Coffee
Tired, he shuffles down the loft stairs just to lie down on the couch. He knows it's a mistake the moment he feels the soft fabric underneath him. He won't leave this place again. He knows it. He hates it. He feels bad about it. He wished he had telekenetic abilities to make himself a coffee. He thinks everything would be easier with coffee. But now he's lying on the couch and won't move anymore. The tiredness envelopes him again.
He wakes up when someone lightly taps his shoulder. His eyes fall on Bucky, who is sitting at the other end of the couch. “Hey,” Clint murmurs, trying to keep his eyes open and not give in to sleep. He's just so incredibly tired. Bucky says something that he can't hear. But Bucky understands, grins and hands him a paper cup. Coffee. Clint breathes in the smell of fresh warm coffee and a smile appears on his lips. “Thanks,” Clint says, taking a sip. He's still tired, but coffee makes things better.