their day starts and ends in the same place, the same way. where a finger hooks the waist of clint's pants and one firm tug lands him down, sat on the sofa, out of the spiraling pace he'd been locked in. thinking about things that didn't matter. dwelling on what had, but didn't anymore. the sun is all but set and the front door has been locked, checked, and relocked three times over. it's routine and bucky's head is pounding.
" hey ! what did you do that for ? "
answering would make this easy. explaining how that buzz between his ears has gone deafening. turn the auras in his vision into a confession that scrunched lids were necessary. but he doesn't want to answer. easy was happenstance and his penchant for simplicity wasn't well-developed.
" shut up, " james' voice is quiet, hoarse and low. broaches the concept of a threat when his head, lulled back against the couch cushions, rocks sideways. pins clint with an expectant stare and warns without warning that he oughtn't flinch when bucky chooses his shoulder, then, instead. something warm, albeit solid. a place that can dig at his temple and urge old, mumbled voices to go back where they were born from. " you talk too much. " @nvrmiss
