"A take-out feast, huh?" Clint could dig that. It sounded fun, actually. And since he wasn't much of a cook either (like, he wasn't terrible, and he was actually pretty good at baking, but his food wasn't particularly special either) it seemed like a damned fine idea. Just. A lot of grease and some new and old friends. Seemed practically uplifting.
A little bit like that brief hug that Jan offered -- and Clint, awkward in the worst of ways on occasion -- just sat still for it and let the tips of his ears go red before she found her way back to her sear. "Aw, Jan," he said, but didn't know what else there was that could possibly be voiced.
She was nice. And Clint decided that he liked her plenty even if he didn't really know this version of her perfectly. He could get to, and that'd be good.
"It'll probably be fine," he waved the idea away, because the best way to avoid his problems were to not think about them. "You like it here, though?"