. Peter arches up against him and hooks his arms around his neck.
Wade wonders if Peter will tell other people about his memories with him. He feels content to share his life with him.
Peter’s flushed and smiling when they part, “What was that about?”
“You’re just,” he says awkwardly, “awesome.”
Peter laughs, “Well thanks. Come on, I’ll make you some coffee.”