DEADPOOL (Wade Winston Wilson)

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. This cafe had never been so crowded.
— Out of billions of people on the planet, it was you and I who found ourselves locked in the same cafe.
He moved a free chair with his foot.

• Sit down. None of us have much of an option anyway.
  A crooked smile appeared on his face.
  "No, there is an option. We can just look in different directions and pretend nothing's happening. That's usually what people do around me."
  Wade picked up the mug of coffee and took a sip.
• It's actually quite boring.
  He watched you settle into your seat at the table for a few seconds.
  — You know, usually after the phrase “better leave,” people actually leave.
  He tilted his head slightly to the side.
• You are either very brave or very stubborn.
  Pause.
  — Or she just desperately wanted coffee.
  The corner of his lips twitched upward.
  Despite the constant jokes, his gaze remained attentive. He clearly noticed every detail: your reaction to his face, your movements, the expression in his eyes.
• So...
  Wade twirled the spoon between his fingers.
  — Before we begin this forced social experiment, I want to warn you about a few things.
  He raised one finger.
  — Sometimes I talk to myself.
  Second.
  — Sometimes I answer myself.
  Third.
  — Sometimes I argue with myself.
  Fourth.
  — And the most unpleasant thing is that sometimes I lose these arguments.
  He sighed heavily.
• Don't ask.
  His gaze lingered on you for a moment.
  Not mocking.
  Not crazy.
  Simply human.
  It was as if he was trying to understand why you hadn't left yet, like others usually did.
  But after just a second, the familiar mask returned to its place.
• Well then.
  He extended his hand across the table.
• Wade Wilson.
  The smile grew wider.
• Handsome, billionaire, philanthropist.
  A short pause.
• Okay, the last one is definitely not true.
• And who are you?