#shatteredwinter

"Drinking..?"

It was the easiest answer, the first word that made the connection between Clint’s wobbling mind and the tip of his tongue. But there’s also something else, some.. nagging insistence that the answer he gave wasn’t good enough.

The bottle— his fifth so far tonight— was set down on the floor next to the couch he was curled up on. This is what had started the problems the first time and, even as drunk as he was, Clint knew that he couldn’t just leave it at that. Nothing could happen that might push James away. So, instead, Clint pushed himself a bit more upright, leaning heavily against the armrest.

The bullet had been a lucky one. It’d transcended past flesh and organ and the stubborn, critical attention Clint had put on keeping himself safe these past few weeks, his intent of making their finally-peaceful life last.

So much for that; a torn, ragged hole was exposed to the cold European air, the metal projectile having touched angrily at the bottom of his heart.

Maybe it was a blessing that nothing had gone numb just yet; instead the lingering agony made his hands tremble, both trying blindly to put pressure on the wound in his own chest. But the blood was piling onto his fingers and palms and it was slippery and made it seem like he was pressing against air, so of course the confused result was to press harder, harder—

He blinks and James is there, pulling him up into both arms and it should’ve hurt like hell but it didn’t, so there’s a numbness, finally.

He wanted to say something, and it seemed to take ages to part his dry lips, maybe to assure James that it wasn’t that bad, in that snarky, confident tone admit that he was fine, maybe throw a little bit of sarcasm in there to make his soldier crack a frustrated, fond grin.

"Drinking..?"

It was the easiest answer, the first word that made the connection between Clint’s wobbling mind and the tip of his tongue. But there’s also something else, some.. nagging insistence that the answer he gave wasn’t good enough.

The bottle— his fifth so far tonight— was set down on the floor next to the couch he was curled up on. This is what had started the problems the first time and, even as drunk as he was, Clint knew that he couldn’t just leave it at that. Nothing could happen that might push James away. So, instead, Clint pushed himself a bit more upright, leaning heavily against the armrest.

//are you not doing the one we talked about anymore?

You can ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly, but only with yes and no.

What. What. It was already half unwrapped and sitting in Clint's hand, ready to be devoured by a chocolate-starved archer. He frowned over at James, aware that the right path would be to break it in half, to share. Instead he narrowed his eyes, sliding the tip of the bar into his mouth and nibbling daintily.

You can ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly, but only with yes and no.

What does that mean? Further?

There wasn't much else. They already live together, as anyone without a real home can live with another person. They had a dog. If that wasn't a bid for permanence, Clint would be able to recognize no other sign.

He knew what that question meant.

And it terrified him. But.. not enough to lie. Instead, it set up an annoying trip of a heartbeat.

You can ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly, but only with yes and no.

"Yes."

You can ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly, but only with yes and no.

Smirk of the century-- because normally he'd try to add this to the slowly-growing list of Positive and give his lover a hard time with a little harmless lie. But the truth won out, here. The arm did add a curious, unique flare to James' person, but it didn't put weight on his strong, muscular curves.