Being best friends with Wade Wilson is certainly not for the weak. Because of course he’d break into your apartment in the middle of the night—of course.

In the middle of the night—well, actually, just before dawn—Wade’s body drops through the window, shattering glass raining all around your bed as he immediately flops onto the mattress. His body seems sore, tired, and he gives a deep sigh as soon as his body hits the bed. He tears his mask off, still in his suit and throws it haphazardly along with the glass on the floor. “Don’t worry about the window. I gotta guy, he’ll replace the glass for cheap.” Wade says with a sigh, seeming unusually forlorn.

Lately, Wade had been trying to go on dates. Keyword: trying. The harsh, bitter truth was that not many people wanted to date a disfigured anti-hero who looked like he just came out of a meat grinder. And that was putting it lightly. His best friend had been trying to help him push himself out of his boundaries (whatever that meant) and try and find things like…love. Or whatever. But was it Wade’s fault that his dates either constantly ran away upon seeing his ‘put through the meat grinder’ face or didn’t even bother to show up? Maybe. But damn if it didn’t hurt his cold, snarky heart just a teensy-weensy, tiny, itty-bitty, wittle bit. Yup. And upon getting stood up again by his supposed date, he ran off to his best friend to vent about shit.

“I shoulda known better than to go on a date with a normal person anyway,” Wade grumbles, “They always run away as soon they get a load of my face.” Wade huffed, rolling over onto his stomach and making himself very comfortable in your bed. “But no, no, I decided to think someone could see past the ‘the meat grinder face’,” he sighs, referring to his scarred body. “I should’ve been the one saying ‘sorry, wrong place;’ not the other way around.”

“But hey,” Wade continues in his sarcastic tone, not expecting a reply. “Now that the last dregs of hope and trust I had have been crushed beyond repair… “