Work Text:
“Hi!”
Clint would always remember the day he met Phil. He was standing in the lobby of his new school looking about as lost as he actually was. With everyone, teachers and students alike, all rushing in every direction towards their destination for the first period, Clint was sure he’d still be standing there until the bell rang.
That was, until a boy with mousy brown hair and the softest looking black hoodie stopped in front of Clint and asked, “I’m Phil. You look a bit lost.”
“Because I am?” Clint couldn’t help answering with enough snark and sarcasm to light a building on fire. But Phil, the saint, just grinned.
“So, where’re you headed?”
“Principal’s office…” Clint shrugged. “I just transferred here.”
“Come on, it’s this way.” Phil’s grin grew wider as he grasped Clint’s wrist and pulled him into the crowd.
“I’m Clint, by the way.” Clint offered his own name as an apology for being brash.
“Cool. Who’s your home room teacher?”
“Uh… Ms. Carmichael? Says on this sheet…” Clint pulled out a crumbled sheet of paper.
“You’re in my class? Awesome!” Phil’s eyes lit up. “What’s that on your back anyhow?”
“My bow,” Clint muttered, not sure how people would react to his one hobby and the only thing he was really good at.
“Bow? You practice archery?” Phil asked, and Clint nodded shyly. Phil grinned again. “That is so cool.”
“Really?”
“Totally.”
And the rest, as they said, was history, and the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
~*~
Clint didn’t really like to think of himself a touch starved person (okay, just a little bit—a lot—because hugs and affectionate touches were awesome, stop judging him), but he was very tactile. He liked to feel things with his fingers, the way things slide and catch against the skin, the different textures and materials.
And then, there were people. The way their hair slid right through his fingers, the way their skin felt silky or rough or dimpled. When his foster mom discovered this habit of his, she just smiled at him and let him snuggle with her on the couch while they watched TV. Clint would always love her for that.
With a bow in his hand, it was easier for Clint to keep it all under control so he didn’t touch everyone and everything like some weird freak, but sometimes, he just needed to touch.
The first time he touched Phil, they were sitting side by side on the steps in front of the school waiting for Phil’s dad to pick them up. Clint’d been there for a couple of months, and had been well acquainted with Phil’s family, who just so happened lived only a street over from his foster mom’s house and loved Clint like their own children. Phil’s dad, who was a contractor with the military, would always come pick them up from school when he was in town, and Clint would spend the afternoon at Phil’s place until his foster mom got home.
Phil was reading out loud from a book they were supposed to read for English class, and Clint was only half listening while staring at the soft strands of Phil’s hair, flopping and feather-light in the wind.
He couldn’t help it; Phil’s hair looked so soft he just had to reach out and feel it for himself, to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Next to him, Phil abruptly stopped, his body stiffen slightly while Clint’s fingers swirled around his hair. Clint pulled his hand back so fast, he thought he was going to sprain something.
In his head, it was a tangled mess of “what the hell are you doing” and “oh shit, he’s going to deck me.” Even if they were as close as they were, that was still grossly inappropriate to do.
Clint dropped his gaze and turned his head away from Phil, just waiting for the shoe to drop.
Except, it never did.
A hand tugged at the baggy sleeve of his shirt, silently asking him to turn around. Clint shrank in on himself further, and Phil tugged again.
“Clint—”
Clint shook his head, as if it would clear his mind of the tangled mess inside. “Please don’t be mad at me,” he managed, cutting Phil off before he could say anything. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
The fingers tangling with his own took away the rest of Clint’s apology. He couldn’t help looking up and directly into Phil’s eyes. They were smiling.
“Clint, it’s okay,” Phil said, his voice like a calm pool of water, as he leaned over and hooked his arm around Clint, pulling them closer so their thighs touched.
“Sorry… It’s… I have a thing about touching people… and things,” Clint said with a loud sigh only teenagers could make. “Your hair just looks so soft and silky, I couldn’t help it.”
“Okay.” Phil nodded before dropping his head onto Clint’s shoulder. “Go ahead, touch.”
“Really?” Clint reached out with his hand, but hesitated at the last minute. What if Phil was joking? “Are you sure?”
Phil just rolled his eyes, reached over, grasped Clint’s fingers and laid his hand on Phil’s head. “Yes, I’m sure, silly.”
The mousy brown looked fine and a little floppy, but it was silky and springy when Clint’s fingers played with the strands. Clint sighed contently; he wanted to sink his fingers deeper into the softness and never let go.
Beside him, Phil let out a happy hum, wiggled a bit to get comfortable in his position, then kept on reading.
~*~
Phil never asked him, but he seemed to understand Clint’s affinity to touching. At first, Clint thought he was just humouring him, but he quickly realized that Phil generally liked being touched by Clint.
“Am I being too touchy-feely?” Clint asked one afternoon, sitting on Phil’s bed with his back against the wall, and Phil’s head in his lap. They’d finished their homework early, at Phil’s insistence, and were relaxing in Phil’s room with his collection of Captain America comic books. Clint’s fingers were playing with Phil’s hair unconsciously, and Phil didn’t seem to mind the way his fingers twirled with Phil’s hair.
Phil set his comic book down, and arched his neck to gaze up at Clint. Clint paused his hand and waited for Phil.
“No, why?” Phil asked like it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard.
“No reason.” Clint shrugged, but Phil knew him better than that.
“Come on, Clint. Talk to me?”
“It’s just…” Clint couldn’t help reaching to rub the back of his neck. It was a nervous tick he wished he’d trained myself out of. “You don’t really let anyone touch you like this. I’m the only one that does. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if… you know?”
Phil rolled his eyes and reached up to ruffle Clint’s already messy hair. “Silly. They don’t know me like you do. I like it when you touch me.”
“You do?” Clint’s eyes were a little wide. Had Phil basically given him blanket permission to touch anytime he wanted?
“Mm-hmm.” Phil smiled up at Clint. “As long as I get to touch you back?”
“Of course.”
“Then it’s all good.” Phil let out a happy sigh and snuggled closer to Clint. “Now where were we?”
Clint just smiled, let his fingers sink back into Phil’s hair and continued to immerse himself in the world of the good Captain and his trusty Howling Commandos.
~*~
It was close to the end of December when everything changed.
The holiday season was always something Clint avoided. He’d struck out and landed a foster mom who really did seem to like him, even with his anti-social tendencies and weird habits he’d picked up over the years. He liked Joanne too, who cared about his well-being beyond just the physical needs, who asked about his opinions and needs and wants. To her, he was more than a mouth to feed (not that she had many—he was the only kid she’s got right now).
It was just that he’d had the promise of family broken to him too many times that he’d grown weary of the kind of promises people couldn’t keep even if they wanted to. The looming holiday season was like a heavy weight on his shoulders, and even Joanne’s special cookies couldn’t seem to help. Clint could see the worry in her eyes, and hated himself for putting it there. He wish he knew how to explain it to her.
The only person he’d dared to say all of this to had been Phil, who just smiled and rolled his eyes as he told Clint to stop worrying about it. Things had the tendency to work themselves out, Phil said, and Clint wanted so badly to believe him. He really wanted it to work out. He wanted to be allowed to keep Joanne, to keep the life he’d built here. He wanted to keep Nat and Steve and Bucky and Bruce and all the other friends he’d made at school. But most of all, he wanted to keep Phil, who never judged him, and was always there for him.
Okay, so maybe Clint had a little bit (a lot) of a crush on his best friend. He was working on it.
Everything came to a head a week before they break for Christmas.
Neither of them were the kind that stood out at school. Clint had long ago mastered the art of being invisible, and Phil, while he was good at most things and was part of a few student organization, he managed to cultivate an inconspicuous air around himself. Clint didn’t know how Phil was able to do that. The Phil Clint knew was loud and laughters and friendly arguments and fannish glee, and not the quiet, unobtrusive person everyone thought he was.
The point was, neither of them should’ve attracted the attention of one Tony Stark, the billionaire’s kid who insisted on attending a public school and always had engine grease on his face for some reason. Clint blamed Phil’s friendship with Stark’s girlfriend Pepper.
They were sitting in French, the teacher had broken them up into pairs to practice. Phil had found them a spot in the corner, sitting side by side so Clint could play with his sweater. Clint had been overjoyed when he discovered that Phil had a huge collection of sweaters, which he’d been wearing on a daily basis now that the weather had gone cold. He loved Phil’s sweaters, the way they were unbelievably soft under his touch, and once in a while, Phil’s fingers would find his and hold on, the palm of his hand warming Clint all the way to his toes.
Clint’s fingers were entwined with Phil’s when he heard a question being asked. “So, Robin Hood, are you two dating or something?”
Clint froze, his fingers still in Phil’s palm, and looked up to find Tony Stark staring down at them, his head cocked to one side like he was trying to solve a physics formula.
“What…?” Clint said weakly, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. His immediate thought was “oh shit, how did he know,” followed closely by “if only that was the case.” He resolutely did not allow himself to think about Phil finding out his little crush and stop being his best friend.
“No, seriously. You guys are always touching each other.” Tony hitched one shoulder up in something resembling a shrug. “So you guys are dating or what?”
Clint felt his face and ears flush a bright red. He wanted to take his hand back and run away to hide somewhere and never come out, but Phil grasped his hand and refused to let go.
“What’s it to you, Stark?” Phil arched an eyebrow at Tony, his words cold and stiff. Clint flinched. “Go away. We’re practicing.”
“No, you’re not.” Tony grinned. “We’re done in, wait for it—” the bell rang, “—now.”
“Well, in that case, we’re going to lunch.” Phil rolled his eyes at Tony. He pulled Clint up, waited for him to grab his things, and prodded Clint towards the hall. “Don’t follow us, or I’ll sic Pepper on you.”
All Clint could see as Phil pushed him out the door was Tony’s grimace at Phil’s threats.
Instead of the cafeteria, Phil dragged a completely confused Clint to the library, where most people avoided, especially at lunch time.
Clint stared at his shoes and the floor before him the entire way. It wasn’t until they were at the back between two stacks, well hidden from view with Phil standing in front of him, that he dared to peer up at Phil. He was surprised to find Phil’s face a little pink as well.
And he was smiling.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see, but it wasn’t the soft smile on Phil’s face. He looked down again, hoping that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“Clint?” Phil said softly. “Clint? Come on. Look at me, please?”
Clint almost couldn’t bring himself to, far too embarrassed at his little secret being found out. He looked up at Phil through his lashes, his fingers twisting around themselves into knots.
“Clint, I want you to answer me truthfully,” Phil said, slowly, as he wrapped his own hands around Clint’s, prying his fingers open before entwining their hands again. “What Tony said… do you like me? Like that?”
Clint bit his bottom lip, barely resisting the urge to look away. He shrugged, and felt Phil’s hands squeezed his.
“That’s not an answer, Clint.” Phil sighed exasperatedly. “Please?”
“What do you want me to say? Yes, I ‘like’ like you.” Clint sighed, too, finally looking away. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore.”
There was a few moments of silence where Phil said nothing in reply. Clint pulled at his hands, wanting to escape. Why did he think he could have a normal relationship with anyone? Not that there was anything normal about liking a guy.
“Clint, wait. Please?” Phil refused to let go of his fingers, and hands tightening around his. “Can I say something?”
Clint nodded.
“I ‘like’ like you too,” Phil said softly, too close to his ear. Clint couldn’t help turning to stare at the other boy in shock. Seeing his bug-eyed expression and dropped jaw, Phil chuckled. “God, I can’t believe I’m confessing my crush in the library like a dork.”
“Wha…? You have a crush on me?” How was that even possible? “Since when?”
“Since we first met… I don’t just let anyone play with my sweaters,” Phil said nonchalantly, but Clint knew from the way his hands tighten over Clint’s, that he was anything but. “You’re just… so amazing. You’re so cool, with your bow and everything. And after we got to know each other better, well… it was too late for me to stop liking you.”
Clint was a little speechless, stunned by Phil’s confession as Phil pressed him gently back to lean against the shelves. “So, can I kiss you? Seeing as we both ‘like’ like each other.”
Clint couldn’t help his eyes darting towards Phil’s lips, where his tongue flicked over the thin lips wetly. He nodded shyly.
And then Phil was on him, pressing him harder into the shelves with his mouth pressed against Clint’s. It was so much warmer and softer than Clint thought they could be. The kiss was tentative, unsure and unpracticed, but Clint found himself breathless anyway. And when Phil’s tongue licked experimentally at Clint’s lips, he let them part just a bit to let Phil inside for a little playful one on one.
Phil’s hands finally let go of Clint’s in favor of cupping Clint’s cheeks. Clint wrapped his hands around Phil’s back instead, fingers grasping at the soft wool of Phi’s sweater as Phil kissed him like neither of them needed oxygen at all.
When Phil finally let Clint go, backing a way only half a step so they could both become reacquainted with breathing, they were both grinning like idiots.
~*~
A week went by quickly when you were stupidily and happily in love. Clint watched with longing as Phil jogged down the front steps to head home and help his mother prepare Christmas dinner. They’d spent most of the first few days of the winter holiday together, and Clint was already missing Phil even though he’d only been gone for a few minutes.
Clint deflated as he parked himself on a chair by the breakfast table. Next to him, Joanne was putting the turkey in the oven.
“Clint? Sweetie?” Joanne pulled up a chair and sat down next to him once the bird was in the oven. “Are you all right?”
Clint nodded and gave her a weak smile. He felt a little guilty for being so distracted thinking about his boyfriend when he should be helping. “I’m fine. Do you need any help with the sides? I can help?”
“The gravy has to wait, and the pie is in the fridge. The rest are just some squashes and veggies for sides, but sure, you can help me clean them while I do the cutting.” Joanne smiled softly at him. “Clint, you know you can tell me things, and I wouldn’t get mad at you, right? I don’t want you to think that you can’t tell me things because you’re afraid that I’d judge. I’d never do that, okay? I promise.”
Clint shrugged. “I know,” he replied. He took a deep breath and gave her a more reassuring smile as he moved towards the sink.
They worked quietly, Clint falling in synch with Joanne, letting the sound of chopping sooth him until he was done. He was watching Joanne work when he finally worked up the courage. “Joanne?”
“Mm-hmm?” came the reply.
“I…” Clint paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I think I might be gay.”
There was a moment of silence punctuated by the sound of a knife hitting wood. Clint brought his legs up onto the chair he was sitting on and hugged them to his chest. He was so caught up in his own worries he didn’t notice Joanne until she was crouching down in front of him.
“Clint, honey?” Clint nearly flinched when he felt her hand on his face, gentle and caring like always. “Can you look at me, please?”
Clint forced himself to meet her eyes despite his own reluctance; she deserved at least that.
“Thank you,” she said when Clint finally looked at her.
Clint’s eyes widened. “Why?” He croaked.
“Because this is the first time you’ve shared something with me on your own.” Joanne smiled, her red hair an auburn halo around her face with the sun filtering through the kitchen blinds. “So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome?” Clint replied awkwardly. “You’re not mad at me? You don’t think it’s… wrong?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” Joanne’s brows pulled into a slight frown. “And why would you think that?”
“Because…”
“Clint, what did I tell you earlier?” Joanne’s face melted into an exasperated smile while her hands came up around Clint’s shoulders. “I meant what I said, you know. Okay, so what if you might be gay? I’ll love you just the same.”
“I know, it’s just…” Clint sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he searched for words to say.
“It’s just that you’re afraid.” Joanne pulled Clint into a hug by his shoulders, whispering in his ear. “I know. It’s okay, but you don’t have to be afraid.”
Clint wrapped his arms around Joanne, letting himself sink into the welcoming warmth of her hug, and for the first time since he came here he allowed himself to believe that everything might actually work out like Phil had said it would.
It was a long moment before Joanne pulled back, just a little. “Come on, let’s go hang in the living room.”
Clint couldn’t help the groan that followed. “Please never use the word ‘hang’? That is just so wrong.”
“Make me.” Joanne laughed, ruffling his hair before strolling out of the kitchen. Clint poured a big glass of OJ and followed her to the couch with a big grin on his face.
“So… is it Phil?” Joanne looked at him with a curious expression her face, and it was pure luck that Clint didn’t spit-take at her question.
“Wha…?” Clint said weakly.
“Come on, Clint. I have eyes.” Joanne grinned. “You two are adorable you know.”
“It’s only been a week…” Clint muttered.
“Oh, all right. I’ll stop embarrassing you.” Joanne rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Just be safe, okay? Or am I going to have you give you guys the ‘talk’?”
“Oh God! No!” Clint groaned, burying his face in his free hand, which made Joanne laugh that much harder.
“Tell you what? Go give Phil a call and have him come over tomorrow if his parents are okay with it.” Joanne said after she stopped laughing. “We’re going to have a ton of leftovers anyway. We can make sandwiches for lunch.”
“Okay,” Clint said, a little quiet but unable to stop the small smile curling the corners of his lips. He leaned back against the couch, and allowed himself to believe, for the first time in a very long time, that everything would work out just as Phil said they would. He allowed himself to imagine a future with Joanne and Phil and all of his friends in it.
He couldn’t wait to see Phil.