Chapter Text
Peter stares at the half-empty glass of Asgardian mead in his hand, swirling it absentmindedly, the golden liquid catching the faint light in Wade’s apartment. Wade’s apartment. It still feels weird to think of it as Wade’s place, even after crashing here for the past couple of months. MJ had needed space, and that was fine. He needed it too.
Wade was in France, somewhere on a non-lethal SHIELD gig, and Peter missed him like crazy. Wade didn’t even know it was his birthday—not that Peter had told him. Still, there’s a gnawing ache in his chest, the kind that only comes from being alone on a day that’s supposed to matter but doesn’t feel like it anymore. Not without… well, he didn’t know what he was missing exactly. Maybe Wade’s voice, or his terrible jokes, or even the way he got in Peter’s space like he didn’t care about personal boundaries.
Taking a long sip, Peter grimaces as the mead burns its way down. It’s strong—way stronger than he expected—but it doesn’t do much to dull the hollow feeling. He lets out a sigh and slouches further into the couch. His phone’s been silent all day. Wade hasn’t called, not that he’d expect him to. Still, the absence is louder than it should be.
"Hey, Gwen," he says quietly, glancing over at the empty room like she might just appear there if he talks to her. He taps the glass against his knee, staring down at it. "I haven't talked to you in a while, have I?"
It feels strange, talking to her like this. Like she's still here, like she’s not gone, buried under stone. But she’s always here, isn't she? She’s the voice in the back of his head, the memory he carries around like a talisman. And on nights like this, when the world feels too big, too quiet, too everything, she’s the one he talks to.
“I’m, uh, crashing at Wade’s place. You’d probably get a kick out of that, huh?” He chuckles, the sound dry and brittle. “I don’t know, it’s been a weird year. MJ’s gone. Not dead—just, you know, gone. Living at our old place, and I’m… here. Wade’s out doing some job in France, something SHIELD-related. I think they’re trying to keep him on the leash, make sure he doesn't go all murder-y. But you’d really like him. He’s a mess. A constant, annoying mess, but he’s been—”
He trails off, unsure how to finish the thought. How does he explain to Gwen that Wade’s been the one thing holding him together? That Wade’s become this weird constant in his life, filling the spaces MJ never quite did without even trying?
Peter takes another sip, the warmth of the alcohol settling in his stomach, though it doesn’t quite chase away the cold inside him. “You remember the first time I got drunk?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips as the memory bubbles to the surface. “God, we were so stupid. You wanted to see how much it took to get me drunk, and—‘for science,’ of course.” He laughs, the sound soft and nostalgic. “You made me sing karaoke in your living room. I think we did ‘Dancing Queen’ at least three times, and I was terrible. But you were laughing so hard, your cheeks were bright red. And then we played Just Dance… You kicked my ass, by the way. Even when I had superpowers.”
He closes his eyes, letting the memory wash over him. It’s nice to think about her smiling, the way she lit up a room without even trying. She made everything seem lighter, easier, like maybe the world didn’t have to hurt so much all the time.
Peter sighs, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “I haven’t been to your grave in a while. I think… I think it’s getting easier, you know? Missing you. It still hurts, but it’s not like it used to be. I’m not as mad about it anymore. I think I might actually feel a little happy.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he runs a hand over his face, trying to keep it together.
The apartment feels too quiet, too big without Wade’s chaotic presence filling every corner. Peter looks over at the spot Wade usually occupies on the couch, and his heart twists. “I think he’s sticking around, though. Wade. He’s… always here. Even when he’s gone, it’s like he’s still around, you know?”
Peter laughs bitterly. “I sound crazy, right? I don’t even know why he stays. Maybe because I keep saving his ass, or maybe because he just likes annoying me. But he’s here. And that… that means something, I think.”
He picks up the glass again, staring down into the amber liquid. “I wish you could be here. Even just to have a friend to celebrate my birthday with. You’d have some good advice about all this. I don’t really know how to sort through what I’m feeling. ”
Peter takes one last drink, sets the glass down with a soft clink, and leans back on the couch. “Anyway, I guess that’s where I’m at. Just... missing people. Like always.”
Peter stares at the ceiling, the room spinning ever so slightly as the mead settles in his veins. The apartment feels emptier with every passing minute. He checks his phone for what must be the hundredth time that night, hoping—stupidly, maybe—that Wade’s name will pop up on the screen. But nothing.
Midnight’s creeping closer, and he feels the weight of it pressing down. His birthday—just another day, right? Just another damn day.
He sighs, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I don’t know, Gwen. Maybe I’m losing my mind.” He snorts softly. “You probably would’ve smacked me upside the head by now. Told me to stop being so dramatic.”
Peter fidgets with the hem of his shirt, eyes flicking to the clock. Less than five minutes to midnight. For all the danger and chaos in his life, this quiet is the hardest to deal with. His thoughts spiral. MJ’s gone, Gwen’s gone, and Wade’s off in some other country doing who-knows-what for SHIELD. The guy probably doesn’t even know what day it is.
The thought stings, more than he’d like to admit.
Peter reaches for the bottle, ready to pour himself one last drink to wash down the disappointment, but before he can, the door bursts open with a loud bang.
“Guess who’s back from France with a tan and a brand new liver!” Wade’s voice rings out through the apartment, chipper as ever, immediately filling the emptiness Peter had been drowning in.
Peter jerks upright, the mead sloshing in his glass as he tries to process what’s happening. Wade saunters into the room, his smile big, bold, and obnoxious, carrying a brightly wrapped present in hand. His eyes immediately land on Peter, taking in the disheveled hair and faint flush on his cheeks.
“You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you, wee Parker?” Wade grins, plopping the present onto Peter’s lap with a flourish. “Come on, give me some credit! I may be halfway insane, but I’m not that far gone.”
Peter blinks at him, completely blindsided. "Wade? How—what—"
Wade throws himself onto the couch beside Peter, beaming like it’s Christmas morning. “I’m an international man of mystery, baby. France couldn’t keep me away from my baby boy on his big day. No way.”
Peter feels his chest unclench in ways he hadn’t realized were possible, his lips tugging into an involuntary smile. He lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You really—”
“Forgot your birthday? Not a chance.” Wade taps the present with a grin. “Go on, open it! It’s not Asgardian mead, but I promise it’s something you’ll like.”
Peter rolls his eyes, his heart still pounding from the suddenness of Wade’s entrance. “You really flew back just for this?”
Wade’s grin softens, just a bit, and he shrugs. “You’re worth it, Spidey. Besides, I missed your stupid face.”
Peter stares at him, something warm and heavy settling in his chest. All the things he couldn’t figure out just minutes ago seem to melt away in Wade’s presence, the ache in his heart dulled by the ridiculousness of the man sitting next to him.
He picks up the present, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you love it,” Wade shoots back with a wink.
Peter huffs an amused breath, tearing into the wrapping paper as the clock strikes midnight, Wade’s presence pulling him out of the quiet darkness he’d almost lost himself in.
Peter’s fingers tear at the wrapping paper, expecting something ridiculous and gaudy—like a chimichanga pillow, because of course Wade would think that’s the perfect gift. But when the paper falls away, revealing the sleek, unmistakable black casing of a camera box, he freezes.
“Wade…” His voice catches in his throat.
Wade fidgets, pretending to check his nails. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Big sap moment. But, uh, figured you might need something better than your phone for those Spider-Man glamour shots.”
Peter just stares, mouth slightly open, his heart doing this weird flip in his chest. It wasn’t just any camera. It was the camera—top of the line, the one Peter had ogled for months but could never justify spending money on.
“Seriously, Wade?” Peter breathes, turning the box in his hands like it’s made of glass. He’s not sure what to say, too stunned to figure out the right words. Wade must’ve dropped a fortune on this, and the gesture—it’s so personal. Too personal.
Wade shifts beside him, scratching the back of his neck like he’s suddenly shy. “I, uh… I didn’t stop there.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a framed picture, sliding it over to Peter.
Peter picks it up, eyes widening as he takes in the image. It’s a candid shot of Deadpool and Spider-Man, both in costume, sitting side by side on a rooftop. In front of them, two matching plushies—one Deadpool, one Spider-Man—are perched with the same casual vibe, arms slung around each other. The lighting is perfect, the sunset behind them casting long shadows, and it’s… surprisingly wholesome.
Peter lets out a laugh, shaking his head as he runs his thumb over the glass. “You… you framed this?”
“Damn right I did.” Wade crosses his arms with a grin. “That’s high art, Parker. You should hang it in your office or whatever. Or, you know, just stare at it when you need some Deadpool-themed inspiration.”
Peter sets the picture down carefully and looks at Wade, who’s watching him expectantly, eyes flicking between the camera and the photo.
Peter swallows, blinking against the sudden warmth in his eyes. “Wade… this is… a lot. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Spidey.” Wade’s voice softens, a rare gentleness breaking through the usual bravado. “Just… y’know. Thought you deserved something nice. And maybe a reminder that, uh… you’re not alone.”
Peter’s chest tightens, his fingers gripping the camera a little harder than necessary as he looks at the man sitting next to him. Wade, in all his chaotic, mercenary glory, never failed to surprise him. And somehow, Wade knew exactly what he needed, even if Peter didn’t know himself.
“Thanks,” Peter finally says, voice a little rough. “I mean it, Wade. This is… it’s perfect.”
Wade winks, leaning back with his usual swagger. “I’m always perfect, Parker. Thought you knew that by now.”
Peter chuckles softly, setting the camera down and pulling Wade into a quick, tight hug, surprising them both. Wade hesitates for a second, then hugs back, his grip firm but warm.
“Happy birthday, Pete,” Wade mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now, let’s get some cake or something before I start crying too.”
A little while later, Peter is sprawled out on Wade’s couch, more than a little drunk, the camera and framed photo tucked safely away on the table. They’ve been dancing—well, more like Wade has been dancing his heart out to Just Dance while Peter half-heartedly followed along, laughing until he had to sit down, the booze making him a little too unsteady on his feet.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in a year,” Peter blurts out, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling, his words slurring just a little. “Not since MJ. It’s been… a whole year. That’s kinda pathetic, right?”
Wade, who had just finished an overly dramatic spin move, freezes mid-pose. He drops his arms and ambles over to Peter, flopping down next to him on the couch. “Well, if we’re comparing, I haven’t kissed anyone in… well, since—" Wade makes a vague gesture, eyes flicking somewhere far away. “But hey, we’re not here to compare kissless streaks. What kind of hosts would we be, letting you be all sad and pouty on your birthday?”
Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’m not sad. Just—reflecting. I’ve been thinking about Gwen a lot, too.”
Wade’s face softens as Peter continues, his eyes locked on the younger man, giving him his full attention. Peter’s never seen Wade like this—so present, so gentle.
“She was... good,” Peter says, quieter now. “Like, really good. She made me laugh, even when everything sucked. She never took any of my bullshit. She… always looked out for me. Even though it was supposed to be my job to protect her. I never told her how much I—how much she meant to me.”
Peter’s voice cracks a little, but instead of tearing up, he chuckles, his eyes growing distant with the memory. “She was just... fierce, y’know? I think you would've liked her. She would've given you a run for your money.”
Wade grins, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “She sounds like a badass. The kind of girl who’d make sure you didn’t get too full of yourself.”
Peter hums, eyes slipping closed for a moment. “Yeah... she was. God, I miss her.”
The room goes quiet for a beat, the hum of the TV and the distant city noise filtering in through the windows. Wade watches Peter, his usual sarcastic retorts replaced by something softer, something that almost borders on reverence. And then, as if compelled by the weight of the moment, Wade shifts closer, his knee bumping against Peter’s.
“You, uh… you wanna kiss someone?” Wade asks, voice surprisingly tentative, like he’s not entirely sure what Peter wants but is willing to be whatever he needs in that moment.
Peter blinks, staring at Wade, his heart skipping a beat. “Are you… serious?”
Wade shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave Peter’s. “Well, I mean… it’s your birthday, your wish is my command. I’ve thought about it a lot. Kinda hard not to, with you running around in that tight suit all the time. But, uh… only if you want to, Pete. No pressure.”
Peter’s head is spinning, and not just from the alcohol. The offer hangs in the air, and Peter suddenly feels giddy, a bubble of nervous excitement rising in his chest. “Yeah, I—yeah. I think I do.”
He doesn’t really think about it after that. Doesn’t let himself get tangled up in the hows or the whys or the what-ifs. He just leans in, his breath catching in his throat as Wade’s face gets closer, his eyes fluttering closed just before their lips meet.
And, for the first time in a long time, Peter doesn’t wish it was someone else. It’s soft, way softer than Peter expected. Wade’s lips are warm and careful, like he’s holding something fragile in his hands. The moment stretches, and Peter feels a jolt of something electric run through him, something giddy and thrilling that makes him want to laugh. And so he does—he pulls back just enough to let out a breathless giggle, his forehead pressing against Wade’s.
Wade chuckles too, his hand coming up to cup Peter’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. “You’re a giggler, huh?”
Peter grins, the world around him fading away as he gazes at Wade, the warmth of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. “Shut up, I’m just—this is… nice.”
Wade looks at him with this awed, almost reverent expression, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. “Yeah, Pete,” he murmurs, voice soft and full of something Peter can’t quite place. “It’s more than nice.”
They stay like that for a moment longer, noses brushing, breath mingling, before Peter surges forward again, capturing Wade’s lips in another kiss. This one is less tentative, more certain, and it sends a rush of heat through Peter’s entire body. He can’t stop the giddiness bubbling up again, can’t stop the way his heart pounds in his chest.
Wade’s hand slides from Peter’s jaw to his neck, holding him steady, grounding him. It’s soft and slow and intimate in a way Peter hadn’t expected, and when they pull apart again, Wade is looking at him with this soft, knowing smile that makes Peter’s stomach do flips.
“You’re real pretty when you’re not in denial, Parker,” Wade says, his voice light but the affection in his tone undeniable.
Peter laughs again, something light and warm blooming in his chest. He feels like he’s floating. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wilson. Leave me alone, I’m terrible at this.”
Wade grins, but his eyes are soft, full of a quiet awe that leaves Peter feeling breathless. “Happy birthday, baby boy,” he murmurs, and Peter knows, in this moment, that things between them have changed.
They’ve crossed a line, and Peter’s not sure he ever wants to go back.