Zooming down the hallways, Pietro quickly tried to find the room Clint always trained in. It was confusing and hard to get to, as it was sealed away in the walls, and the only way to get in was to press a specific panel on the floor. Many an agent had stepped on it accidentally and tripped into the room, coffee stumbling and Clint yelling as he let an arrow go inches from their heads. Sure, it wasn't the safest facility, and Fury had asked if Clint wanted a better space, but the archer had been content with what he had. He was never one to be choosy.
Just another thing Pietro adored about him.
He felt his stomach shift as he ran right past an opening in the wall. He back pedaled, noting that Clint hadn't shut the door, and that Natasha had been right.
Clint most certainly, unashamedly, trained without a shirt on.
The runner felt a heat spread through his cheeks as he let his eyes trail. Smooth muscles met seas of crystal grey as he swallowed, stumbling back and pressing himself against the wall, slowing his breathing.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
He couldn't do it. Simple as that. He would not, should not, could not possibly do what he was to do next. Was he kidding? Someone of that stature deserved WAY more than the little brat he was, right? Anything given that much physical prowess and finesse surely should be given the best of the best. He was too immature, too childish, too selfish, and, in his eyes, too unsightly. He didn't think he would stand a chance compared to the height he saw Clint Francis Barton at.
And yet, somehow, he still had to muster the courage and manage to ask him.
It made Pietro wonder. What, in all honesty, changed his views about the man? Was it him being saved from certain impending death? Was it the fact that Clint had watched over him in his time of need? Or had it always been there, just now surfacing when it felt the time was right?
He didn't like to think about it. All he should've been thinking about at the time was whether or not Clint could see him out of the corner of his eye.
Unfortunately, he could.
"Hello?" Clint called out, aiming the arrow behind his back and firing, feeling the tension string buzz as he let go. "Is anyone there?"
Pietro gulped and quickly searched for a place to hide. If he confronted Clint now, he wasn't sure he could keep his eyes off him. However, if he didn't confront him, he would never gain the courage to do what was needed.
He decided he'd have to wing it.
"Uh, yes, hello. It is me, no worries," the silver speedster stepped out from behind the wall. "I was just coming to talk to you, but I got... uh... distracted by the wall. It's got a very nice texture, no?"
Pietro felt like he was being forced to eat his lungs. Clint's face equally reflected the feeling, as he was confused and a little concerned, but something else hid behind it. Something smug, something Pietro didn't trust, and something he knew was headed his way.
After a pause, Clint struck with his words, knives stabbing Pietro in the gut. The exact words he had been trying to avoid.
"Were you watching me train?"
"What?!" Pietro stammered, nervous and a little scared mixing into a voice crack. He licked his lips, trying to think of an excuse. "No, of course not. I had just come to ask you a question, and you seemed busy, so I waited."
"So you were watching me."
"Not necessarily."
"That's not a no."
"It's not a yes, either."
Clint circled the boy, like a shark about to ambush a helpless seal. Pietro felt a shiver go down his spine. Bad news was about to come, and he didn't know if he was ready for it. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what he had wanted, and here he was, already a blushing, shaky mess.
He thought he was stronger than that.
"Clearly you were watching me," Clint snuffed and rolled his eyes. "Which I don't blame you. I am a sight for sore eyes," he barked a laugh, scratching his head as he tugged on a shirt. "Hey, about what happened earlier, I didn't mean to throw you off or anything-"
"No! No, don't worry about that. It is no problem. I came to ask you something," he spit out, worried that if he didn't get it out now, he never would. Clint blinked and nodded, rubbing the slight amount of stubble that peppered his chin.
"Yeah? What's up? Ask away," he replied, voice cool and mellow, one that Pietro itched to have waking up with him, groggy and tired after a good night's sleep induced by a rough mission, calling for coffee as the light beamed down on his face from the window. That's all he wanted.
A relationship with Clint Barton sounded like he had fallen into heaven.
None of it was real.
Pietro had to constantly remind himself that his daydreams were not reality.
"Pietro?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the other's hands shake slightly. "You okay? What do ya want to ask me?"
"Right! Right, sorry. I zoned out for a moment. I heard from someone that the carnival was in town," he started, biting his tongue as he waited for some sign to continue. It came as a nod. "I've always wanted to go to one, but I was never able, and they always have had those massive stuffed animals, and I was maybe hoping to get one for Wanda, but I can't really win one of them by myself, because I've never played the games. Word got around that you knew what to do for it, so I was wondering if you would go with me to maybe get something for her? She would love it..."
"Oh," Clint said, frowning. Pietro immediately wanted to swallow his words one by one, pluck them out of the air and toss them in the trash to start new. Then, however, the archer smiled.
"That sounds like a good time. I'll definitely go with you," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Want to go later? It's only 12, since we were up there a while, so we've got the rest of the day. I'll go get my shoes, if you're free now." He waited for a confirmation that the plans would commence soon.
"Yes! Yes! I mean, sure, let's go now!" Pietro chirped, his chest brimming with happiness. He had successfully gotten advice from Natasha (with all his fingers still intact), gotten kissed by the other, AND was just agreed to go on an outing with him. He didn't want to call it a date just yet, for he wasn't sure of Clint's sight on it all.
"So, it's a date?"
This day just kept getting better and better.
"If that's how you want to put it," he smiled and felt a tingle in his feet before dashing off to relinquish in his success.
He had done it.
He had really done it.
He was officially going on a date with the love of his life.
Clint Barton would certainly not be disappointed for saying yes.
