Bucky had come with good intentions. He had Clint’s gear bag containing a few specialty arrows, a comm, and god knows what else. He was supposed to drop it off and leave.

Instead, he opened the apartment door (it wasn’t even locked) and was immediately hit with blasting music, the smell of instant mac and cheese, and you sitting in the kitchen floor eating something.

And Clint? He was standing on the kitchen counter. Not at the counter. On top of it. Trying to hang something with duct tape.

Bucky closed the door behind him slowly. Nobody noticed. He crossed the room like a man walking through a battlefield.

You looked up, spoon mid air. “Oh hey, Buck. Want some pasta?”

He stared at you. Then at the bowl. “No,” he said flatly.

Clint turned around (still on the counter), grinning. “You made it! I didn’t hear you over the soundtrack of my mental breakdown!”

“Obviously,” Bucky muttered, placing the gear bag on the nearest surface not covered in empty coffee mugs or Nerf darts. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Clint pointed. “They’re being supportive. That’s friendship.”

Bucky looked at you, completely exasperated. “How do you function like this?”

You took another bite of pasta. “Organized chaos.”

Clint jumped down from the counter like it was a stage and high-fived you on the way past. “Operation Dartboard Installation was a success.”

“It’s hanging by duct tape!” Bucky gestured wildly.

“Only the best,” Clint replied proudly.

Bucky looked around, utterly defeated. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.”