A/N: Once again, Omegle Chat.
Disclaimer: Don't own nada
Clint was the quiet kid in the back usually. Today was one of those days he just…. Didn't talk to anyone. He'd nod and answer if he was asked a question, but he responded in short answers usually. The dark blond had escaped at the ten minute break, his last period some class he didn't mind being late to. He took the doors no one minded about, back of the school, either not many knew about it, or they thought it would be too full. Either way, Clint pulled out a cigarette from the pack concealed in his pocket. It balanced between his lips for a few moments as he searched for his lighter.
Natasha was walking on the sidewalk to her last class after skipping the first few of that day. She was watching Clint so intently that she didn't realize there was a wall until she smacked into it. "Shit." She muttered, rubbing at her forehead.
Clint hid a laugh with his hand, lighting his cigarette. "Careful, that wall jumps out in front of you." He chuckled, sitting back on the rail that lined the stairs.
"Shouldn't you be like, oh I don't know, in class or something?" She asked, picking up the book that had fallen out of her hand.
"Shouldn't you?" He deflected, taking a puff of his cigarette contently. "You alright?" He questioned.
"I, I think so." She muttered, pulling at her bag. She attempted to hide a cough.
Clint moved slightly so she wouldn't get caught in the smoke, a polite gesture. "You just get here?" He asked.
She nodded, clearing her throat. "I've kind of been avoiding this place."
"I can understand that. It's a shitty place to be." Clint gave a small chuckle, taking a drag of his cigarette calmly.
"It's better than some places you can be." She said, sitting opposite of him on the railing.
"True. But I'd still rather be almost anywhere else." He chuckled, flicking the ash off the cigarette.
"Yeah." She said quietly, biting down on her lip. "You're Barton, right?"
Clint nodded. "One of three." He smiled. "You're Natasha?" He confirmed, careful.
She nodded, looking down at her feet. "You know. The Russian freak that's turned down THE Anthony Edward Stark three times."
"I wouldn't say freak. I'm kinda impressed. I've never seen someone turn down Stark. He's relentless." He stated matter of factly, taking the last drag of his cigarette; they seemed to end faster and faster, a little shot down. He flicked the butt away, though still made no motion to move.
"Thanks." She said quietly, messing with the necklace she had on.
Clint gave a small smile. "No problem." He rested on the rail with a small sigh. "What class do you have now?" He asked.
"Classic American Literature." Natasha scoffed. "Otherwise known as a fat lady who gets pissed if you haven't read those books and gets even more pissed when you don't know the stupid references she makes."
Clint laughed quietly. "Wanna peace with me? Classic American Lit is… so boring. I took it last semester." He mused.
"Peace?" She asked quietly. "I don't think I understand that phrase."
"Sorry. I meant, leave with me. Skip class, y'know?" He suggested, scratching the back of his neck, a little embarrassed.
"It's my fault." She said. "I'm still not used to the whole American sarcasm or phrase or whatever the hell it is." She shrugged. "And if the class is so boring, I don't see why not."
"Want to get something to eat? This place around the corner's good." He suggested, moving to stand.
She nodded, standing up. Something about this Barton made him even more attractive than he already was. That elusive quality that drew her towards him.
Clint gave a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he began to walk.
She walked beside him, her mouth suddenly dry and her mind drawing a blank.
Clint chewed his lip absentmindedly. "So, how long have you been here?" He never claimed to be good with conversation.
"Since the end of tenth grade." She said. "I think." She shrugged her small shoulders. "I don't keep up with the years anymore. They all get mushed together when you move as much as I do."
Clint nodded. "I only moved once, and that was when I moved out… I hated it." He chuckled.
"Well, at least you've stayed at some place for more than two years. I've lived in nine different places since I was 3."
"Must make for interesting stories." He suggested, opening the door for her of the diner. It was a small place, it looked dark but… clean?
"You can call it that." She said quietly, staring into the diner. She looked up at him, a single eyebrow perfectly arched.
"It's nice. I promise. It's not as "drug dealy" as it looks." He chuckled.
She laughed, a smile on her face. "It does look very drug-dealy-ish." She smiled down at her feet.
Clint chuckled. "The food is good. Appearance versus hunger." He smiled, waving his hand for her to go through.
"Fine." She said, barely entering the diner, waiting for him. "I feel like this is a place I would get mugged at." She said quietly.
"I wouldn't lead you to a mugging." Clint chuckled, moving to just sit at a table. He sort of fit the atmosphere, and he didn't really know how to take that.
"So, the cat is out of the sack." She said, sitting down next to him.
"What?" He asked.
"That's the saying, is it not?" She asked.
Clint started laughing. "I think it's the cat is out of the bag."
"Why would you put an innocent cat in a bag?" She asked, green eyes wide.
"Why would you put an innocent cat in a sack?" Clint deflected.
"Touchy." She shrugged
"It's touché." Clint said.
"Potato, tomato." She shrugged.
"Once again. Not right." He shook his head, a smile growing on his face. He could get used to this girl.
A/N: R&R!
