"Maybe you young fuckers are," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "Some of us require some maintenance." He tugged the blanket up a little higher, almost to his chin, and then reached down to stroke Moo's head for a few seconds when the blanket's movements drew her. "Hey cow," he said softly.
When Bucky floated the idea of moving in together -- which he couldn't be serious about, not really; Clint knew that -- Clint actually chuckled a little. "You can teach me how to do laundry, but I ain't teaching yous shit about trick shots. You already got a cow outta me, and she's fierce. You don't need a bow. But teach me when I'm visiting at your place, okay? I'd go crazy in Eight. Too much smoke and shit." And apart from that, if Clint up and moved in with Bucky, people would talk, and that wasn't a thing that either of them needed. But it was nice to think about, like so much else.
Clint recognized the flinch, but he didn't let go. Not right away, anyway. "Just to the people that know you a little," Clint said. "But hell, maybe it's just me. I'm familiar with the concept." He let his eyes half close again. "Anyway, don't worry. I'm sure no one knows that matters or would tell anyone. I'm just sorry you're in this position, is all."