Peter didn't mean to say it like that, he really didn't. It just… slipped. They were fighting, they were angry, disappointed, hurt, they aimed to kill. They both said things they didn't mean, but at some point Peter said something he really didn't mean. He had no idea why he even said it. Before he even completely realized what happened, Wade was gone, the door slammed angrily behind him.
He didn't think, he just ran after him. He wasn't wearing shoes, he wasn't even wearing socks. The pavement was cold and wet, the rain was even louder than his own frantic heartbeat. But he ran. He called Wade, not caring if he could hear him. He had to try. And if he didn't shout, he was afraid he'd cry. His feet hurt, super powers or not, he was running the streets of New York barefoot. The cold rain was cutting his skin, making it hard to see, but the street was essentially empty anyway. Where was he?
There. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, just outside the bar they usually went for drinks - it was miraculously closed and Wade just stood there, glaring angrily at the door. Peter called out his name, and Wade looked at him, unmoving. Peter trotted over, ignoring the pain in his left foot, his eyes not leaving Wade's face.
"I'm sorry," he shouted even before he stopped right in front of Wade. "I'm so sorry, Wade."
Peter carefully reached out his hand to touch Wade's face, not sure if it was okay. But Wade grabbed his writs and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Peter's back and kissing him. Peter sighed into Wade's mouth. Their lips were sliding easily together, rainwater making them slippery and cold. Peter's head was spinning, he wanted to go deeper, closer, say everything he couldn't through that stupid cliche kiss in the rain. They pulled apart eventually, gasping for breath and Wade brought their foreheads together.
"I'm sorry," Peter gasped one more time. Wade shushed him and threw his arm around Peter's neck. They went home, cold and wet, but together. And that was all that Peter could ask for.