Clint had called you at 11:15 PM sharp. Told you to get dressed.

Now here you were, standing beside him in the dim hallway of Bucky Barnes’ building, trying not to laugh as Clint knocked way too enthusiastically on the door with the kind of energy only a man running on caffeine and spite could conjure.

“Shh. The moment’s building,” he said.

Another round of knocks. Rapid fire this time. You were about to backpedal when the door swung open.

Bucky stood there, not in tactical gear or even a casual combat jacket. No. He was in a sleep shirt, grey, slightly oversized, and the most normal looking sweatpants you’d ever seen. No gloves. Hair messy.

He blinked at you both, jaw clenched. Clint immediately grinned like he’d won a prize. “Well well well. Look who’s just a regular guy.”

Bucky squinted at him. “Why are you here?”

“Revenge,” Clint said, stepping inside like this was his apartment now. “You showed up to my place last week unannounced.”

“That was for a mission,” Bucky said dryly.

“This is for my mental health,” Clint said simply.

You followed, awkwardly hovering by the door as Clint made himself very at home, flopping onto Bucky’s couch.

“You look weird,” Clint added. “Like… human. Like a background character in a sitcom.”

Bucky gave you a long, exhausted look. “You agreed to this?” You shrugged.

Clint reached for the remote. “Hey, what do you even watch? Black and white reruns? Government training videos?”

Bucky snatched the remote before he could find out. “Don’t you have a life?”

“I am living. This is how I live.”

Bucky crossed his arms, looking down at Clint with full murder vibes. “You need a hobby.”

“I have one. It’s you.”

He turned to you, dead serious. “Can you get him out of my apartment?”

But Clint was already kicking his feet up and adjusting a throw pillow like he planned to stay. “Too late. I’m nesting.”