? tangled hearts ? spideypool ?

The sun filtered through the curtains of Peter's small apartment, casting soft beams of light across the room. He lay on the couch, half-buried in a blanket, still groggy from the night before. Wade had stayed over after the mess of the mission, his constant chatter and jokes somehow soothing the heavy weight that had settled in Peter's chest.

Peter rolled over, careful not to disturb Wade, who was sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Wade's head was resting on the armrest, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal his mouth and nose, snoring softly. Peter smiled to himself, finding a strange comfort in the quiet moment.

But as he lay there, thoughts that had been buried for so long started to bubble to the surface again. Peter tried to push them down, tried to focus on the mundane—the pattern of the sunlight on the wall, the distant sounds of traffic outside—but it was no use. The thoughts kept coming back, nagging at him, refusing to be ignored.

He didn't even know why he was thinking about it now. Maybe it was because last night had been a mess, a reminder that he couldn't always keep everything together. Or maybe it was just the fact that Wade had been there, present in a way that few others were, even when Peter hadn't asked for it.

Peter sighed softly, his eyes drifting back to Wade. There were things Peter had never talked about with anyone—things he wasn't sure he even knew how to talk about. He wasn't good at this stuff, at putting feelings into words. Especially feelings that were still so confusing, so uncertain.

Wade stirred slightly, his eyes blinking open as he woke up. He turned his head to look at Peter, a sleepy grin spreading across his face. "Morning, Webs. You look like you've been deep in thought. What's going on in that spidery brain of yours?"

Peter hesitated, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't fully explain. He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Just... thinking, I guess."

Wade propped himself up on one elbow, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Thinking about what?"

Peter swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. He kept his gaze fixed on the blanket, mumbling his response. "About... stuff. You know, life. Who I am... and all that."

Wade didn't say anything right away, just watched Peter quietly, his usual playful expression replaced by one of concern. Peter could feel the weight of Wade's gaze, but he couldn't bring himself to look up.

"I guess it's just hard sometimes," Peter continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Figuring things out. About myself. About where I fit in all this."

Wade nodded slowly, giving Peter the space to say what he needed. "I hear you. It's not easy, being pulled in so many directions. Being a superhero, being... you."

Peter's hands fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, his words stumbling out before he could stop them. "And sometimes... I don't even know who 'me' is. Like, maybe I'm not who people think I am. Maybe I'm... different."

There. He'd said it, or at least part of it. The words hung in the air, quiet but heavy. He wasn't sure if Wade understood what he meant—hell, Peter wasn't even sure he fully understood what he was trying to say—but the confession felt important, like opening a door just a crack.

Wade's response was softer than Peter expected. "Different's not a bad thing, Spidey. Hell, it's probably the best thing about you. And whatever you're figuring out, whatever's going on in that head of yours, just know you don't have to figure it out alone."

Peter finally looked up, meeting Wade's eyes. There was no judgment there, no confusion—just acceptance. Wade didn't push for more, didn't ask for clarification. He just let Peter's words be what they were, enough for now.