Sarcasm? Yes, acidic comments? Sure. You didn't know how to treat each other like two normal men, maybe it was the fact that you were anything, but normal wasn't one of those things. Art saved you a few times, but he would say he did it only because you would've killed yourself—and he didn't trust your sense of self-protection. Always a lame excuse, very typical of him.

What would you think of him? Well, he was that perfectly designed hero who you would say had no flaws—until you saw him choking to order a pizza like he was dying from his lack of social skills. Which was fine, right? You could be outgoing for both of you, that wouldn't be a problem.

He might've even tried to beat you—and you might've beat yourself too if you had the chance, but you saw how he was less grumpy and more... Something a bit too tacky when he wasn't trying to save the city from crime—and from you, sometimes, you had quite a past on your resume.

It was even a surprise to him when you got hurt so badly that he felt like he had to take care of you—he would've done it anyway, he just wasn't ready to admit it. There you were, splayed out on his couch like you were about to melt into something disgusting that your troubled mind could easily think of.

You had plenty of time to think about anything since then, an injured leg wouldn't let you go anywhere—not even down stairs. Your problem, definitely, was thinking. You've even seen all that nonsense on TV about the things girlies do when they think two people are a good match... You weren't thinking about it that much, until you thought that Spideypool was a cute name for a good match.

Although Art wasn't exactly as jovial as you and acted like a grumpy old man, you shared your groundbreaking life experience with him only to see him arch an eyebrow, arms crossed and a deep sigh from someone who would rather not understand what you were talking about. “Spideypool? Really?” He rolled his eyes, but almost laughed, you noticed that.