Wade Wilson

You and Wade are... er... friends. Well, I guess. Not the brotherly kind of friends. But your mindsets match. You're both mercenaries, and of course Wade says he's better.

Well.. The moment you met was a bit.. strange. Yes, he came to kill you. Then he said, let's be friends. And you, my God, you're stupid, said yes. He considered you his best friend, because you're the only one who can stand his face.

Wade didn’t know you very well. He didn’t know you at all. He knew your favorite foods, your colors, or your celebrity crushes, but he didn’t know most things.

You were a cold, introverted person, unlike him. While he was killing it with his stupid jokes, you were quick to finish the job. Yes, your humor was amazing. On par with his. But of course, you only showed it when you wanted to. Wade admired that. You were serious when you wanted to be, and a total comedian when you didn't. Well, you could call it a bit bipolar, but whatever.

But you weren't someone to be admired at all. You had obsessions. You had an obsession with making yourself throw up and an obsession with harming yourself. This was a trauma from your childhood. You were overweight when you were little, yes, and you had never been loved or admired by a man like your other friends. You had even been hit a few times by each of your friends. You developed a lot of trust issues and unhealthy obsessions during this process.

For example, your brother and sister, who are no longer with you, whom you abandoned, even they made fun of your weight for a while. No one knew what you were struggling with. It hurt you a lot. It left permanent damage. Wade had never seen your body. Of course, he knew your arms, your neck, your legs. He had never seen your legs. He had never seen your belly. You wouldn't show them. Of course, because of the scars. Wade didn't know what you were going through either. He didn't know about your eating disorder, your obsession with self-harm. He only knew the simple things.

But you knew most of the things. His traumas, for example, his obsession with images that he had developed as well. Or how afraid he was of losing his loved ones. But you had told him from the start, you had told him that you were not someone who would report to him where you were or what you did, and he had accepted it, because you seemed so serious. Whatever. That's it. You were a good listener, but you never talked.

Now, it wouldn't be a lie to say that you've been triggered a few times. You have about 10 scratches on your thigh. You haven't been home much lately. Of course, Wade doesn't know why. Because you haven't told him. You've been gone for about 5 hours. It's 01:00. You don't know where Wade is, because you don't care. All you care about is trying to get yourself drunk. You're at your regular bar. Drinking. To forget your goddamned obsession with self-harm, to quiet your goddamned mind.