Somehow, Clint gets roped into archery club. Well, not so much "roped into" as it is, convincing from Phil and Natasha. Natasha, for all her quiet seriousness and independence, is fiercely assertive when it comes to her friends' wellbeing. At least, that's what Maria tells him when they talking while going down the stairs (waiting for the elevator, Clint's realized, takes way too long, and he likes the exercise anyways). But before the activities' fair she'd almost quizzed him on all his interests, before telling him, "Unfortunately, there isn't a dog lovers' club for you. But I think there's something that'll fit."
She's right, of course. She leads him straight to the archery club booth, where he signs up and chats with the guys running it whose names he doesn't catch, but they seem really cool. It seems pretty fun and laid-back, like they just set up in the gym's archery range (what kind of school has a fucking archery range, Clint thinks, but he accepts it) every week or every other week, whichever one works out better, and shoot. Fun, plain and simple. It sounds like good stress relief, and he means it.
After that, Natasha leads him out of the activities fair right away, and they hang out in semi-silence as he recovers from the huge masses of people that crowded around the quad. He notices that she doesn't have any fliers, though, like she hasn't looked at any clubs. And come to think of it, she probably hasn't - she's been with him the whole time, so it's kind of weird. She's not looking at him, though, so he isn't sure if she wants to talk about it. He takes the super subtle route of staring at her, instead.
Eventually, she glances at him and quirks an eyebrow, like she's asking him, "What do you want?"
He shrugs. Now or never. "Did you want to join any clubs? You didn't stop at any of the booths."
"I stopped at the archery booth."
He shakes his head, because that doesn't count. "You didn't take a flier, or put down your e-mail."
She looks him in the eye then, very seriously. Sort of like she's trying to figure out if she can trust him or not. She looks away after maybe a long thirty seconds, and finally says, "I don't think I'm ready to be around that many new people, right now."
He doesn't know what to say, so he gently bumps her shoulder with his sympathetically. Or, he hopes it comes off as sympathetic. From the way she smiles back at him, it seems like it does. And they sit in silence. And sit in silence. And sit in silence.
But it's comfortable. Comforting. And friendly.