Clint was sprawled against one of the walls when Bucky walked in, stripping the film off a fresh pack of cards. Opposite him, against the back of the couch, was a pop tart box, empty of food and full of discarded cards, a joker leering up at Bucky from on top.
The level of focus on Clint’s face would’ve been enough to let Bucky know he was wasted, even without the empty bottles beside him. He looked up, comically surprised, when Bucky slid down the wall next to him, crossing his arms on top of his raised knees.
“So I’m guessin’ the date didn’t go so good?” He said.
Clint shrugged and flicked a card that dropped straight into the box, no rebound.
“Wouldn’t know,” he said, “I thought it went okay, but apparently she’s not looking for dating right now.”
“So she went out with you, why?”
Clint snorted and flicked another card.
“Can you ask for feedback, you think? Like after a job interview.” He tapped his card against his teeth, thoughtful. “Not that I’ve had one of those, either.”
“You’d just get the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel,” Bucky said, and Clint rolled his head against the wall to look at him, fuzzy and kinda sad.
“You think?” He asked.
“Well it’s sure as hell nothing wrong with you,” he said, and his voice had dropped to something low and intimate without his say-so, something that gave too much away.