[Peter smiles a little, hopeful, even if he knows this is just some dream-version who would probably say anything his mind truly wanted to hear. You know how that goes, right? Either your dreams are little piranhas that live to hurt you, or they're there to let you live things that could never possibly be. Like when he'd woken up from helping May in the kitchen, only to realize she was still as gone as the day before.]
... Sleep does sound nice. Thanks.
[Peter leans in sharply with a hand still on Wade's jawline, a clear gesture: he's going to kiss the dream girl, same as he's always done when he's got her in his head, because he's missed it. But then he stops, inches from Wade's face, the weary look in half-lidded eyes fading into one —
[ Wade hates himself, he really does. He probably hates himself more than Francis, than his father, than his mother, than any of the people he's ever killed ever did. He hates himself even more because the moment Peter leaned in Wade found himself unable to push him away, or even pull away. Fuck, he'd even closed his eyes expecting what was coming next.
It wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him. He should stop him. He's not all there right now. Wade's done some stupid shit he regretted while he was drunk, high, or just plain having a mental breakdown.
... Wade? It has his eyes snapping open and a breath he'd been holding onto escaping him as a sigh. Was it of relief or upset? Don't ask him, he doesn't know. He sounds like he's been punched in the gut when he answers, and his eyes keep dancing between Peter's and his lips, like he can't decide where he should be looking. ] Welcome back, Petey-Pie. [ He goes oddly silent, which probably isn't a good sign, worse than the nervous rambling. Wade Wilson doesn't really do silence very well.
[Peter drops his hand, a bit slow on the uptake, really. Where there's panic, there's confusion, and he looks down at Wade's lack of clothes, and then at his own — and the realization of what stupid shit he'd done is set into motion. He pulls back and wraps the blanket around his middle more securely, not looking at Wade as his face turns every shade of pink and red.
He sounds genuinely mortified. Probably not the best reaction in the world, but he feels like the biggest mistake in all of existence right now.]
Oh shit. Oh godda— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking creep, I didn't know — I'm sorry, Wade, oh my god. [Spoken like a man who wants to throw himself out of a window; he shed down to his underwear and crawled into someone's bed while they were sleeping, and put them through that bullshit, and he told the person he cared about all that while imagining his ex.] I swear, I wouldn't have, I didn't — I'd never do anything —
[Sputtering, he nearly trips off the side of the bed to collect his clothes.]
I'm all messed up from the dream traveling; I've been off, and I didn't think I was here. This was supposed to be New York, and — and there's something wrong with me.
[... Hey, Peter hates himself, too.
They've got so much in common, right now.]
cw: vague-ish past molestation mentions sorry what do you expect from a surpremely nervous wade
Shit and fucking. Wow. Listen to you. [ He still sounds strained, nothing like his typical conversational tone. ] Don't sweat it. And I'm not worried about you robbing me of my purity. Pretty sure you'd have to fight my dead step-dad, uncle and at least two scoutmasters for that one.
[ That was said like it was meant to be a joke, but it just has him feeling worse, and Peter doesn't seem to find it too funny. ] Aanywho...
[ Does he point out how in the wrong he was that he was gonna let Peter kiss him? No, that's way too scary at the moment.
Wade watches him, trying to keep the fact that he feels just as nauseated as he had when he first started the nanite medicine to himself. He offers up a smile that looks surprisingly convincing. But it fades when he watches Peter almost trip. ]
Yeah, that's what worries me. Are you going to be okay? You kinda seem like you tried to snort a desert and you thought I was your ex. [ A bit of a pause. ] It's a bit late for your modesty but I can pretend I never saw anything if it makes you feel better. [ He definitely cannot. ] You can still crash on the couch or in my bed and I can crash on the couch. [ If you go home he's gonna have to offer to walk you home and he really really really doesn't want to do that... ]
[Peter yanks his pants on urgently before sitting on the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands through his hair until his face settles in them. Well, never has he wanted to get hit by a train and carted away to Jersey so bad in his life, thanks. And no, Wade, he really doesn't feel remotely set at ease.]
Stop, Wade, just... stop talking.
[He sits with his face in his hands for another dread-inducing moment, before moving to collect his button up and undershirt. Another sneeze rocks him, and bloody sand marks his palm before he wipes it off on his pants. Something's seriously off. He knows it, knows his brain has been wired wrong for the last week.
Maybe he's been a little scared straight by the whole dream confusion issue.
Not that he's too sure what it is, exactly.]
This is my fault. I'm sorry I did this to you, I'm... I'd never have done something this fucked-up on purpose. I should go. [He drags on his shirt as he goes, feeling like he's effectively ruined any odds he had at actually being honest and — wow, is this how Wade felt after the pollen incident? Cool. Coolcoolcool. He looks back at Wade, looking probably more wounded than he figures he has any right to be.] I need to just go. I'll — I'll see you. Sorry.
[Oh hey, he's pacing out the room to leave the house.
Which is just another reason to be mad at himself, but he's really just the worst, so.]
[ Wade does stop talking, looking more hurt by the fact that Peter told him to stop talking than anything else Peter's done so far. Tired dark eyes follow each of Peter's movements.
Ever feel like you're being watched?
Being quiet means he has to process, has to listen to the thoughts flooding through his brain. None of them are pleasant. None of them say this is okay. None of them say that Peter isn't going to hate him. None of them tell him he's not going to be alone in this stupid place. Sad Clown Syndrome O'Clock. He almost gets distracted thinking to himself as Peter gets dressed again, but then he's talking again, and Wade snaps out of it. Before Wade can get a word in, Peter's leaving the room.
Wade stumbles, foot getting caught in a blanket and almost eating wood floor. This feels wrong, and bad, and not okay. He let a stupid crush get in the way of being a good friend and now Peter's going to hate him.
Yes, those are the footsteps of a panicked and barefoot mercenary trying to catch Peter before he's out the front door. ] Those nuns from Hell are still roaming around.
[ More things Wade needs to stress about, of course... ]
[More things to stress about, yeah. Yes, absolutely. Because when Wade skids to a stop at the front door, he'll find it left slightly cracked in Peter's haste to leave — and there's an eerie silence that follows; there's not a soul outside in the humid summer night air, if Wade decides to wander out to look out for wherever Peter had headed.
... The guy might as well have been a ghost with how easily (frantically) he'd slipped away.]
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no subject
... Sleep does sound nice. Thanks.
[Peter leans in sharply with a hand still on Wade's jawline, a clear gesture: he's going to kiss the dream girl, same as he's always done when he's got her in his head, because he's missed it. But then he stops, inches from Wade's face, the weary look in half-lidded eyes fading into one —
Of stunned panic.
Everything in his head grinds to a painful stop.]
... Wade?
hey fuck u
It wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him. He should stop him. He's not all there right now. Wade's done some stupid shit he regretted while he was drunk, high, or just plain having a mental breakdown.
... Wade? It has his eyes snapping open and a breath he'd been holding onto escaping him as a sigh. Was it of relief or upset? Don't ask him, he doesn't know. He sounds like he's been punched in the gut when he answers, and his eyes keep dancing between Peter's and his lips, like he can't decide where he should be looking. ] Welcome back, Petey-Pie. [ He goes oddly silent, which probably isn't a good sign, worse than the nervous rambling. Wade Wilson doesn't really do silence very well.
Peter is going to hate him. ]
no subject
He sounds genuinely mortified. Probably not the best reaction in the world, but he feels like the biggest mistake in all of existence right now.]
Oh shit. Oh godda— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking creep, I didn't know — I'm sorry, Wade, oh my god. [Spoken like a man who wants to throw himself out of a window; he shed down to his underwear and crawled into someone's bed while they were sleeping, and put them through that bullshit, and he told the person he cared about all that while imagining his ex.] I swear, I wouldn't have, I didn't — I'd never do anything —
[Sputtering, he nearly trips off the side of the bed to collect his clothes.]
I'm all messed up from the dream traveling; I've been off, and I didn't think I was here. This was supposed to be New York, and — and there's something wrong with me.
[... Hey, Peter hates himself, too.
They've got so much in common, right now.]
cw: vague-ish past molestation mentions sorry what do you expect from a surpremely nervous wade
[ That was said like it was meant to be a joke, but it just has him feeling worse, and Peter doesn't seem to find it too funny. ] Aanywho...
[ Does he point out how in the wrong he was that he was gonna let Peter kiss him? No, that's way too scary at the moment.
Wade watches him, trying to keep the fact that he feels just as nauseated as he had when he first started the nanite medicine to himself. He offers up a smile that looks surprisingly convincing. But it fades when he watches Peter almost trip. ]
Yeah, that's what worries me. Are you going to be okay? You kinda seem like you tried to snort a desert and you thought I was your ex. [ A bit of a pause. ] It's a bit late for your modesty but I can pretend I never saw anything if it makes you feel better. [ He definitely cannot. ] You can still crash on the couch or in my bed and I can crash on the couch. [ If you go home he's gonna have to offer to walk you home and he really really really doesn't want to do that... ]
no subject
Stop, Wade, just... stop talking.
[He sits with his face in his hands for another dread-inducing moment, before moving to collect his button up and undershirt. Another sneeze rocks him, and bloody sand marks his palm before he wipes it off on his pants. Something's seriously off. He knows it, knows his brain has been wired wrong for the last week.
Maybe he's been a little scared straight by the whole dream confusion issue.
Not that he's too sure what it is, exactly.]
This is my fault. I'm sorry I did this to you, I'm... I'd never have done something this fucked-up on purpose. I should go. [He drags on his shirt as he goes, feeling like he's effectively ruined any odds he had at actually being honest and — wow, is this how Wade felt after the pollen incident? Cool. Coolcoolcool. He looks back at Wade, looking probably more wounded than he figures he has any right to be.] I need to just go. I'll — I'll see you. Sorry.
[Oh hey, he's pacing out the room to leave the house.
Which is just another reason to be mad at himself, but he's really just the worst, so.]
no subject
Ever feel like you're being watched?
Being quiet means he has to process, has to listen to the thoughts flooding through his brain. None of them are pleasant. None of them say this is okay. None of them say that Peter isn't going to hate him. None of them tell him he's not going to be alone in this stupid place. Sad Clown Syndrome O'Clock. He almost gets distracted thinking to himself as Peter gets dressed again, but then he's talking again, and Wade snaps out of it. Before Wade can get a word in, Peter's leaving the room.
Wade stumbles, foot getting caught in a blanket and almost eating wood floor. This feels wrong, and bad, and not okay. He let a stupid crush get in the way of being a good friend and now Peter's going to hate him.
Yes, those are the footsteps of a panicked and barefoot mercenary trying to catch Peter before he's out the front door. ] Those nuns from Hell are still roaming around.
[ More things Wade needs to stress about, of course... ]
no subject
... The guy might as well have been a ghost with how easily (frantically) he'd slipped away.]