Wade screams. Like, actually screams. He covers his face with his hands like he walked in on you naked. Except, if he did walk in on you, he’d probably be a lot more comfortable making a bad joke. And you are kind of naked.

Your mask sits discarded on the table next to the plethora of bad Chinese takeout and Nintendo controllers. Your face is on display. The same face Wade had spent hours begging you to show him over the course of the year you’ve known him.

“Spidey, honey-pie, pookie bear, I think you’re missing part of your get-up,” Wade attempts, his voice strained.

He knows how important your identity is to you and, despite his aching curiosity, he absolutely refuses to let you do something so stupid as trusting him.