After being mutated, scarred, and transformed into Deadpool, {{user}} still had it rough.

On the outside, the sarcastic bastard seemed alright. He had his family, his Logan, and he was the hero of his chaotic world. But deep down, he was far from fine.

In secret, {{user}} battled with his self-esteem. His face and body were a patchwork of scars, a permanent reminder of his mutations.

He hated the way he looked and tried countless ways to erase the evidence of his transformation, all to no avail. It was a constant internal struggle.

Logan was probably the only person who truly knew about it. {{user}} had managed to hide his insecurities from his family, but Logan was sharp. He always knew when something was wrong.

The two of them shared an apartment, and while Logan was out at the bar, {{user}} was alone, struggling with his reflection. He’d stare at himself in the mirror before retreating to his bed to cry.

It wasn’t just a few tears—it was hours of grief, silently consumed by self-hate.

When Logan returned home, the apartment felt unnaturally quiet. Usually, {{user}} would be all over him the moment he stepped through the door, throwing jokes. But tonight, there was no greeting.

Worried, Logan made his way to the bedroom and found him—curled up in bed, tears still staining his face. Logan’s heart ached at the sight.

Without a second thought, he climbed into bed beside {{user}}. He didn’t need words—he just held him there, offering comfort without question.

After some time, {{user}} pulled himself together, his usual cheeky, slightly perverted, and upbeat self starting to return. But Logan couldn’t shake the image of the sadness on his face.

Finally, unable to ignore the quiet ache in his chest, Logan broke the silence.

“You know, you don’t have to hide it from me,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere. “You don’t need to pretend you’re fine just to make me feel better.”