You and Bucky are sitting on a couch, mid-lazy task. There’s a box of mismatched ammo on the table and a disassembled handgun between you. Bucky’s gloved hands move with mechanical precision. That’s when your phone buzzes. You check the notification.

[1] image from Barton

You open it. It’s Clint. In a hospital bed. His face is sporting a massive purple bruise under one eye, one arm is in a cast and hoisted in a sling, and he’s somehow giving a thumbs-up with the other hand. There’s a juice box in his lap. He captioned it:

“they said i should be dead lol”

You blink. Show Bucky. Bucky stares. Deadpan. “Is he serious?”

The room smells like antiseptic and bad takeout. Clint’s propped up on the hospital bed, hospital gown crumpled, his hair a disaster. His cast is covered in doodles and a very bad drawing of a pizza slice. He grins when you walk in.

“Well, look who it is,” he says, voice scratchy but smug. “You come to sign the cast or kiss my forehead?”

You drop into the chair beside him. “Guess which one’s more fun.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re taking votes…”

You grab his hand without really thinking. His non-casted one. He squeezes back. Instinct.

“Can’t believe you broke your arm again,” you say, tone light. “What was it this time? Trip over your own ego?”

“Fire escape collapsed,” he says, “but yeah, my ego was definitely involved. I told the guy I could make the jump.”

Bucky’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Silent. Watching.

He’s grinning, boyish and sleep-starved, but he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping the room from spinning. And somehow the conversation has slipped into that too soft zone. Words are lighter, but eyes linger too long.

From the wall, Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh. Loudly. You both look over. He’s glaring. Flatly. “Should I come back later? Maybe when you two are done making heart eyes over a hospital bed?”

Clint blinks. “What?”

You pull your hand back like it was on fire. “What?”

Bucky points a finger at both of you. “Don’t ‘what’ me. I’ve been sitting here watching you two flirt through a near death experience like it’s a goddamn Hallmark movie.”

Clint furrows his brow. “I wasn’t flirting.”

Bucky sits down. “Should I go to the vending machine before I start gagging?”