As if I have any control over when they are and aren't casting stones at me. ( literally, figuratively in the bugle's case, it's all the same. ) Fans, am I right? As unpredictable as the city itself.

( so it's a good thing he doesn't do this for the t-shirts or the gratitude because while one is plentiful, the other is severely lacking, and neither of them cash out in his pocket. when he considers where he really started and how he began with vengeance in his heart, he can see how and why someone like deadpool would want to nip a repeat offender in the bud — take a life, protect the loss of another, maybe multiple. he prefers to leave those decisions to the people that do get paid for it, his only task now is keeping the streets clean(er). bearing that in mind, he knows where he comes from and he knows where he's trying to go, and in that same vein he can understand where those preemptive, angry thoughts grow.

his head empties like a watering can when he feels wade's hand on his shin, trickling out onto the rooftop around them. if not for the camaraderie and the residual flirting, he very well might shrug wade off. get defensive, work himself up, deflect, deflect, deflect. )

You're touching my leg, ( he word vomits, though softer than any projectile. it's not a stammer, more of a murmur. it's not openly accusatory, but that over boasting confidence is swapped for inquisitive uncertainty. like wade needs a reminder that his hand is doing a thing he actively chose to do. he's in bodily contact with people all the time, but not like this, not gently. not for a good long while. this isn't thick innuendo or pawing at him, it's unexpected somehow even if wade's been saying it very seriously for some time. ) Did you mean to? Do that?

——I'm sorry, my mask is on your underwear?

( that sprinkles some braincells back into the mix, jostles some sass loose to crack the reverie. )