Chapter 7
11:51PM. Cinepolis Chelsea Theatre. Manhattan.
A large crowd stood in waiting, fidgeting in their scanty clothes against the cold wind. Around the corner into the cross street the line came to an end, and at the very back of it, Peter Parker. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, feeling out of place with the people he saw. They hadn't even started letting people in yet, and he already knew he was going to regret it. The Marquis out front read in faded black letters: "Rocky Horror Picture Show" and underneath it "Friday Dec. 1st, Midnight". Near half the light bulbs framing the sign were out, the others flashing on and off to look as if they were circulating. Watching them made him a little sick. He didn't like them. He didn't like any of this. If it were up to him, he'd be at home, studying or sleeping or something. Spider-man should actually be out right now, but he'd cornered himself into a lie he couldn't get out of. He'd told Wade that he 'Had plans with friends' that night but it was insisted he cancel. Or, in Wade's words, "I swear to god, Parker. I will hunt these friends of yours down and I will personally annoy them to the point they either kill themselves or they cancel on you to go cry in their bathtubs. You're going to this whether you like it or not." After trying to shift the lie without giving away the truth for nearly a week, he finally gave in. There didn't seem to be a way out of it. He stared sideways at the brick wall rather than looing anywhere else. Peter pulled out his phone in desperate hopes of a text from Wade to confirm he was almost there. Doors opened in less than ten minutes and he was nowhere to be seen. Wade had promised he'd be there in time and that he'd only been hung up at work. (That was a lie. He was out being a pain in the ass to a poor convenience store employee over the lack of Peter's favourite candy. He was 100% willing to be late for that, and also 100% unwilling to tell Peter the truth about it. He wanted to be romantic. It wasn't romantic so much as it was weird, but the sentiment was still there) 11:59. C'mon. Peter fidgeted on his phone in discomfort. 12:00. The line started moving forward and he awkwardly shuffled along with it. As there were only six or seven people in front of him he realized that Wade was supposed to bring the tickets. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." He mumbled to himself, picking up his phone to call his friend. It kept ringing as he got to the front of the line. As soon as he was supposed to walk up to the door, Wade came running up beside him. Out of breath and holding two damaged boxes of convenience store candy, he held out the printed tickets. The woman at the door scanned them and told them to enjoy the show. Peter breathed a sigh of relief before scolding him. "Where were you?" He hissed as they walked through the hallway to the theatre. He stopped for a second and realized Wade was magically about six inches taller than normal. "And what. Are you wearing." He stared down at his friend's feet. He was wearing a pair of bright red, sparkling stiletto high heels, and walking surprisingly well in them. "What? These are my Rocky shoes. You're grossly underdressed." He sneered at Peter's converse. "You look ridiculous." Peter put his hands on his hips. "No, you look ridiculous. Wait till you see this crowd." Wade leaned forward and looked down at him. They strolled into the room, and suddenly Peter felt, well, grossly underdressed. People were meandering the place in party hats and garter belts and high heels, and it was the most beautifully bizarre display of human culture he'd ever laid eyes on.
"Can we sit in the back?" He gulped.
"Absolutely not. You need to see this up close and personal."
"Can we please sit in the back?"
"We'll sit in the middle."
"Fine."
Two minutes later, they sat in the front row. Wade went on and on about how lucky they were to have found this spot, and how Peter was gonna have the time of his life, and how this movie is what made him realize he was pansexual, and- Wait a minute. "This is what made you come out?" Peter gestured to the people surrounding him. "Aren't these people all in women's clothes?" "You'll understand in about two hours." He hadn't actually known Wade was pansexual, but had no real reason to be surprised. A little discomfort sprouted at the realization that meant the flirting that'd been happening was probably serious. That was not something to dwell on right now, there was enough mental stimulation going on right now from the looks of this whole scene. The lights started going down and Peter sighed, trying to reassure himself this would be fine. A curvy, short-haired woman in a pair of black and white pinstriped shorts, a t-shirt that read "Favourite Obsession" in dripping red letters, and a pair of obscenely ripped up fishnets jumped on stage. Peter leaned over and whispered "Are fishnets considered a necessity here or something?" Wade lifted up his pantleg to reveal that he was in fact wearing a pair and beamed proudly at Peter. "Yep. I told you you were underdressed." The woman was bent over talking to someone standing in front of the first row as the spotlight trailed around the closed curtain. Lighting check? The light centered on her as she straightened up to address the crowd. "VIRGINS! WE NEED VIRGINS!" She boomed. Just as Peter was about to lean over to ask Wade what she meant, she pointed down at him. "Found one! Yes, you. C'mon, we see you. Get up here." She spoke with confidence. "I'm- what? I'm not a virgin-" He spoke back weakly, face turning red. "You're not a virgin?" A few laughs were heard from the audience around him. "Sure you're not." "She means Rocky virgins, dipshit. Get up there." Wade hissed. Peter stood up and walked onstage awkwardly, joined by seven or eight other equally confused, normally-dressed people. The woman paraded around, encouraging the crowd to heckle the poor uncomfortable souls. A hand holding a mint-green pool noodle protruded from the closed curtain, and the woman reached past him to grab it. Suddenly she grabbed the back of his head and leaned forward a few inches from his face, whispering. "You look the most nervous. We'll go easy on you, promise. Tell your boyfriend not to look so worried." She gestured her head quickly to his roommate a few feet in front of them.
"He's not my-"
"Sure he's not."
"I'm-"
"Straight? Not anymore."
She let go of his head and slapped him lightly with the pool noodle. Facing the audience again, she began to explain the 'game' they were going to play. Peter's face grew redder and redder. The gist of it was, the quote-on-quote virgins were to line up front-to-back, with the pool noodle between their legs, and pelvic thrust it all the way through the line. He was utterly mortified. After what seemed like the longest two minutes of his life, he was indescribably relieved to walk offstage and back to his seat. He was expecting a storm of colourful comments from his friend, bur surprisingly all he got was an uncharacteristically considerate "You okay?". "Fine," He replied shakily, "But I'll have you know I'm definitely not going to enjoy the rest of this." He was wrong. This was great. Twenty minutes in, as the movie quickly turned from what he thought it was from the events of the first two numbers, he finally understood this being the catalyst for his roommate's pansexuality. Peter understood virtually none of what the audience was shouting at the screen, but the moment Tim Curry's character (Name?)'s cape came off, he got it. He got the whole movie. The audience, however, he was at a loss with. The rest of the night was filled with audience screams and heckles, unfollowable plotlines, and lots and lots of scantily clad men and women. Even though the initial discomfort never totally faded, it felt reassuring (and unfamiliar) to be around the kind of people who were this confident. He would probably go home and google what all of the screams and heckles actually meant, but in the moment, it was fun to laugh along with the jokes he didn't understand. Peter never thought he'd admit it, but Wade was actually right. He was definitely wearing heels next time.
2:19AM. Apartment stairwell. Manhattan.
Peter Parker and Wade Wilson trekked up the stairs, tired but happy. Peter stopped for a second at the few square feet of concrete before the 5th floor and grabbed his friend's arm. He stopped, and looked at Peter quizzically. "...Can I help you?" Wade puzzled. "I just wanted to say thank you for tonight. Genuinely. I had fun."
"… Okay?"
"You're supposed to say you're welcome, asshole."
"Do you know how hard it is for me to not make a euphemism at that sentence?"
"Harder than your dick at Rocky Horror?"
Wade's eyebrow lifted. That was unexpected.
"Can I ask you something?" Peter said, apprehensively.
"If it involves bisexuality and/or attraction to you right now, the answer is yes."
Their eyes remained locked.
"No, pervert. Why don't you wear your hood up anymore? You used to seem really unconfident about it."
Wade hesitated, realizing he'd caught on.
"Do you want the truth?"
"No, I want a blatant and unbelievable lie. Of course I want the truth."
"It's you, actually." He scratched the back of his head, breaking their eye contact to stare sideways at the wall. "You bring out confidence in me. I don't go outside without my face covered. It's only when you're with me."
Peter hesitated. "… Really?"
"Don't make me say it again. You already know I have a heart boner for you."
"A what?"
"A heart boner. It's like, a boner in your heart. It's not love and it's not sex, it's like, both. And neither."
"Wade, what the fuck?" Peter shook his head and laughed.
"Can I kiss you?" A statement of starkly bold questioning.
"Definitely not." Peter replied, suddenly breaking the tension to pass him, and continue walking up the stairs to their apartment on the seventh floor.
2:22AM. Apartment. Manhattan.
Peter Parker slipped his shoes off and made his way to his room. Wade Wilson followed closely behind, stopping at the kitchen in search of snack. Swear to god, the guy seemed like he ate twice what anyone else could every day, and 2AM wasn't an exception to that schedule. He sat on the couch for a few minutes, eventually glancing up to notice that Peter had left his door open. Peter doesn't do that, not ever. Taking note of it, but not intending to inquire, he crumpled the now-empty bag of chips he'd been eating and tossed it into the garbage. He stood up and walked to his own bedroom door, a few feet from Peter's, wondering if there would be any more interaction for the night. God, he hoped so. Wade paused for a minute before ducking into his own room, and just as he was about to close the door, his roommate peeked out of his bedroom, hand on the doorframe.
"Hey."
"Hey?"
"So, do you want to like," Peter rolled his head back and took a deep breath. "Say fuck it?"
"Be specific. I like to think I say 'fuck it' to most things in life." Wade replied.
"I mean," He shifted his weight, "Do you want to just, call it like it is and say that was a date?"
"Like, a date-date?"
He swallowed. "Date-date."
Peter patted the doorframe and smiled. He turned around and shut the door. He stood tensely with his hands flat against the back of the wood, eyes shut tightly. He sighed heavily and tried to ignore the screaming conscience in his mind. You're leading him on. You're leading the other guy on. What are you DOING? Go back. Tell him you were kidding. Or tell Deadpool he didn't mean anything. FIX IT. FIX. IT.
"Date-date." Wade smiled.