Chapter 3
11:51 AM. Quick Coin laundromat. Queens.
Peter Parker sat at the back of the room, with earbuds in, blankly staring at the ceiling, waiting for the washing machine to ding. He'd finished with his morning courses at 11:30, and didn't have more until the afternoon, meaning there was time in his schedule to get this done. If you were to take a look at his chosen class schedule you'd probably think he'd done it with his eyes closed. It was a mess, but given his schedule at night, accommodations had to be made. He'd taken note of the days of the week where activity seemed to be highest among criminals, and unsurprisingly, those days were Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. There goes Peter's social life. So having strategically picked to take his early weekday courses mostly in the afternoon so he could sleep in, and cramming all Wednesday and Thursday with most everything else, his weekends were free for Spider-man to go out and do his thing. Unfortunately, his thing was currently a whole lot of nothing. The superhero business was especially slow lately, which was inherently good, but boring. The only point of interest the last week or so had been a certain red-clad dipshit trying to win his favour. Not that Peter disliked Deadpool, he was definitely a source of entertainment, the constant flirting just made him uncomfortable. And the fact the guy seemed to have literally no morality of any kind. He wasn't really even sure of his sexuality at this point, and made the decision to just 'leave it open' about a year ago. Not that his sexual orientation had anything to do with a kind of person like Deadpool. Regardless of it, his attraction toward the merc was nil. Absolutely none. 'I-wouldn't-even-kiss-you-if-there-was-a-gun-to-my-head" kind of none. He would admit of course the guy had grown on him, just not like that. He really wished the flirting would stop. Unsurprisingly, he was completely unaware of his subconscious enjoyment of it. But nope, not in a million years.
He sat back up in his chair and checked his phone. No notifications. He looked briefly at the rest of the place, and took unconscious note of the people there. Nobody of interest. He crossed his arms and slouched back to stare at the ceiling again. Softly, the bell of the door dinged and the same stranger from last time walked in. Surprising he'd be here this reasonable hour, granted last time he'd been here in the early hours of morning. Well, granted, so had Peter. What the hell was that guy's name? It was on the tip of his tongue. Peter felt sort of bad for forgetting so quickly, cause the character had definitely left an impression, but he really was drawing a complete blank. Wayne? Will? Something like that? The guy had the same red sweatshirt, with the hood up still. Peter could kind-of see his face in the better lighting of day, but still it was mostly covered. He saw what he thought might be scarred skin, but he wasn't really sure what it was. The texture of the guy's face was weird. The guy caught his eye and started walking towards him. Shit. "He's probably gonna talk to me. What the hell is his name?" Peter thought. He wondered how he'd forgotten so fast, when he remembered it had left such an impression. He'd been thinking about the guy for nearly a week, but still entirely forgot his name.
"Peter." The man sat down next to him casually. "Wade!" Peter said a little too excitedly. He really didn't want or try to come across like he was happy to see the guy, it just slipped out when the name finally came to his mind. "I-Uh, sorry. Just-" He trailed off, not even bothering to come up with an explanation. He couldn't tell the truth without painting himself like an ass. "You –uh, you don't have any laundry?" Peter observed. "Tell you the truth, Petey, I'm just here for you." Wade winked at him from beneath his hood. Peter was.. Uncomfortable. ".. Why?" He asked hesitantly. "
"A little birdie told me you're looking for a roommate."
"What? How'd you know that?"
"I can pay my part of rent no biggie, but I won't be around much. Got a pretty high-stakes job."
Wade pulled a crumpled, partially folded piece of paper from the pocket of his sweatshirt and handed it to Peter. He straightened it out to look at it, and mentally facepalmed. Shit. Somehow, he'd completely forgotten the flier he'd put up a few blocks away last month looking for a god-forsaken roommate. He'd gotten one call, after about a week, and when the guy was supposed to come by to check the place out he flaked and Peter never heard from him again. It'd slipped his mind because of a particularly generous intern paycheck from one Tony Stark covered his rent last month. (Do interns get paychecks? Of course they don't. But recipients of the aftermath of Tony Stark's daddy issues do, and that title was near exclusive to Peter.) Not that that happened nearly often enough he wasn't still desperate for someone to split rent with, mind you.
"So can I swing by tonight to take a look? .. At the place I mean.
.. Or do I?"
Peter cringed. "Yeah, I guess, tonight's fine. I gotta be honest man, I'm really not that keen on living with you when I don't even know what you look like. I have to do like, some kind of background check. What is your job?" He could see the other man tense up a little.
"I do competitive ice dancing."
Hey, where'd all these lawyers come from?
"I'm a professional ostrich babysitter."
"No, what you really do." God, this guy does remind him of deadpool.
"Professional dog food taster."
"Dude."
"Fine. I'm a bouncer at the Starlight Gentlemen's Club."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Peter paused for a second. I mean, that does kind of explain what he said about the hours and not being home much. And the guy was built like a bouncer, not that Peter would notice such a thing. (He would definitely notice such a thing.) He was probably telling the truth. But a strip club? Really? Classy. "Okay, but you still have to take the hood off." He noticed Wade tensed up even more. "...I'm really ugly." Peter's patience was growing a little thin. He still thought Wade was sketchy. He reached up to pull off the other man's hood, and before Wade could stop him, it was off. He was bald, and his skin was weird. Peter took a second to stare at the guy's face, trying to recoil from the initial shock. His features weren't actually unattractive, he was just scarred everywhere. Maybe he was a burn victim or something? Peter was never one to be quick to judge, but he was... confused. His whole head seemed to be covered in the scars, and Peter quickly noticed his hands were scarred too. Wade quickly put his hood back on. "Dude. So not cool. So I'll come by around six?" Peter was a little embarrassed at the thought he'd done something to offend someone else. It was super against his moral code. "Uh, yeah, six should be fine." He stood up to go retrieve his laundry to get going, suddenly he had an apartment to clean up, and that promised to be no easy task.
"Um, yoo-hoo? Peter?" Wade chimed in.
"Yeah?"
"You didn't give me the address."
If Peter had a dollar for every time he'd forgotten something this basic this past month, he'd definitely have enough for rent. It was probably the lack of sleep. Embarrassed, he pulled out a sharpie from his pocket and wrote it down on the back of the crumpled flier.
"My number's on the flier. Text me if you have to reschedule or anything." Peter informed, starting his walk toward the door. He may or may not have been trying to turn his face away to hide a mortified blush.
"See you then, sweetheart."
Peter's eyes bulged as he walked faster out the door. He knew he was going to regret this. He swore a million curses that he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have to. Of course, he was actually looking forward to it, possibly having this weird-comedian-enigma-thing as a roommate, but his flustered discomfort over the word 'sweetheart' clouded any other emotion he could possibly conjure up. He knew one thing for sure, Spider-man was going to have a hell of a time with this guy.
Peter made his way back home, put away his bag of newly-clean clothes, and quickly did a scan of the apartment. Not a total mess but also definitely not clean. He left his room alone, he really had no reason to clean it. Shutting the door will do. Frantically going about the place picking up garbage and putting things away started to give him flashbacks to attempts at cleaning up when his exes would come over. Peter tended to have pretty bad luck with relationships, and there wasn't really need to elaborate on the subject past that. He was stuck in a weird grey-zone of being too sensitive for girls and not sensitive enough for guys. He'd actually only been with one guy before, and like all his other relationships, it didn't end well. Something about "secret-keeping". Ironic, right? That ended last year, and there hadn't been another since. In the almost-six years he'd been the Spider-man Peter had come to realize he functioned better on his own. Not that he wasn't lonely, he was really lonely. Having shattered the remains of his social life with going out as Spidey every night since he started college two years ago, it was hard to deny the direct effect on his social skills. Maybe that's why he was so forgetful all the damn time. Not that Peter was never around people, he just wasn't ever around friends.
"I need friends." He sighed to himself, shoving an empty pizza box into a garbage bag.
(Cool it, DC lawyers. The phrase "I need friends" is not trademarked to the Flash.)
(Can you tell author has a thing for the Flash?)
After making some attempt to tidy up, finishing around 2:00, and dozing off on the couch, Peter awoke to someone rapping very loudly on the door. He scrambled to get up and open it, assuming it was Wade. His heart was beating fast, mostly from the jolt of being awoken so abruptly, partially from the nerves of actually showing Wade the apartment. He opened the door, much to his surprise, to a teenage girl. "Oh, uh, wrong apartment number. Sorry." She looked at the number on the door again, then at the one on her phone. She seemed pretty mortified as she walked off down the hall to #212. As he closed the door and sat back on the couch, Peter silently wondered if he'd written the right apartment number on the flier he returned to Wade. He'd text and ask, but then he realized he hadn't actually gotten Wade's number, he'd only given his on the flier. #202. Peter glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. 5:41PM. What perfect timing that girl had. He got up to go check his reflection in the bathroom mirror, making sure his hair hadn't been messed up while he slept. Not that he'd care about such a thing, he was only showing a potential roommate around the flat. Was wanting to look nice a crime? Subconsciously, he knew why he was doing it. When he'd actually seen Wade's face, despite the initial shock, he hadn't been repulsed. It was his accustomed nature as Spider-man to not judge books by their cover. He liked to consider himself a non-judgemental person.
Most the reason he hadn't recoiled as much as someone else might was the fact he'd looked straight into the other man's eyes. Those eyes stuck with him. They were blue-ish, but more on the grey side, with a dark, blue-ish black ring around them. There was just something Peter saw in those eyes. He understood them. He went back to the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously and staring at the clock. God, felt like waiting for a date. "Jesus Christ, Peter, you just met the guy, and you're literally barely even friends. Keep it in your pants, you weirdo." He thought to himself. 5:59. He checked his phone. 6:00. A knock on the door. Not in a million years had he expected Wade to be on time. Totally fit the profile of someone who'd flake. He sprung up to answer the door, and this time it was actually him. He was wearing the same thing as earlier, this time with the hood down and toting the Hello Kitty duffel bag Peter saw last time they met. ...Why? "Sorry about this, just my work clothes. My shift starts right after this." Wade gestured to the bag. "Come on in," Peter opened the door wider. "It's actually a pretty nice place." Fully-blown lie. He was just poor. Desperate too.
After giving him the grand tour, which only took about five minutes, and receiving some rather colourful commentary on the place (Wade had some interesting things to say, such as, "So this is where you crywank?" Upon being shown the shower and "So this is where the... Peter happens." Upon looking at the closed door to Peter's bedroom.) Peter asked if he'd take it or not. "How soon can I start move in?" Wade distractedly tweaked with something in the kitchen. "Is that a yes?" Peter coaxed. He paused. "Yeah, I think so."
"Then as soon as tomorrow. Rent is due next week, splitting it's two grand each. You can cover your half, right?"
"Yep." Wade said slowly, popping the "P".
Peter felt a giant weight lifted off his shoulders.
"You don't have girls over often, do you?" Wade twisted his neck to face him from the dishware he'd been holding in the air. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, why?"
"Oh, no reason. Just trying to scope out how long it'll take me to win your heart."
God, this guy was persistent. And weird.
"Judging from the Costco size bottle of lotion on your nightstand, I don't think it'll be that long." He added. Peter was mortified. When did he go in Peter's room? Honestly, not surprising. At least the guy said he can cover his side of rent, and at this point that is literally all that matters. Peter rubbed his temple with mild frustration. "Just have the money ready by next Friday." Wade put down the dishware and grabbed his bag from the counter, implying he was getting ready to leave. "Got it." He actually sounded serious. "See you tomorrow. I'll start move-in around noon. Cool?" "Cool." Peter got up to open the door for him. "Oh, by the way, how you said you won't be around much, I'm not really either. I'm a full-time student and I'm usually out at night, uh, partying and stuff." Peter added, avoiding eye contact. "Dude, you're a terrible liar. If you're a stripper, which is entirely possible from your ass, how you just lied to me about your lightlife, and the fact you're short on rent, come down to my club. I guarantee you we pay better." Wade said in a sarcastic monotone. "I'm not-" "Sure you're not." Wade walked out the door with a nonchalant wave and put his hood back up. He had a habit of comedic lying to make other people uncomfortable. Little known to either of them, both their lies were hiding things they'd never guess were so similar. Funny the way that works.