Wade was nervous. He wasn’t sure why exactly, or maybe he knew too well. It was one of those nights when anxiety crawled beneath his skin like a parasite, one of those nights when his own reflection disgusted him more than usual. He could feel every scar, every imperfection on his skin as if they were burning under the dim light of the room. The air felt heavier, each breath harder to take.
And yet, Logan was there. Logan, with his scent of stale tobacco and damp forest, Logan, with his patience and tenderness he refused to admit having, Logan, who always looked at him as if he were something precious.
Wade couldn’t understand that.
Lying on the bed, the sheets tangled around them, he tried to silence the voice in his head telling him he didn’t deserve this, not him. Because it would always be there, no matter what he did—his damn cancer, those damn scars, this ruined skin and brain. He could try to forget, joke it off, bury it beneath layers of bullshit and bravado, but the truth always caught up with him. He wasn’t meant to be seen as something beautiful. He wasn’t meant to be loved.
He swallowed, looking for an escape.
“Hey, peanut… uh… could we turn off the lights?” he suggested, his voice lighter, more vulnerable than he wanted.
Logan, shirtless and sitting at the edge of the bed, looked up and raised an eyebrow. His relaxed posture, but Wade knew better than anyone that Logan was paying attention, reading through him like an open book.
“Why?” Logan asked, his voice gravelly with calm curiosity.
Wade raised an eyebrow and tried a smile, one of those smiles he used to deflect attention.
“Well, you know… mood lighting and all. We’re adults, we deserve a little romance…”
He knew Logan wasn’t fooled.
“No, bub.”
Wade felt his stomach tighten. He would have liked to joke again, say something stupid, maybe even overdo his displeasure by complaining, but the words got stuck in his throat. Logan didn’t look away. He didn’t run.
“I want to see you.”
Those words hit him like a punch. An uncomfortable heat spread across his face. He turned his head and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of Logan’s gaze. He could take bullets, regenerate after the worst injuries, but this… this was unbearable.
“You sure you don’t need glasses? Because honestly, there’s nothing to see here…”
Logan didn’t respond immediately. He just kept staring at him, his gaze lingering on every inch of marked skin, every scar, every imperfection. Not with contempt. Not with disgust.
With something else.
Something softer.
It was terrifying.
Wade could handle violence, physical pain, insults, and mockery. He knew what to do with those, how to deflect them, how to protect himself. But Logan wasn’t giving him any of that. He was offering only raw, sincere attention, without pretensions. And that completely disarmed him.
The silence stretched, almost unbearable.
Logan got up, went to the drawer beside the bed, and pulled out the lubricant before returning to him. Wade turned his eyes away, trying to hide the turmoil churning in his stomach. He took a shaky breath, and without thinking too much, he got on all fours on the mattress. It was easier this way. He knew what he was doing in this position. He knew he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with Logan.
But Logan furrowed his brow and placed a hand on his back.
“What are you doing, bub?”
Wade hesitated.
He could’ve joked, said something silly, backed out as usual. But instead, he froze, his throat tight.
“O-oh, hum sorry,” he murmured finally. “You mean you’d prefer me to lie on my stomach, Log?”
He looked up at Logan, searching for confirmation. He almost hoped he would say yes. Because that would mean he didn’t want to see his face.
Like everyone else.
But Logan raised an eyebrow, and seeing his expression, his heart clenched.
He understood.
Of course he understood.
Logan didn’t need words for that. He read Wade like an open book, and that messed with his head.
So, he gently leaned down and pressed a kiss to his battered nose.
Wade nearly jumped.
It was such a soft, unexpected gesture. Something you didn’t do to guys like him.
“Baby, I think you’d be more comfortable lying on your back, even for me. ” Logan said, his voice low and rough, but incredibly tender. “And I’d like to see your face while we do this.”
Wade’s breath caught in his throat.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He didn’t know what to say.
No one had ever wanted him like this before.
Not for him.
Not for his face, not for his expressions, not for what he really was.
He felt his eyes sting, and damn, he wasn’t going to cry, right? Definitely not.
He tried to laugh, to deflect, to lighten the moment.
“Don’t you fear I’m going to make you puke, Wolvie?” he asked with a wry smile, which trembled a bit.
Logan looked at him with that intensity that always made him melt. Logan knew Wade was self-conscious, but to him, his boyfriend was the most beautiful man in the world.
“You don’t disgust me, Wade. You’re beautiful.”
Damn.
Damn, it was too much.
Too much and not enough at the same time.
He took a deep breath and nodded, unable to speak. He let himself fall onto his back, slowly, as if the simple movement required a colossal effort.
Logan followed his gaze, and when he positioned himself above him, Wade felt his heart pounding in his chest.
He was going to see him.
Everything.
But he wanted that.
And instead of looking away, Logan gently caressed his cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“There,” he murmured, tilting his head.
Wade felt a tear roll down his temple. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand, but Logan had seen it.
He didn’t say anything.
He simply kissed him, slowly, deeply, as if he was trying to prove that he meant every word.
And this time, Wade didn’t want to run. Or hide.