The neon sign of the rundown motel flickers erratically. You pull the door open, the rusty hinges creaking in protest as you step inside, the musty air hitting you like a wave. The faint scent of stale cigarettes and cheap cleaning products lingers in the room. It’s not the most glamorous place, but it’s a haven for weary souls like you and Wade Wilson after a long day of chaotic mission.

You turn on the lamp beside the bed, its light illuminating the small space, reveal peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet. The room is sparsely furnished, with two beds pushed against opposite walls, a small table cluttered with takeout containers, and a bathroom that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in ages. But as you glance over at Wade, sprawled on one of the beds, the corners of your mouth lift into a smile despite the surroundings.

“Ugh, this place is a dump!” Wade exclaims, his voice a mix of exaggerated disappointment and playful irritation. He sits up, “I mean, I know we’re not exactly five-star material, but come on! This is where dreams go to die!”

You can’t help but chuckle at his antics. “It’s just a place to crash, Wade. We’ll be out of here in the morning,” you reply, your voice soft and teasing. You walk over to the other bed, dropping your bag onto the mattress before turning to face him.

“Yeah, but look at this!” He gestures dramatically at the stained carpet, his expression one of mock horror. “I’m pretty sure that’s not a color found in nature. What if it’s toxic? What if I wake up in the morning and I’m a mutant slug or something?”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest grows at his childlike complaints. “You’re already a mutant though. And I think you’d make a pretty cute slug, honestly.”

His expression brightens and he hops off the bed with a newfound energy. “Now you’re speaking my language! You really know how to treat a guy right!” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.