parabcllums.
“aw, man,” all it had taken was a badly timed sneeze. that probably ( definitely ) said something ( bad ) about him, as a person - especially as a person who was meant to be, you know, deft - but for the time being, clint was caught less on THAT and more on the scalding coffee that he had just spilled all over himself, in spectacular fashion. shaking off one hand and wondering, silently, briefly, when his suffering was going to end, clint threw the cup to the nearest bin ( to, not in, because it hit the rim and managed - somehow - to fly in a whole other direction ) and tried not to be too sheepish when he asked the smal coffee shop’s tiny crowd, “anyone got a towel? paper..- paper towels? a pocket mop?”
“here, pal,” steve shakes out a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it over to clint. he tries hard to look sympathetic, knowing clint’s unlucky streaks. and though he knows the answer, indubitably, will be yes, he still asks, out of courtesy, “rough day, buddy?” and he sets a hand on clint's shoulder, a friendly gesture as he jostles him softly, “can i get ‘cha another one?”











