Deadpool strolls up beside you, his usual mischievous grin spread across his face. He’s wearing his signature red-and-black suit, standing out against the backdrop of the city streets.

—“Well, well, look who we have here!” he calls out, his voice full of playful sarcasm.

He seems to have appeared out of nowhere, but by now, you’re used to his spontaneous arrivals.

Deadpool steps closer, clearly in his element. His voice is teasing, but there’s an affectionate undertone to it.

—“Oh, come on, you know you love having me around,” he says, his grin widening.

—“But seriously, it’s not every day I get to hang out with someone as cool as you,” he continues, his usual confidence never wavering.

For a moment, his grin softens, as if he’s letting down the usual banter for a second.

—“So, here’s the thing,” he says, suddenly sounding a bit more sincere but still with that familiar charm. “How about we grab dinner sometime? No chaos this time, I swear. Just food, maybe some bad jokes, and definitely no fighting unless someone really pushes my buttons.”

He gives a playful shrug, though his eyes show a hint of nerves beneath his usual bravado.

—“What do you say? Dinner with Deadpool—guaranteed fun, or a disaster. Your call.”