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"You bought a Christmas tree," Bucky says, frozen in the doorway. He repeats it when Clint turns around, moving his mouth clearly. Clint's not wearing his hearing aids. Something about cold weather on the plastic drives him nuts. Clint shrugs and scuffs his foot across a spot of dirt on the kitchen floor.
"I thought, you know, first Christmas together," he says, just a little too loudly. Without his aids in, he can't fine tune the volume. Bucky finds it charming in a way he'll never admit. "We could decorate it? Something. Lucky likes it, at least."
Lucky's laying underneath the bare tree, tail thumping happily against the hardwood. He whuffles a little at his name but doesn't make to move. The tree itself is a little sad: bare in a few spots, some yellowing needles already on the ground. Bucky's going to end up stepping on them in the middle of the night and carrying them all around the apartment.
"Steve said-" Clint scrubs at the back of his neck and fiddles with the change bowl on the counter. There's a pink bandage on his cheek and a blue one on his neck, both peeling a little from where Clint had sweated in his parka. "He said you guys didn't do a lot of Christmas stuff as kids. I just-" He shrugs again.
"It's great," Bucky says. Clint's not looking at him. Bucky waves his hand until Clint looks up and repeats himself again. He hates that Clint takes out his aids when he's feeling insecure. He might as well just shove his fingers in his ears and start singing. "You going to Steve for wooing advice?"
"Baby, I don't need advice for the wooing," Clint says with a grin. He strikes a pose, hands on his hips and head held high. He's a fucking idiot. Bucky's chest tightens, just a little, and he finally closes the door behind him.
When he and Steve had lived together- years or decades ago, depends on who's asking- they'd gone to the tree vendor and spent their last seventy-five cents on a tree even more pathetic than this one. They decorated it with strings of stale popcorn and kept it for too long. There hadn't been presents, not that year, and then there had been war and ice.
Christmas has changed so much since Bucky was a kid. There's so many lights and fanfare and expectations. He kind of misses the old days, when it was special just to get a new hat and a day to sit around doing nothing. Everything's more complicated than it has to be, and Bucky still can't quite wrap his head around it.
Bucky crosses the room, stepping over Lucky's discarded toys and Clint's assortment of junk, and pulls Clint in against his chest. Clint squawks and slaps at him as Bucky digs his knuckles into Clint's scalp. Lucky barks, skidding across the floor to knock against their legs.
"Get off me, you palooka." Clint twists, tripping over Lucky and sending them both to the ground.
"Palooka?" Bucky mouths. Clint grins up at him.
"Your old timey bullshit is rubbing off on me," he says. Lucky licks a long line across his cheek and retreats back to the tree. "Aw, Lucky. Gross. You're fucking up my wooing."
"Your wooing was already fucked." Bucky flicks Clint's nose. Clint leans up far enough to kiss him, soft and still fragile. It's strange, this tender side of Clint that comes out every once in awhile. Something else for Bucky to get used to. When Clint slumps back down onto the floor, Bucky flicks his nose again. "Got any popcorn?"