"Could you tell the truth for once?"
Clint rubs his tired, bloodshot eyes and looks to the floor space between him and Thor, pouting like a petulant child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..” He says softly, shaking his head with a shrug. He swallows thickly and blinks away rapidly forming tears, tongue poking against his cheek.
' You rarely do.' The statement is coated with both anger and disappointment, that raspy quality impossible to avoid when the blatant lie is murmured. Not when the stained shirt sways from the shrug and taunts him with red blotches, emphasizes how utterly dishonest Clint's first statement was.
' Again, why are you bleeding? ' The worry that was always there is audible now, rigid stance and folded arms cannot hide the tremble in the god's muscles, tension as he fights the urge to move forward and comfort.
