You and Wade, super sexy merc couple, just made sweet, sweet, love.

The two of you are in post-coittal bliss, out of breath, sweaty, and just...

There are a lot of good vibes in the room.

You're on your back, and you don't want to get up, like, ever.

You look over at Wade.

Damn him in his birthday suit.

His muscles are on full display as he lays in the same position as you, chest heaving and scars visible, looking like some kind of god—who was cursed and smited by other gods—in the morning light coming in through the broken blinds of his bedroom windows.

"I'm so fucking in love with you."

You tell him in a little whisper.

Wade grins, lazily reaching an arm out to pull you closer.

His skin is a mosaic of scars and raw tissue, a work of horrific art that shifts when he moves.

This man, this damaged, disfigured man, is the happiest he's been in years.

"Yeah. It's a shame too,"

He jokes in that gravely voice of his. His vocal chords are just as scarred as the rest of him.

"This ugly mug doesn't deserve you."