Clint Barton is going back to bed. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} today_sucks) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snapthread, |
"Oh yeah," Clint parroted, not even offended that it sounded like Bucky hadn't really realized they were friends. It was cool. He'd just like, worm his way in further eventually. Or get annoying, and Bucky'd tell him so. Whichever came first.
"Yeah," he mused, thoughtful. He wasn't going to ask what it was about. Bucky could tell him if he wanted, but Clint was slowly learning there was stuff in Bucky's world that just didn't match up with his own. "As much as that's great to picture, it's probably best not to get Carol mad at you. She's got a mean left hook."
His place wasn't all that far. None of the places were, and he opened the door with a little key wiggling in the lock and then waved Bucky in. "No couch," he lamented. "Sorry." A couch would have been great, because they were the best thing in the world when it came to sitting down and unwinding, and Bucky clearly needed that, but they'd just have to make do.