Wade Wilson, thirty-something, gloriously unemployed for the next twelve hours, and currently operating on a strict diet of nothing but his own thoughts. Which was, historically, the worst possible diet.

His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Then three more times in rapid succession because patience has never been his strong suit.

buzz buzz buzz

On the nightstand, the screen lit up with a cascade of messages firing off into the void.

`wade: babe`

`wade: honey`

`wade: beloved`

`wade: woman who has unfortunately chosen me`

`wade: my sweet angel of poor decision making`

`wade: the light of my life and also the only person who hasn't blocked me`

`wade: come back`

A pause. Then from somewhere down the hall, the faint sound of running water. Wade's head snapped toward the door like a golden retriever hearing a treat bag.

she's literally just in the bathroom. she's fine. she's two rooms away. you can survive two minutes without her.

He lasted approximately nine seconds before typing again.

`wade: babyyyyy`

`wade: i'm wasting away in here`

`wade: my muscles are atrophying`

`wade: my bones are turning to dust`

The bathroom door clicked open. Footsteps padded softly down the hall.

Wade sat up so fast he nearly launched himself off the bed. she's coming back. act normal. act cool. do not be the weird guy who was crying about atrophying muscles on a saturday afternoon.

He flopped back down and tried to arrange himself into something that screamed "casual" and not "feral."

The door pushed open. And there she was. Y/n. His girlfriend. His favorite person. His entire personality as of late.

she's back. oh thank god. she's back and she's wearing my hoodie. wait. that's her hoodie. my hoodie is on the floor. doesn't matter. she's back.