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Bucky opens the door to his room and dumps his bag on the ground. He reaches up to his shoulder to take off his prosthetic arm and freezes. There is...a person in his bed. And he's pretty damn certain there wasn't when he left for the gym. A very blond, male-type person who isn't Steve, and who definitely shouldn't be in Bucky's bed. He seems to be dressed almost entirely in purple, right down to the purple hearing aids clipped over his ears, this blond interloper, and his face and hands are freshly bruised.
Bucky scans the rest of the small dorm room. Everything seems to be in order, although order is not a word he'd usually apply to Steve's side of the room. He turns back to his occupied bed and coughs loudly.
"Shit," the blond bed-stealer mumbles, rubbing at his face and wincing. He looks up at Bucky with one eye still screwed shut. "Any chance Goldilocks makes it out of this one in one piece?"
Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That depends. Why the hell are you in my bed?"
"This...isn't Tasha's room? Shit, I was looking for Tasha's room!" He sits up, too fast judging by the grimace.
"Tasha. You mean Natasha? You were actively looking for Nat's room. How'd you end up here?"
"Umm, I saw the Russian textbook through the window and guessed."
Bucky glances at Steve's underwear scattered across the floor and furniture. "Really?" Then he processes the rest of the statement. “You came through the window?”
"Look, man, I really just needed a place to crash.” The guy winces and looks around the room. “Apparently more than I thought. I guess I was a little out of it.”
“You think?” Bucky crosses his arms across his chest. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Clint. And you are, uh…?”
“Waiting for you to get out of my bed.”
“Right, sorry, sorry.” Clint starts untangling himself from the sheets. “So, uh…” he says as he kicks himself free, “Is the textbook yours? The Russian one?"
"Какое тебе дело?" Bucky growls, propping his right hand on his hip.
Clint freezes for a moment and looks up at Bucky with wide-eyed wonder. "Awesome," he says softly.
Before Bucky can even think of a response to that, the door opens.
"Hey Buck, I'm home--am I...interrupting something?" Bucky's roommate and best friend steps hesitantly into the room. He's short, blond, and skinny, and carrying a drawing board bigger than he is and a bag slung across his chest.
"There's a guy in my bed, Steve.”
"Yeah, I can see that. You want me to leave, then? Just put a sock on the door next time, ok?"
"I didn't put him there, Steve!"
Steve turns to look at the man in Bucky's bed. "You got a death wish, pal?"
"No, I...I was looking for Natasha's room."
"The question stands.” Steve adjusts the strap of his bag. “You got a death wish?"
"What? No. I mean...no. Why?"
Bucky sniffs. "Most people are scared of her.”
"Really? Huh.” Clint finally gets himself untangled from the covers and stumbles out of the bed. “She's nice to me. Said I could crash in her room if I needed."
Bucky blinks in confusion. Nat's not nice to anyone.
“So, who are you, anyway?” says Steve, taking off his jacket and sitting down at his desk.
“Oh, I'm, uh, Clint. A friend of Tasha’s.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “And frankly that’s all I need to know except how to keep you from crawling in my window again.”
Steve turns to Bucky with wide eyes. “He came in through the window?”
“Sorry, really, it won’t happen again.” Clint creaches down to grab a tattered backpack off the floor. “But uh, you know, if you ever want to hang out or anything, just let me know.” He starts edging out of the room. “You’re rocking the going-to-kill-you-and-bury-you-in-Siberia glare thing, by the way. Big fan of that look. So like I said, feel free to look me up.” And with that he darts out the door.
“Yeah, I'll be sure to do that,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.
“Well, he really seemed to like you, Buck. I think you should call him.”
Bucky throws his bag onto the newly vacated bed. “Yeah, sure.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll get right on that.”
----------
Steve already wishes he hadn’t taken that late-night Saturday course. It’s all the way across campus and it’s dark, even halfway through the spring semester, and the way back to the dorm isn't well-lit. He starts down the alley between a couple of buildings, remembering all the times Bucky told him not to do that. But it’s the shortest way back, and Steve really doesn't have the energy for a detour tonight.
There are voices coming from the other end of the alley. Steve looks up to see a young woman hurrying towards him, throwing nervous looks over her shoulder with every other step.
A man is following her down the alley, ten feet or so behind her, moving at a slow swagger. “Hey baby, you dropped your smile.”
“Leave me alone!” the woman shouts over her shoulder as she passes Steve. He stops, turning to glance at her, then turns back to face the oncoming threat.
“She’s not interested. Time to turn around.”
The other man looks at Steve as though noticing him for the first time. “Why don't you mind your own business, short stuff? We’re havin’ a conversation here.”
“You wanna shut up?” Steve drops his bag on the sidewalk.
“You gonna make me?” The guy is only a few feet away now, and is definitely bigger than Steve. Way bigger than Steve.
“Yeah, I will,” Steve says, putting up his fists. He spares a glance over his shoulder and sees that the girl has stopped at the end of the alley and has a hand over her mouth while looking wildly back and forth. He shoos her on before turning back just in time to get a fist to the jaw. He stumbles against the wall, then pushes himself up and raises his fists again. “That all you got?”
That is not all the guy has. He knocks Steve back a few more times with shoves and punches to the chest and face. “Give up, man.”
Steve throws a punch upwards, but the guy catches his fist and just stares at it, looking a little confused by the fact that Steve is still fighting. They both freeze for a moment, and that’s when they hear the growing sound of an upbeat tune.
Now every time I go for the mailbox, gotta hold myself down…
“What the hell?” the guy says, releasing Steve’s hand as another fist comes flying over Steve’s head and smashes the attacker in the face.
“Watch out,” someone says, spinning Steve out of the way. The music still plays in the background. I’m walking on sunshine, woah oh! Steve steadies himself against the wall and just manages to recognize the new addition to the fight (not his rescuer, he didn’t need to be rescued, he had the guy on the ropes) as the guy who’d been in Bucky’s bed last month. He jabs another fist into the guy’s stomach. And don’t it feel good, hey!
Rallying from the unexpectedness of the newcomer, shady-guy punches back, knocking bed-guy in the mouth and sending him jogging back a few steps. Steve readies himself to rejoin the fight, but bed-guy rallies and kicks shady-guy in the chest. As he does so, the music player on his hip falls to the ground with a loud clatter. Now I don’t want you back for the weekend, not back for a day.
“The hell is wrong with you people?” shady-guy says. “Just heading back home…”
“You sure?” Steve says. “Cause it sounded like you were harassing that girl instead of just minding your own business.”
Bed-guy steps back for a moment, since it seems like shady-guy is done throwing punches.
I’m walking on sunshine…
“You’re the one who picked a fight with me,” shady-guy argues.
“Why don’t you just keep walking?” bed-guy replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “And try to keep your comments and your hands to yourself next time?”
Walking on sunshine…
Shady-guy grunts and turns to leave. Then he suddenly spins again and shoves bed-guy in the chest. Bed-guy stumbles back again with heavy steps.
I feel the love I feel the love I fzzzzzzt!
“Aww, tape player, no…”
Steve launches himself at shady-guy, but the man has already retreated back the way he came. Instead, Steve turns to the guy that helped him out and kneels down next to him in the alley. “Hey uh,” he says, “sorry about your music player. And uh. Thanks for helping me out.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Bed-guy rubs his jaw with one hand while he scrapes together the pieces of his crushed tape player with the other. He looks over at Steve and grins. “Hey, you’re Russian guy’s roomie! How is he?”
“What?” Steve says. “Bucky’s not--he’s just learning Russian! It’s like one class. He’s an engineering major.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. So he’s doing well?” Bed-guy works his jaw from side to side, but it doesn’t stop the smile on his face.
“He’s got midterms coming up, so he’s been complaining a lot and sleeping at weird hours. But otherwise he’s fine.” Steve shrugs and ducks to hide a smile. “Hasn’t had anyone else turn up in his bed.”
Bed-guy blushes a little at the comment. “Oh. That’s cool, I guess.” He’s finished scraping together what’s left of his music player and carries it in both hands as he stands. “So uh. I guess I’ll see you, then.”
“Steve.” Steve brushes his hands off on his pants as he stands. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
“Right, yeah, sorry. Names aren’t really my thing. I’m Clint, by the way.”
“Well, thanks again, Clint. I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Sure.” Bed -- Clint smiles and steps away. “Try not to pick any more fights, will ya? I don’t have any more of these babies to spare, and I’m not sure I can save anyone without an awesome soundtrack.” He turns with one last nod and hurries away while Steve is still grabbing his bag. By the time Steve emerges from the alley, Clint is gone.
----------
Bucky walks out of his engineering midterm feeling like he probably did all right, although he’s not sure about question four. Preoccupied with working through the problem again, he heads down the hall towards the stairs. He jumps suddenly at a thump followed by the sound of rubber being dragged across the window.
Is that...no, it can’t be… “Clint?” Bucky stops in his tracks, staring out the large window at the guy who’d played Goldilocks a few months ago and Batman in an alley with Steve the other week. He’s standing on one of those moveable platforms they use for window washing, a squeegee in one hand. Bucky edges closer to the window.
When Clint spots him, his eyes go wide and he holds the squeegee up in front of his face, pulling his cap down low on his forehead with his other hand. Neither of these tactics hide the red flush spreading across his cheeks.
Bucky rolls his eyes and taps on the window. “I know it’s you, asshole,” he calls through the glass. But Clint is extremely preoccupied with pretending not to notice Bucky. He tugs his cap down again to hide his face while he grabs for the sprayer next to him. His hand closes on empty air a few times and he turns to look for the sprayer. As he spins, a loose cord on the platform wraps around his foot. He throws his arms out for a second, dropping the squeegee in his hand and toppling over the far railing and off the platform.
“Shit!” Bucky sprints to the end of the hall, down the four flights of stairs and out the building, expecting to find Clint on the sidewalk with a broken leg at the very least. He pulls out his phone to dial 911 as he rounds the corner to the side of the building where Clint was working.
But Clint isn't on the sidewalk. Bucky looks around, but there’s no sign of him.
“It’s ok!” A voice calls out from somewhere above him. He looks up and sees Clint climbing back onto the platform. “I'm wearing a harness! Had one too many close calls before!”
Bucky shakes his head and puts his phone away. He takes a deep breath to try to slow his heart rate -- of course he was freaked out, he thought he saw someone almost die, it didn’t matter who the person was that was falling, that was just frightening -- and starts to walk away.
“Wait, no!” Clint calls after him. “Hold up, I'll be right down!”
Bzzzzzzzzzzzt! The platform begins its descent. Its very slow descent. Bucky checks his watch. “Why am I still standing here?” He turns to leave again.
“Nonono, wait, I'm almost there!” He sounds...frantic. Almost desperate for Bucky to wait. So Bucky waits. He doesn't really have anywhere important to be.
Clint nearly stumbles again unclipping himself from the harness and stepping over the buckets and cleaning supplies on the deck. He finally untangles himself from the mess and runs over to stand in front of Bucky with a big smile.
“So, did you want to talk about something?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.
Clint's eyes go wide and he looks about for a moment. “Um. I...I don't know. I just...wanted to talk.”
“Дурак,” Bucky says, pinching his nose.
“Aww.” Clint rubs the back of his head with one hand. “I know that one. Sorry. I'll get back to work.”
“You're working?”
Clint stares at Bucky for a moment, looking confused. “Well I don't wash windows for fun.”
“You got a work study job as a janitor?”
“Um. More of a regular job. Didn't exactly make it into the school proper.” Clint stared down at the ground and shuffles his feet. “With that great recommendation, I'm guessing this isn't the best time to ask if you might want to go out for coffee or a movie or something?”
“Um, no, not really. It’s midterms this week. Got studying to do.” Bucky’s face feels...warm. It’s definitely from standing here in the sun for so long. Not any other reason. Nope. Definitely just the sun. Probably gonna get a sunburn, and then Steve’s gonna fret, and... “I should be getting back.”
“Oh, yeah, that's cool. I get it.” Clint gives a small wave. “I'll just get back to my windows, then. You, uh, you take care.”
“Right, yeah. You too.” Bucky clutches his bag a little tighter to his chest and hurries off.
-----------
“Buck, we've been here for an hour,” Steve says. He leans against the treadmill across from where his friend is running. “I'm done. Can we go?”
“You can go,” Bucky replies, not turning his head. He takes a drink from the water bottle in front of him. “I'll join you when I'm done.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I'm gonna take a break. I'll be back in a bit.” He scoops up his drawstring bag, he finishes wiping down his face and neck and tosses the towel into the bin as he heads out.
The halls are empty. Sterile, almost. Not too many students seem to be interested in working out this late in the evening.
Steve wanders around for a bit, enjoying the quiet and exploring parts of the gym he’s never seen before. Down in the basement, there’s a hall lined with windows leading to various exercise rooms. There's a dance hall, a badminton room, and a wrestling area, which is the only room that is actually occupied. The two people in there are really going at it, and it takes Steve a minute to recognize them.
Natasha's hair is pulled up into a tight bun, and she moves with a simple grace punctuated with sharp kicks and punches. Her sparring partner takes a little longer to place, but a well-placed right hook helps Steve recognize Clint. He is doing pretty well for himself, blocking a lot of Natasha's blows and sending a few of his own. It's actually sort of beautiful, watching them circle each other in a violent dance.
Steve stands and watches for a few minutes, transfixed and, honestly, impressed by Clint’s skill. He’d seen Clint fighting in the alley, but it really didn't compare. There’s no time for finesse when you’re fighting off a mugger.
He watches as they spin and dance around each, his head full of new ideas for his art -- he’d like to practice figure drawing more and wonders if they’d let him draw them sometime -- until Clint is suddenly pinned to the ground, looking up at Steve on the other side of the glass. Clint is tapping at Natasha and pointing excitedly towards Steve. She glances up at him for a moment, then says something to Clint and let's him up off the floor. When he’s back on his feet, Clint grins at Steve and gestures for him to come in.
Steve opens the door and leans into the room without stepping inside. “Hey, Clint. Hi, Natasha.”
“Hey! You remembered my name! Tasha, Steve remembered my name!”
“So I heard.” A hint of a smile twists the corner of Natasha’s mouth.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your, uh, fighting...practice. I’ll just go--”
“What? No, you can't leave! Tasha, Steve is Russian Guy’s roomie!”
“Is that so? What’s it like living with the world’s most well-meaning осёл?”
“Oh, well, me and Buck have been friends for years. His family took me in a few years ago, after my mom died.”
“Shit, man. I'm sorry to hear about your mom,” Clint says.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago, but you know how it is. You never really forget someone you love.”
Clint screws up his face a little and looks away. “Yeah,” he says.
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Natasha points out. “Or are you saying you’ve spent so long with him you’re immune to his mulishness?”
“No, Bucky’s a great roommate. Honestly. He’s my best friend.” Steve tries not to look too defensive -- Bucky is great, and Steve doesn't like to think about where he might be without him. “Anyway, Clint, I wanted to give you this, you know, to say thanks, and to make up for the one that got broken.” He fishes around in his gym bag, pulling out a small box from among his clothes and inhaler. He ducks his head as he holds out the box towards Clint.
Clint hesitates, glancing towards Natasha. She places a hand on her hip and tilts her head just slightly towards Steve. “That’s… that’s really nice. You didn't have to do that.”
“I know, but it’s my fault you were there in the first place, and it was the right thing to do.”
Clint opens the box. “Holy shit, Steve, this is--this is an iPod. This must have been really expensive! I can't accept this--”
“No, please! Keep it. It’s refurbished, I uh, can't afford a new one, but...” Steve rubs his jaw in an awkward gesture. “It should work just fine.”
“Seriously, man, this is awesome.” Clint grins up at him. “And hey, just let me know if you decide to go vigilante-ing at night again. Sounds like my kind of adventure.”
“Haha, yeah, well. That’s not exactly the sort of thing I like to get into all the time, but if it happens again I’ll--”
“Hey, Steve!”
Natasha, Clint, and Steve turn to look down at Bucky, who strides down the hall looking a little frantic.
“Hey, Buck. Something wrong?”
“No, just didn’t know where you’d gone off to is all. Thought you might’ve gotten yourself into another fight.”
Natasha rolls her eyes. “I gotta head home,” she says to Clint. “You gonna be okay with these two дураки?”
“Actually, uh. I gotta get back to work,” Clint says, suddenly turning red. “Thanks for the iPod, Steve. Good to see you, Bucky. I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah, sure thing,” Steve says to Clint’s retreating back.
------------
Bucky enjoys showering in the middle of the day, when the communal bathroom is quiet. He leans into the cascade of hot water. It’s been a long morning, and the muscles in the remaining part of his left arm and spreading across his back and chest are sore. His prosthetic arm is pretty good, but it can be a lot of effort some days. He stands there for a few minutes without moving, just savoring the feel of hot water on his skin.
He turns off the water to conserve water as he gets ready to shampoo his hair. The door swings open as he pumps some shampoo into his hand, and he ignores it. In a dorm, there’s always people coming in and out. At least, he ignores it until the person starts singing.
“My uh hee, my uh hoo, my uh huu, my uh ha-ha!”
“Clint?” Bucky murmurs, looking up in surprise. There isn't any music playing, just Clint's voice, loud and clear.”
“Hallo, you there? I’m coming in to clean. This room! The sinks and showers, maybe toilets too. Hallo, ha-ah-low. I play piccolo. Sound that beep, that is the sound of me hitting the beat. Raise a glass, sing numa numa numa-yay, numa numa yay, numa numa numa yay. People tell me that I’m really gay--”
Bucky can't help laughing. Clint is making up his own lyrics to Dragostea Din Tei, which Bucky happens to know by heart.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't think there was anyone in here! I’ll just go--” Bucky hears Clint start to move towards the door.
“No, wait, come back. I'll sing with you,” Bucky calls out. “Vrei sa pleci dar nu mai, nu mai iei, nu mai, nu mai e, nu mai, nu mai, nu may lei.”
Clint takes a minute to actually join in, but he does, starting quiet and growing louder when Bucky doesn’t quit immediately. They finish off the song together, and Bucky finds his cheek muscles a little sore from all the smiling by the end.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Clint says. “That was awesome. But. Um. I uh, I just remembered that I need to go check on something in the other bathroom, so I’ll uh. I’ll be back.”
Bucky hears the door open and shut. He shrugs, turns the water on, and goes back to rinsing his hair. Clint still hasn't returned by the time Bucky finishes his shower and heads back to his room.
------------
A week later, Bucky’s sitting at his desk and working on his Russian assignment when there’s a knock at the door. Bucky sighs, pushes back his chair, and opens the door to see -- Clint? With a handful of...daisies?
“Umm...hi?” Clint looks...good. Really good. Bucky’s only ever seen him wearing sweat pants, his janitor’s uniform, or workout clothes. Which is fine. Definitely nothing wrong with those. But now... The jeans he’s wearing are worn, but damn they fit well. And it turns out that purple is actually a good color on Clint. It helps that he’s got on a nice short-sleeve button-down instead of a holey old sweatshirt this time.
“Hey, Bucky,” Clint smiles, but then ducks his head. He seems a little on edge, like he doesn't think he should be here.
“Oh hey, Clint!” Steve calls out from the other side of the room, waving and grinning like a punk.
“Hi, Steve!” Clint looks up at Steve and relaxes just a little, some of the tension dropping away from his shoulders.
“What are you doing here, Clint?”
“I, umm. Wanted to see if maybe you would be interested in going out with me,” says Clint in a rush. “Here, these are for you.” He holds out the flowers.
Bucky finds himself smiling, despite the complete ridiculousness of the situation. “Я люблю их,” he says, reaching out for the flowers. The back of his neck feels warm. “Daisies. How did you know?”
Clint’s smile grows until Bucky thinks his face can't possibly contain it anymore. “I guessed,” Clint says with a small shrug. “Daisies are just so happy, don't you think?”
Bucky nods a little, holding the daisies close to his face.
“So...is that a yes?”
Steve coughs from somewhere behind him. “Come on, Buck, you gonna keep the guy waiting?” Bucky glances at Steve over his shoulder, then looks back up at Clint. He’s rubbing at his neck with one hand and his other hand is shoved down in the pocket of jeans, which Bucky can't help noticing he fills out very nicely. Bucky shakes himself and looks back up at Clint’s face. His eyes are...what color is that? Green? Hazel? “Buck?”
Bucky blinks. “Wait, what? Oh! Uh, yeah, that sounds nice. Did you have something in mind?”
Clint blushes. “Yeah, I do actually.”
Twenty minutes later, after a quick change of clothes and a bus ride, Bucky finds himself at an archery range. This is...not what he’d expected, although if he’s completely honest he had no idea where Clint might want to go on a date. Apparently not dinner and a movie, which would have been fine with Bucky.
“Welcome to Hit or Miss,” the young woman at the desk says, barely looking up from her phone. “How can I help you?”
“Hi Darcy, two bows please! Mine and a spare, maybe a twenty pound.” The attendant’s not wearing a name tag, at least not one that Bucky can see. Looks like Clint’s a regular here.
“Just his bow,” Bucky interjects.
“What? You don't wanna try shooting? I can teach you, I'm pretty good--”
Bucky holds up his prosthetic arm. Regardless of how good Clint may be, Bucky’s pretty sure he won't be able to teach a guy with one arm to shoot a bow. “I can't.”
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize!” Clint’s eyes go wide and his hand flies to his mouth. “Shit, shit. Um. We can go somewhere else--”
“It’s fine, I'll just watch you.” Bucky gives him a small smile.
“Are you sure? I was hoping--man, this was gonna be cool...”
“Uh, we’ve got hand guns, too, if you’re interested in those...” Darcy looks bored. “I have check your IDs, range policy. New guy, sign this waiver.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess that sounds ok.” Bucky takes the form she hands over and starts filling it out on the counter.
Clint huffs a sigh of relief. “Damn. That was almost a disaster. Story of my life, though.” He grimaces and looks up at Bucky. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. I don’t make a big deal out of it.” Bucky shrugs. He finishes filling out his name and information and slides the paper across the counter.
“You ever shoot before?” Darcy asks, still not showing any signs of actual interest.
“Nope.”
She sighs. “I'll get you set up with a coach.”
They sign in, show Darcy their IDs, and wait for a few minutes while she goes to find someone to teach Bucky.
She comes back with a young blond woman who looks friendly enough, but definitely seems like she won't take any bullshit from them. “This is Sharon. She’ll show you what’s what.”
Bucky watches carefully as Sharon takes him through the basics of gun safety and firing the weapon. She loads it for him and directs him down the range. “All right,” she says, double-checking her headphones and making sure Clint and Bucky are both wearing theirs, “watch out for the kickback on those shots. Especially shooting one-handed, you’re going to need to make sure you hold steady and aim after each shot.”
Bucky nods, but his attention is already focused on the bullseye at the end of the range. He’s intensely aware of Clint looking over his shoulder. Clint had brought him here to show off. Bucky doesn't want to embarrass himself before the date’s even started.
The first shot is louder and more powerful than he expected, and his hand flies up in the air. He staggers for a moment, then glares at the gun and down the range again.
“It’s all right, you’re doing gr--” Clint starts to say.
Bucky fires off the rest of the shots as quickly as he can, taking mere moments in between to point back at the center of the bullseye. After he’s counted out ten shots, he flips the safety back on with his thumb and sets the gun down on the counter to wait for everyone else firing that round to finish up their shots.
“Wow,” Clint says, coming up next to him. “That looks good. I think that’s better than I got my first time shooting. This is your first time, right?”
“Yeah.” Bucky grins. “You gonna take a turn, show me what you got?”
“Not in here, I'm not. Gotta pull out all the stops now! C’mon, let’s go.” Clint takes Bucky’s hand to lead him out of the gun range, and Bucky’s heart skips a beat at the simple touch.
They head back to the front desk to pick up a bow and some arrows for Clint. Darcy hands his “usual” bow across the counter while Clint picks out a dozen arrows.
“Why isn’t yours strung?” Bucky asks. He can see the other bows behind Darcy, and as far as he can tell they’re all strung.
“It’s good practice,” Clint shrugs. “And no one else ever uses this bow. The poundage is too high for most people.”
When they’ve made their way into the archery range and found a free spot, Clint strips off his button-down shirt, underneath which is a tank top and a very nice set of shoulders. Clint notices Bucky staring and smiles, despite the slight flush creeping across his cheeks. “Better range of motion,” he says.
Bucky raises an eyebrow, but can't stop himself grinning. “Of course. Wouldn't want to inhibit your range of motion.” He doesn't ask why Clint didn't wear something more appropriate for the date he had planned.
Clint grins and strings the bow. Honestly, he makes it look so easy that Bucky doesn't think he needs the practice. Not that he minds watching. Clint’s biceps flex as he presses down on the top of the bow and slides the already-looped string over the end. Then he pulls it up and draws it back to his chin in one smooth motion.
“This is the part where I was planning on offering to have you draw the bow so you could be really impressed,” Clint says. “I bet we could still sort of manage it. Here.” He slides around behind Bucky. “Let me know if you feel uncomfortable, okay?” He holds the bow out and places his right hand on Bucky’s. “Go ahead and grab the string. I’ll hold the bow, you try to pull back.”
Bucky obligingly puts two fingers on the string and tries to pull it. He’s probably doing everything completely wrong, since it barely budges under his grip. And he knows he’s not that weak. Clint chuckles behind him and adjusts his elbow so it comes up high next to his ear. Bucky becomes suddenly and intensely aware of all the points of contact between them, from Clint’s hand on his to his back pressed against Clint’s chest. He takes a deep breath and pulls back on the string again, this time getting it about half of the way back before his arm gets tired and he lets go.
“Oh, hey, don’t do that,” Clint says, stepping away hurriedly. “Sorry. Forgot to tell you. Don’t dry fire, or release the string when you’re not actually shooting. It’s not good for the bow.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s my fault. Should’ve told you before.” Clint shakes his head. “You ready to actually see me shoot now?”
“It seems like that’s what we came all this way for, so you might as well.” Bucky finds a bench nearby and sits down so he can watch out of the way.
There’s a row of other people shooting, and Clint steps up to an empty spot and sets up his arrows but doesn’t start firing. When the signal comes for the archers to retrieve their arrows, Clint makes his way down to the end of the range and fixes a small paper target sheet over the large blocks of foam at the far end of the range. He comes back to where Bucky’s sitting, stretches his shoulders, and practices drawing the bow a few more times while he waits for the signal to begin firing.
When the all clear comes, Clint looks back at Bucky with a big smirk. “You ready for this?” He nocks his first arrow, draws it back, takes a deep breath, and releases.
“That all you got, hotshot?” Bucky says. The arrow is nowhere near the center of the target. Instead it’s off towards the upper left corner of the target, which is just printed on computer paper. But Clint doesn't respond, just nocks the next arrow and fires, all in one smooth movement. Clint ought to be making perfect shots -- he looks as though he’s in his element, confident and athletic and graceful and so different than the klutz he seemed before -- but the next shot is also off center, down at the bottom this time.
Clint fires off the rest of his arrows one after the other, much faster than Bucky would have thought possible. When there are about three or four arrows left, Bucky starts to see a pattern. Clint looses his last arrow and turns towards Bucky, smile shining brighter than the sun.
“A heart? Really, Clint? That’s pretty gay,” Darcy says. Bucky jumps a little -- he hadn't noticed her approach.
“You’re damn right it is -- I'm on a date.” Clint smiles at Bucky and winks. The signal comes for archers to retrieve their arrows, and Clint turns and walks down the range to grab his arrows and the target sheet. He ducks his head and hands the sheet to Bucky. “Not too bad, right?”
“Not bad at all,” Bucky says. He looks at the paper, which still has the holes punched in it to make the shape of a heart. “It’s nice.” He stands and places his hand on Clint’s arm, just above the elbow. “I think Darcy’s right, though. It’s pretty gay.”
“Too sappy?”
“Mmm…” Bucky pretends to think it over for a moment. “Nah, I don’t think so.” He moves in close, looks up into Clint’s eyes, and murmurs, “ты должен поцеловать меня сейчас.”
Clint’s eyes go wide, a bright red flush spreading from his cheeks across his face and down his neck. “Wow,” he says, a little breathless. “That was, uh, wow that was hot. What, um. What did you say?”
“I said to kiss me, болван.”
“All right, all right, no PDA in the shooting range,” Darcy says. She starts waving her hands at Clint and Bucky in a shooing motion. “Take that somewhere else.”
Clint steps back a bit, but doesn't pull away from Bucky’s touch. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Bucky says, smiling. “Back to the bus, then?”
They take the bus back to campus and leave the bus stop hand in hand. Clint starts swinging their hands. “Oh, hey, by the way,” he says, “tell Steve thanks for the iPod. I really appreciate him thinking of me like that.”
“He gave you an iPod?” Bucky turns to Clint. “The best thing he ever gave me was a card with macaroni on it and I once gave that bastard a pint of blood, let me see it.”
“I couldn't really figure out how to make it work,” Clint says, rubbing his ear.
“Oh my god, you are a disaster.” Bucky smiles and nudges Clint with his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go back to my place and I'll show you how to work your damn iPod.” He takes Clint’s hand in his own, feeling warm and content as they make their way across campus. Clint may be a walking disaster, but he’s an endearing disaster.
As they walk, Bucky remembers their last encounter, and he begins to hum. He can’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face, especially not when Clint recognizes the tune.
“Is that...is that?” Clint slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god. Numa numa.” His eyes are wide and he stares up at Bucky. “That was you?”
“I particularly liked the line about being really gay,” Bucky says. His face crinkles up into a huge smile as Clint blushes bright red. “Careful, you’re about to stop traffic with that red light.”
Clint covers his entire face with his hand. “I didn’t know…” He mutters into his hand, “You have a really good voice.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it was really cute. You’re cute. A little dumb, but I think I could learn to live with that.” He looks over at Clint, whose mouth is twisted up as he looks down at the ground. “Hey, no, wait.” Bucky stops him and turns to face him fully. “You’re not dumb. You’re kind of clumsy sometimes, but you’re not stupid. And don’t let anyone tell you that, not even me.”
“Or Nat?” Clint looks up through his eyelashes.
“Not even Nat. Now. Can I have that kiss I missed out on earlier?”
----------
Steve walks down the hall towards his and Bucky’s door, having just turned in his last art project of the semester. He puts his key in the lock, pushes open the door, and dumps his backpack on the floor. “Hey Buck, I'm home.”
“Shhh!” Steve looks around in confusion. A blond mess of hair had appeared amongst the pile of blankets on Bucky’s bed.
“Clint? What are you--”
Clint lifts a corner of the blankets and points to a sleeping Bucky, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. He moans a little in his sleep and tugs the blankets back over his face.
Steve sighs. “Well, it’s about damn time. Please tell me you’re dressed under there.”
Clint just smirks and snuggles back into the pile of blankets and Bucky.
“Oh, for crying out loud--Natasha!”