Three days had passed and Clint was still sleeping on my couch. I kept waking up, expecting him to have poofed but he was always there. Sometimes sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone with a concentrated expression, or other times out on the balcony and leaning against the rail. Always with a cup of coffee, though. It was like a mug was just permanently glued to his hand. He seemed in no hurry to get back to the city, although I still hadn't been able to wheedle out of him what had happened. He said he didn't want to get me involved, which made sense and was sort of noble, but I still wanted to know.

I trudged up my fifth flight of stairs, out of breath and embarrassingly out of shape. I muttered under my breath, mostly a string of insults aimed at the broken elevator that had yet to be fixed. When I reached my floor, I balanced my paper bag of groceries in one hand and fiddled for my keys in my coat pocket. When I turned the knob and stumbled inside, the first thing I noticed was the silence. My stomach dropped. I hurried into the kitchen and dumped the groceries onto the countertop before calling for Clint. I waited for him to poke his head in from the other room, or to come inside from the balcony but everything was still. I was about to crumble, trying to figure out why he'd abruptly leave without saying goodbye, when I noticed the note taped to the fridge.

'be back soon. don't panic. -clint'

I stared at the familiar scribbled handwriting for a moment before grumbling under my breath and snatching the note off the fridge. "Little late for that, Barton."

Still, I felt a tiny swell of relief trickle through me. For days I'd been trying to get up the nerve to tell Clint about how I felt before he was gone. Each time, I'd chickened out horribly…always changing my mind last minute or finding an excuse to leave the room before I threw myself at him and covered his adorable face in kisses. I let out a breath. Tonight. I'd tell him tonight.

I put away my groceries, replacing the empty bag of coffee grounds with a fresh one, before looking for another task to distract myself until Clint came back from wherever he was. Which was another question that I knew I wouldn't get an answer to. He'd answer it the same way, a cheeky grin and a little roll of his shoulders. I set about making dinner, which was nothing more elaborate than boiling water for noodles and trying to unscrew the cap off a jar of sauce. Except with my weak normal girl who never worked out muscles, it was harder than it sounded. When the cap did finally come off, it was a spectacular event where sauce sloshed all over the front of my shirt and onto the kitchen cabinets.

"Seriously?" I groaned, letting my head fall back onto my shoulders.

I wiped up the sauce on the counters with a dish rag before pulling off my ruined white t-shirt as I headed towards the laundry room. Unsure if it could even be salvaged, I threw it into the washer before scoping out the room for something else to throw on. My eyes zeroed in on a red and white flannel folded neatly on top of the washer…Clint's. I pulled my lower lip in between my teeth for a moment. Would that be weird, I wondered, if he came home to me in his shirt? It seemed a little…domestic. But then again I had already done his laundry. I mentally shook myself. For crying out loud, it was a shirt. I grabbed it off the washer and buttoned it on. It was entirely too long and covered the hem of my jean shorts and I had to roll the sleeves four times before my hands reappeared. Despite the scent of laundry detergent, it somehow still smelled like him. I felt my face grow hot and I pushed the thought away as I hurried back to the kitchen where I could hear my water boiling on the stove.
By the time I heard the front door open and shut again, I was absentmindedly stirring a pot of sauce, eyes glued on the TV in the living room. Friends. Again.

"Hey! Way to disappear on me!" I called over my shoulder.

"I left a note!" He hollered back, and I grinned a little at the defensive tone in his voice. His heavy footsteps made their way into the kitchen. "I knew that you would freak out if-"

I waited for him to continue, but when he didn't I turned with the sauce spoon in my hand. "If what?"

He was staring at me, eyebrows raised. I watched as his eyes suddenly traveled the length of my body, and while I felt myself immediately start to flush, he seemed totally unabashed by what he was doing. "Is that my shirt?" He finally asked, his voice suddenly much lower.

I swallowed hard. The temperature in the room seemed to have skyrocketed. "Um..yes." I was trying to read his reaction, and didn't want to assume too much…but the way he was suddenly watching me. He usually only did that when he thought I wouldn't notice. "Is that okay? I spilled something on mine earlier…" I trailed off uncertainly. I quickly lifted the shirt to show my shorts. "I have bottoms on, don't worry."

His eyes lingered on my bare legs before finding my face again. He was rubbing the back of his neck, almost nervously. It caught me off guard. I'd never seen Clint nervous before. I couldn't even think of one single time. He was always the cool one, the confident one. Me, on the other hand, it felt like a swarm of bats had suddenly decided to inhabit my stomach. The staring contest between us seemed to go on forever before I finally cleared my throat. "I..um..I can change…?"

"No." He said and when I looked at him in surprise, he swore softly. "Shit, I mean…no, that's okay. It's just that…" He licked his lower lip, like he was carefully choosing his words. "I've pictured you like this about a million times before, Anna. In my shirt."

An atomic bomb could've gone off outside, and I wouldn't have even noticed in that moment. The entire national symphony orchestra could've crammed into my apartment and started conducting a concert, and I still wouldn't have even blinked…okay maybe a little, at that one. But still. I felt dazed as I stood there, blinking at him uncertainly. I wanted to believe I had heard him right, but it was almost too good to be true. "What?" It seemed like the only one syllable word I was capable of.

The expression on his face made my knees want to turn to jelly, and there was suddenly conflict in his eyes before it was quickly resolved and he was looking at me with that renewed confidence I knew so well. "Ah, fuck it." He breathed. And before I could determined what exactly that meant, he was across the kitchen and pushing me back against the counter. I gasped in surprise as his lips found mine. The warmth of his mouth sent a sudden electric current running through me. There was none of the hesitation or uncertainly that often came with first kisses. Instead, his mouth moved against mine with a tenacity and boldness that made my heart pound against my ribcage.

I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back with a longing that had been building inside me since I'd first met him, all those years ago. He deepened the kiss, his tongue running over my lower lip before slipping into my mouth. As my fingers tangled in his short hair, his own hands ran down my shoulders and over my sides until he was gripping my hips tightly. With a quickness that stole the air from my lungs, I felt myself being lifted onto the counter top. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. I was only half aware of how heavy my breathing sounded, too caught up in the way he felt pressed up against me, the way his lips felt on mine and the way his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once. His touch ignited a hunger in me that wanted more more more.

I snuck my hands up the back of his shirt, enjoying the heat of his skin underneath my fingertips. I wanted to keep kissing him forever, and I probably would've had he not suddenly mumbled something against my mouth.

"What?" I breathed, too caught up in how intoxicating he was to be embarrassed by how out of breath I was.

"Something's burning." He mumbled again, his lips leaving mine as he pressed kisses to my chin and jawline.

I hummed in response, feeling a pleasant warmth all over. Then, my sluggish lust-filled brain seemed to wake up and register what he was saying. "Oh crap!" I pushed him away and turned towards the stove on my left. I leaned over and quickly switched off the burner but it was too late. "Shoot." I muttered, peering inside the pot where the once red sauce had blackened and was sticking to the bottom in an unappetizing, lumpy mass.

Clint's laughter caught my attention and I turned back to look at him, my cheeks burning a little remembering what his mouth had been doing to me only seconds before. "Guess we're ordering pizza, babe."

My heart zinged at the casual term of endearment and I ducked my head in a moment of shyness, as a smile stretched my lips. Clint sidled closer again, one finger lifting my chin until I was looking him in the eyes. His lips were swollen from kissing, and the happy glow in his expression was almost too adorable. "I'm sorry I made you wait so long. I'm an ass."

This time it was my turn to laugh. "No, no you're not…I should've told you. Years ago." I said, before adding quietly, "You're my lobster, Clint."
His lips quirked up into an amused smile, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips. Both his hands cupped my face as he looked at me way in a way that I couldn't describe as anything other than adoration and it made me tingle all over with warmth and pure, utter bliss. He brushed his lips over my forehead as I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him into me.

"I'll be anything you want, as long as it's yours."