Clint & Natasha
"You don't look a day over twenty-six," she assured him with a grin. "Thirty-five today. Wow." Natasha would have agreed; he did look good for it, though it wasn't exactly his advanced elderly years. Still. Maybe she just generally thought he looked good. "You know, I'm kind of used to you having a couple years on me. Now you get to be the sexy young ingenue. I suppose I don't mind relinquishing my crown too much."
The Twizzlers were his request; for herself, she'd managed to rustle up Sour Patch Kids, and she spilled a handful out from the box into the cup of her palm, picking through them very carefully and separating them into color piles where they fell. Oranges and reds she left where they were once they were sorted, to be eaten in order; greens were dumped back into the box like the garbage they were, it was a very precise and careful system.