She called him a drama queen and Clint actually laughed. Not a long laugh, really, but an honest-to-goodness chuckle, because really, she wasn't wrong. It had felt final, certainly, even if it had just been a couple of texts. Natasha spoke in understatement most of the time, every word layered and nuanced. It had felt finished. Final.
But then, so had so many other things. There had been years when he'd barely talked to Scott, and now, there he'd been, lugging Clint's drunk ass home the night after the party. He'd really thought the wouldn't see Jessica again until she showed up on his doorstep one night. Things changed. But they had a way of working out, too.
"Awww, you afraid you're gonna catch something from me?" he teased, taking the bottle back. It was almost half-empty now, and they'd have to do something about that, so he called up one of his favorite liquor stores on his phone as he spoke. M "A desire to exfoliate the shit out of your pores, maybe?"
He passed the phone to her, the store's vast selection (only the hard stuff, though; wine and beer was for amateurs) blinking up from the screen. "You pick. You're taking the empties, though. Maybe it'll decrease the likelihood of Scott yelling at me next time he randomly drops by to make sure I'm not drunk off my ass."