To say that things weren't clearly a little weird as soon as he stepped into Peter's apartment would be a lie.

"Are you working on something?" Wade asked, setting one of their brown paper bags down on Peter's kitchen counter, staring over his shoulder at the strange set up living in the middle of the apartment. There were large linen sheets held up with various light sorts hovering around, a plastic mirror sitting next to the odd station. It looked... like a really bad fort?

"Uh... yeah. I'm trying to make due with what I have. I'm not really used to doing studio work, normally I did candid photography or outside stuff." Peter said, not looking over at Wade as he set down the second bag he was carrying. He could see that Peter's ears were beginning to burn red.

"What are you taking pictures of now?" He asked, wondering if Peter was embarrassed by the setup itself or something else...

"Um," Peter's voice cracked. The poor guy nearly combusted after that. Standing three feet away, Wade could feel the heat of embarrassment rolling off the guy in waves. Peter cleared his throat and shrugged. "Well, you know. It's- it's not. I don't know. Equipment is expensive."

"Uh-huh." Wade nodded slowly. "It was porn, wasn't it?"

"What!?" Peter squawked. "No of course not! Who do you think I am?"

"A desperate young and attractive man in need of a few extra bucks?" Wade raised a brow before shaking his head and waving Peter off. "In the end, it doesn't matter, I want to eat." He gestured at their bags which were growing colder by the minute. He stepped forward to begin dividing up their food. He had taken the initiative again, ordering things for them to share with Peter's input. They'd gone to this fun little local Mexican bar that was a little hip and smelled great. Peter had been right about it being something that he would have found too stimulating if they'd stayed there to eat their meal. Honestly, he hated that Peter was right. Even more so that he didn't feel that Peter should know him that well. He supposed they'd known one another for a while now, but it was just strange. Perhaps it all boiled down to the fact he wasn't used to having friends.  He wondered how Peter felt about it all? 

"Do you want an actual plate?" Peter asked, stepping around Wade to approach his cupboards. They were filled with old Corelle dishware, plates that had been well-loved and were in stages of fading. They didn't look old enough to be the kind that had lead paint, but they were twenty years old at least. He was pretty sure he faintly recalled the same plates from somewhere in his own youth.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be a terrible idea." He nodded. 

He wished he could actually remember something solid about when he was younger, but all he had were the faint whispers of memories and he couldn't tell if they were normal illusions of lost time, or if they were actually gone. Much of his memory had been eaten away by the cancer. More than he could fathom and as much as it was a relief that he didn't even know how much of himself he couldn't remember, it was still terrifying that he didn't really know who he was. Sure, he was Wade Winston Wilson. He had been living a questionable life before he had cancer, a hitman of sorts but not quite as legitimate. Then there was Ajax and the transition. He remembered more of that then he cared to. He wouldn't forget everything if he had the choice, but he wished he could forget some of the horrors of it all. And then he became Deadpool because of that, losing a lot of his freedom as his own person whilst simultaneously gaining some things. He was confident he lost more than he'd ever gained though, and given the option, he'd certainly forego everything and choose to die rather than live the remainder of his life not as himself. 

Not that he could really remember who he was, but he knew he wasn't it. But he was getting closer. Every day it was an uphill battle but despite how awful he felt, today he felt more himself than he had since he mutated. He knew he was getting better.

And that realization just made the idea of true and full-force relapse utterly horrifying. If this didn't work . . . then he'd go to someone to find a way to kill him if he couldn't be fixed.

He'd have to be medically killed after all. He needed to make sure that he would stay dead. He was terrified of the idea that if he was sunk down to the bottom of the ocean or shot into the sun that he'd still reform and then he'd just live an eternity of recording and dying, reforming and dying. It would be a hell he couldn't escape and he would be forgotten like that. No one would have him. 

He was weak. He didn't like pain.

Something crawled across his shoulder and he flinched, jumping away and brushing whatever it was off. He met Peter's gaze just as he was turning, the young man's hand still raised up near where Wade's shoulder had been a moment before. 

Oh.

"Sorry, I thought it was a spider." He smiled sheepishly.

 Peter nodded slowly. "Sorry, just me. Are you okay? You were out of it for a minute there." He was staring at him with a true note of concern, grey eyes pinning Wade down and scanning him thoughtfully. He cared. That too, was terrifying.

"Just got caught up thinking about something. No worries. Thanks for the plate," He smiled and held his hand out for one of the two dishes Peter was holding in his other hand, earning a curious look from the brunette.

"Mkay, well where do you want to sit? I have the floor or my bed because lest you don't mind waiting for a second for me to go undo that monstrosity." Peter nodded back towards his photography set up.

"I can wait. How about I dish up plates while you do that? Do want some of the soft shells or hardshell tacos?" he asked as he took the second plate and set them both on the counter to begin the dishing process. He knew he wanted at least one of everything they got. 

"Soft, I'm not a huge fan of hard shells. I think they're hard to eat. Actually, when my aunt would make tacos I'd always put everything in a hardshell and then wrap that in a soft shell so I could get the crunch without the mess? I'll just throw some of the chips onto my soft shells." Peter explained as he turned his back to Wade. 

He watched him for a moment, admiring his shoulders as he wandered towards his not-porno set up. He smiled, amused at the reaction Peter had given him earlier. And he'd been honest, Peter might be able to pull in a pretty penny if that were his goal but he knew that was mostly just wishful thinking. He did truly wonder what Peter had been doing because the guy sure had gotten worked up over it. First he didn't want Wade over, then he nearly crumpled at the suggestion Wade made. 

Peter was funny, he liked him.

"So what were you doing?" 

"Just a photoshoot for a client." This time there wasn't even a hint of nervousness in Peter's answer. 

"Did you get paid well?" he considered the fact that maybe it wasn't any of his business to ask after the fact, but he couldn't unask the question.

Peter hesitated. "No. Not yet, but it's an experiment we're going in together over. It'll probably take some time to pay off but if we get some traction it could be great. But I do think I caught something that'll help me out." he could hear the smile in Peter's voice even before he turned around to look at him. He looked proud of himself. "I challenged my boss-client for the price of a photograph that I know he'll want for a paper that some might call a once in a life time catch?"

"Really?" Wade was curious now. "Do you mind me asking what it was?" 

Peter bit his lip and nodded, turning back towards his drop sheet to pull it up off the chair it was trapping over. "You know that newspaper, The Daily Bugle?"

"God, yeah. You mean The Daily Spider-Man Troll?" he scoffed. Unfortunately, he did know of the paper, having gotten into bit of a situation a few years ago when an article came out suggesting that he was a new version of Spider-Man or that the Hero had turned dark and whatever. It had been stupid but ultimately didn't mean anything to him aside from the fact he had a good six months where he had to clarify he wasn't Spider-Man to people who weren't in his circle. Or those who had dealt with his chaos. He'd admit that the paper had some good shots of the Hero though, the few times he'd picked one up to see whether or not the editors had moved on from himself as a topic of interest. 

Peter laughed. "Yeah, well I don't condone what they say, but I sell them their front page photos. At the end of the day, I can make rent doing that and I'm really good at getting what they want." 

"You take those shots? How do you do that?" Wade asked, turning away from what he was doing to focus on Peter. No one could argue that The Daily Bugle had some of the best Hero shots around. There were fan subreddits who complained about having to buy the defamation just to get their hands on the images themselves. "Peter you should be making fucking bank if you're that photographer! Do you have any idea what people would do to have actual prints? And not just newspaper scans or cutouts?"

"Well, no." Peter studdered. "But I'm working on that front," He raised his drop cloth to reference it. "But . . . I don't know, people don't look at the name of the guy who takes the pictures?"

For once, Wade's brain was going to burst out of his skull and it wasn't going to be of his own doing. "WHAT? Of course, they do! You have your own threads on the internet Peter! You're a hashtag!" He pulled out his phone, opening twitter to go look up #PeterParker. He just hoped Peter didn't ask why he knew about any of this. "If I'd known you were THAT Peter Parker- Actually, have you ever even told me your last name?" He paused to look up at Peter. 

The brunette paused to think before he shrugged. "I dunno?"

"Whatever, but look at this!" He held out his phone to Peter, almost skipping across the room to show him the tens of thousands of posts he had under his name. "Don't you have any professional profiles or accounts? People tag you in things all the time."

"No . . . Well, I didn't before. I just made some accounts but they aren't under my real name."

"Peter, so many people have probably been scamming you by selling crappy prints of your work online." He sighed as Peter took his phone and began to scroll. 

"The way I've been doing business, technically they're scamming the paper out of money. I usually hand over ownership of my photos because I can get more money for them that way." Peter said quietly as he stared down at the screen, slowly pushing the feed along. "My last offer was the first time I've ever done things the way I should have been doing. I offered a license because I  knew what I had was something I couldn't just hand over."

"What did you capture?" He couldn't help himself. He had to ask, he wanted to know. 

Peter bit his lip and handed the phone back before he crossed his arms with a sigh and looked over at his laptop. "Well .  . ."