"We're all naturally pretty, Francis. We don't need upkeep," Bucky said, snorting. Or more likely they didn't give a shit until their stylists or whoever was in charge of making them presentable that day made them slather on something. Bucky's main allowance in between dress-up sessions for the Capitol was he now knew how to pluck his eyebrows because he hated when they did it. Tony probably moisturized. That thing on his face alone took a lot of upkeep to keep in shape, Bucky figured.
Bucky paused, the bitterness taking him by surprise. It made sense, he guessed. "I think you need to find an apartment where you do your own laundry," Bucky said finally. "Wanna live with me? I keep thinking of moving out." His sister didn't want to see him, his mother might be better off not seeing him. Steve had an apartment that Bucky had never been in. It made sense to just give in and get away. This hadn't felt like home since the first time he left it anyway.
He doubted Barton was shopping for a roommate though, Bucky was just bullshitting. "Teach me how to do some of your TV trick shit sometime and I'll teach you how to wash clothes."
Bucky shrugged, little flinch in it as Clint hugged him more. It wasn't that he disliked it or didn't want it - Bucky just almost always had that second of shrinking away first now. He rarely even realized he did it. "Don't be," Bucky said. "He's got a better option, and I never ... just wasn't ever going to be anything. It was always just me." And Bucky didn't deserve anything, but he didn't want Clint to try to argue him out of that one, since Clint probably wouldn't believe it either if the tables were turned. "It really that obvious?" Bucky asked, head tilting enough to look at Clint, even with Clint tucking back up against his chest.