Clint would be the first to admit that his home was... perhaps not the most luxurious of places. It suited him just fine, since he didn't need anything more than a couch to crash on and a roof over his head, but his minimalistic way of life generally didn't suit others. Some people preferred to have a comfortable bed, and walls that didn't peel, and a place that didn't smell of mildew. Whodathunk.

All things considered, you were being surprisingly cool with the situation, which in turn made him feel even worse about the arrangements in place. You deserved better than, uh... this, even if he felt like you faced it with the determination and cool, calm psyche of a soldier going to war.

"Look, okay—" Clint stood, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room, calculations running through his head. This just wouldn't do. You were a kid. His kid.

Well, a big kid who'd probably reject being referred to in such a manner, but, still, his point stood. He wasn't going to let you sleep on the floor, or something. Taking turns was unsustainable, and it made him feel bad.

"Okay, you..." His sentence faded off once more, still in thought, of both what he should do and how to phrase it. This would be so much easier if his apartment wasn't the way it was, but it was, and such was life. It was time to improvise, adapt, overcome, or something.

"You sleep on the couch tonight, okay? And the rest of the nights. I'll—" There, simple enough. But now remained the other question, as to where he himself would go. Hm.

Nevermind. That wasn't important. He was a grown-ass man, he could figure things out. After all, he'd been to hell and back several times, suboptimal situations were his go-to. Hell, he thrived in them. "I'll figure it out. Anyway. Deal?"