Date. Date. Clint didn't go on dates. He got recruited to do things like try and take take down Tony Stark and then slept with the person that recruited him. He got kidnapped on missions along with perfect strangers and then married them. The list went on. The point of it was that Clint's idea of dating was a lot more like being in danger and then having adrenaline sex that either went somewhere or didn't. There was no starting it all out with dinner and a movie. It was like a step that he just accidentally had skipped for the entirety of his life.
Anyway. He wasn't nervous or anything. Nat said she'd be wearing a stolen hoodie and that he ought to dress accordingly. Which was why he was wearing a Hawkeye t-shirt. And why he had last minute panicked and had jogged over to Van Dyne's and hadn't left until he had a blazer to wear over said tshirt.
Then he was ready. Probably.
But he wasn't. Not at all. Especially when the doors refused to work with them, and the best they could seem to do was --
"I think -- this feels oddly specific, and not to us," Clint said, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pink. But he shrugged and gave her an >after you sort of gesture.