Chapter Text
Clint didn't like to think of himself as a negative person. In fact, once he'd set his eyes on a goal, there was little to deter him from it. Since the day he'd suggested that the group of them open the coffee store, he had allowed nothing to deter them, no matter if the obstacle in question was financial, moral, or personal. But as he slumped over the counter, head in his hands, he officially resigned.
Tony fucking Stark.
Out of all the people, Clint could have thrown himself into love with, it just had to be someone so mind-numbingly out of his league that he shouldn't even get to speak to him, let alone marry him. The man was everything that anyone could hope to be - rich, famous, humorous and a genius. Clint had surely, upon falling for this boy, joined a waiting list a couple hundred thousand long.
And this realisation begged the painful question: if Tony had this seemingly endless list of choices, then what on Earth would he want with Clint?
At the end of the day, no matter how much he joked about his charm and his looks, he was a near-penniless barista, and Tony probably had more change in his pockets than Clint was worth. It was a simple enough fact.
Then why did his heart hurt so profoundly in his chest?
"Morning." He heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from the spiral staircase that led upstairs to their living area, as Steve and Bucky both descended.
He merely nodded in response, still mourning yesterday's events.
"What's up with you?" Let it be said, Bucky was never one for subtlety.
"He's probably mooning over Tony again." Steve pointed out, grinning as he tied his apron around his waist.
"Hey, how did you kno-" Clint question was abruptly interrupted by a particularly violent bell ring. The shop's door had been flung open, and a rumpled heap stumbled in. Upon closer inspection, this crumpled heap appeared to be Tony.
Billionaire genius his ass.
The student was vaguely reminiscent of Bambi as he stumbled towards the counter, hair tussled and doe eyes wide and glazed over. "Coffee." He demanded plainly, his eyes switching between Steve and Bucky, "And uh," He spread his arms and Steve obligingly crossed the counter to fill them, lifting Tony from the ground in a tight hug.
Clint lost it.
"What the actual fuck?"
Bucky and Steve turned to him quizzically. Tony was apparently too exhausted to even question it. "Clint," Steve started uncertainly, "Tony has been friends with Bucky and me for years. We went to the same high school, He stuck up for us back when I was a runt. Even though he was Mr Popularity, of course." Steve's voice was laced with such deep fondness, that Clint knew they weren't messing with him.
Well, if he didn't have a chance before, his odds were somehow slimmer.
"Did you think he just came here at random?" Bucky openly laughed at his facial expression, patting him on the shoulder. "You can stand down, we're not out to steal your man."
Muffled by Steve's shoulder, Tony re-iterated his request. "Coffee."
Reluctantly, Clint moved to make the boy his drink, plain and black. He probably could've served him oil and he wouldn't notice. Steve had deposited the student in a booth, where he sprawled out, looking like he was about to pass out. Placing the cup gently at his elbow, Clint frowned. "Shouldn't you, maybe, sleep or something? I mean, I'm not a Doctor, but I think you're about to pass out."
Tony waved a dismissive hand in his direction and downed the drink, most likely burning his mouth in the process. "Shush. I'm almost done." From his pocket, he pulled out what was probably the crustiest piece of paper in the world, with what looked like a line of code on it.
"Ouch, he's working on paper, Buck." Steve whistled.
"That's how you know he's been stuck for a long time," Bucky informed Clint.
It sparked jealousy in him, though it shouldn't. He had thought Tony was his person, that maybe Tony had even been coming back here for him. Now he was only reminded that Steve and Bucky, apparently, knew all these things about Tony and he was stuck with the painful realisation that he knew nothing at all.
Yet he seemed to know enough about Tony to be hopelessly in love with him.
Suddenly, and without enough enthusiasm to pull Clint abruptly from his thoughts, Tony cried out.
His hand flew across the paper, almost throwing itself across the page in its haste. It almost seemed as though it was moving on its own accord.
The barely readable line of code brandished itself. "I did it. I fucking did it." Tony whispered under his breath, his eyes shiny with what was most likely tears.
Of course, he promptly collapsed.
Let Clint set the record, for all those who teased him over the coming years, he didn’t mean to be there when Tony woke up – he really didn’t!
But, naturally, after he’d collapsed, Steve and Bucky had used their freakishly huge body mass to haul the fragile boy up the spiralling staircase into the flat. Clint, for lack of another task, had followed behind with a constant stream of worried babble, waving his hand in a particularly useless fashion, and craning his head over the other’s shoulders to peer at Tony with wide, concerned eyes.
They had settled him in Clint’s bed, since the bedroom that he and Natasha shared was closest. Tucked under the covers of the small single, Tony awoke with a groan, and the barista appropriately froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. He quietly set the glass of water in his hand down on the bedside dresser, watching with a terrified fascination as the mess of a boy groaned to himself, rolling over as if that took all of his remaining energy.
His every movement slow and cautious, Clint took a step forward.
“Here.” He picked up the glass, and held it to Tony’s lips.
“I’m not a baby.” Tony wrinkled his nose once he had pulled away, “But thanks, I guess.” He added as an afterthought. His eyes were dusted with a layer of sleep, his features soft and sleepy, as if he’d woken up from a pleasant dream rather than an involuntary nap. Clint supposed his body had a right to be pleased with itself after finally getting some rest.
All at once, in the most beautiful of reactions, it seemed that all of Tony’s systems came online.
“My paper. Where’s my paper?” He threw his hand out blindly, desperate to find the missing element.
“Uh, wait here.” Clint soon retrieved it from where Steve had placed it, pressing it into his hand, and doing his utmost to ignore the fact their hands brushed together. God, he was such a stalker.
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“What is that thing?”
“This?” Tony let a slow, satisfied smile light up his face, “This, Clint, is a line of code that’s going to revolutionise the world. Starting with my own Artificial Intelligence.”