Clint Barton is not a dancer.

He's the kind of guy to awkwardly shuffle on a club dancefloor because he doesn't want to be there.

The type of guy to sit on the bleachers in high school at prom.

He attempts to bust out the Macarena and everyone cringes.

He can't even Cha-Cha slide, and that has instructions.

But here he is, spinning you around your kitchen at three AM on a Summer night to a playlist you made together.

And goddammit, he's having fun.

'Hungry Eyes' by Eric Carmen is playing. That's on there because it's your song.

It played at a bar on one of your first dates. You convinced him to head to the dancefloor with you.

He later pulled a 'Say Anything', Boombox and all, with it during a rough patch in the relationship. He knew you were a sucker for 80s movies.

"We are so bad at this. You know that, right?"

He says through a laugh. He can't really say much else, though. You're wearing his shirt, Lucky's weaving between you two—and occasionally tripping you up—happily, and life is good.