starlight crashing through the room
Clint wouldn’t mind living with Scott ultimately, if the place weren’t a total shithole.
They’re holed up in a sketchy motel in the middle of nowhere -- Clint couldn’t say where for the life of him -- with no outside contact. They’re allowed to leave, obviously, but they don’t know where to go, and they probably shouldn’t talk to anyone anyway. That’s kind of why they’re in isolation in the first place.
The last time that Clint and Scott had a one-on-one conversation was when Clint was making him coffee after coffee, somewhat as a power move, and Scott drank every single one before collapsing so that Clint could drag him into the back of a van.
Scott sits down on the end of the bed, and it creaks beneath his weight.
“So…” He clicks his teeth.
The bed is… shitty. It’s a twin bed with a hard mattress and one flat pillow, and there’s a scratchy looking blanket draped across the end. In front of the bed sits a box television.
Clint sits on the floor in front of the bed and turns on the TV. It’s only static. He shuts it off.
“I can take the floor,” Clint offers. “I mean, for sleeping. That bed obviously isn’t big enough for both of us to sleep comfortably.”
Scott frowns. “Are you sure?”
Clint shrugs, giving a quick nod.
“Yeah,” He says. “I mean, I’m sure sharing would work, but I’m not a touchy guy. We’re gonna be cooped up in here for who-knows-how-long, maybe we shouldn’t keep too close of a proximity to each other.”
Scott manages a solemn nod, a frown twitching at his lips. “If you’re sure, okay.”
It’s late. Scott passes out soon enough, draped lazily over the twin bed with one of his arms and his opposite leg dangling off either side. Clint finds himself staring at the ceiling and wishing that he wasn’t in this situation until the early hours of the morning.
Scott and Clint bond easily. For one, Scott is somewhat easy for Clint to trust. They’re in such similar situations, and spend a great deal of time talking about their kids, about being single parents, about how spending so much time away is gonna fucking suck.
Clint makes breakfast every day because his parental instincts kick in and he needs to do something with his hands. After about a week, though, it becomes a competition. Clint only stops himself when he realizes that he and Scott are waking up at five or six in the morning to make each other breakfast and coffee.
Though, the thing that takes up most of Clint’s time is thinking about the bed.
Sleeping on the floor shouldn’t be a problem for him, and the bed can’t really be all that much better. It’s creaky and stiff and gross-looking. The floor has to be a plus.
It’s two weeks in when Clint’s back starts to get fucked. He aches when he moves because he’s sleeping on the floor, and it sucks. He keeps his mouth shut about it, though, even when Scott starts to notice.
When Scott notices, it’s very clear. He pushes himself to the far end of the bed, curled up so there’s enough room for Clint to lay down next to him if he really wanted to. It’s like a silent attempt to invite Clint to his side.
Clint realizes it quickly, he takes note of the invitation, and he wants to lay down next to Scott so badly. That shitty twin bed is starting to look like heaven to his back.
He doesn’t lay down, though, because he has too much pride. Because Clint is a proud man.
He likes to stick to what he says, and on the first night they were there, he had said, “I can take the floor.”
He’s high and mighty about it, and he does not want to go back on his word.
It’s been another week of Scott leaving a space for Clint on the bed. By two in the morning, Scott is fully passed out, draped over his half of the bed. Clint rolls over on his side to stare at that one inviting piece of the bed and his back cracks. He hisses through gritted teeth, and that’s when he decides to maybe stop being so proud.
As quietly as he can, Clint slips into the twin bed next to Scott. It’s not instant relief, but it’s so much better.
Scott makes a soft noise, and Clint’s heart starts to race because shit, is he awake?
He’s definitely not awake, though. Clint realizes that it’s a sleep noise, and Scott is rolling over in his sleep, and draping an arm over Clint. The weight… doesn’t feel bad at all.
Clint hates to admit that he might actually like it.