Mr. Rogers And ME [BL]

Jimmy's face flushed as he grew increasingly animated, waving the broom like a flag amidst the wreckage.

"Oh my god, I still can't believe I actually saw Captain America! He saved me! He held me in his arms! I even touched his big chest!! Good lord, this has been my dream since childhood—my ultimate life goal!!!"

"..."

Well, that's certainly a unique life aspiration.

The tone sounded a little bit more flamboyant than Lirael expected, and his lips twitched ever so slightly as he suppressed a smile.

He thought about saying something but ultimately decided against it.

Instead, he just smiled faintly and bent down to set the overturned chairs upright.

Jimmy, however, wasn't done.

He continued to chatter on incessantly, though Lirael wasn't really listening.

He responded half-heartedly while focusing on cleaning up the chaos in the bakery.

That was until a pair of black tactical boots appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Uh, did I come at a bad time?"

Dusty and disheveled from a freshly completed mission, Clint Barton stood in the doorway of the bakery.

He surveyed the near-ruinous state of the shop with wide eyes and blinked in confusion. "What happened here? Did Hulk stop by?"

"A hundred times worse than that," Jimmy muttered, clearly not expecting any customers. He grabbed the broom and walked toward the counter.

"But we're closed today," Jimmy began, only to cut himself off mid-sentence when recognition lit up his face. "Wait a minute, are you… Hawkeye? The Hawkeye from the Avengers? Are you the real Hawkeye?!"

"..."

The unfinished words turned into a piercing scream loud enough to blow the roof off the moment Jimmy recognized who had walked in.

The sound startled Lirael so much that he nearly tossed a chair leg across the room.

Meanwhile, Clint Barton, suddenly on the receiving end of such a wild outburst of fan enthusiasm, stood there utterly baffled.

He remained frozen as Jimmy enthusiastically went through the entire fan-service routine—hugging, snapping selfies, taking group pictures, and posting them online—before finally regaining a sliver of composure.

His voice, however, sounded a bit shaky.

"I... uh, Captain mentioned that the cookies here are really good, so…" Clint took a subtle step back, away from Jimmy's overzealous energy. "But if you're closed today, I guess I'll just go."

"Don't!"

Jimmy quickly turned back and waved for Lirael to help, his face flushed with excitement.

Tugging Clint inside, he pushed him toward the only small round table that remained intact.

"Even though the store looks like this, the kitchen is still in good shape. Please, make yourself comfortable! Just a few minutes—our cookies are the best in all of New York!"

"Ten minutes."

Catching Jimmy's exaggerated hints, Lirael spoke up smoothly, pulling his gaze away from Clint's quiver, which had held his attention.

He offered Clint a polite smile before heading behind the curtain into the workroom. "If you have the time to spare, that is."

Clint, naturally, agreed with a grin.

But—

That guy seems oddly familiar.

As he watched Lirael disappear into the kitchen, Clint wracked his memory for where he might have seen that dazzlingly striking face before.

That momentary jolt of recognition was nagging at him, but no clear answer came to mind.

"Have we met before?"

The question lingered as Clint continued to ponder, even after Lirael emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies.

Jimmy, meanwhile, was busy enthusiastically whipping up a frothy milk tea behind the counter.

Clint popped a cookie into his mouth.

His eyes immediately lit up with satisfaction, and his gaze toward Lirael shifted, now akin to someone who had just discovered a rare treasure.

"Maybe," Lirael replied casually, his eyes briefly drifting to the gear bag beside Clint. "I don't quite remember."

In truth, that was a lie.

Lirael remembered everything.

It had been during his chaotic escape from a S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital after regaining consciousness.

Clint had been stationed on a rooftop, blocking his retreat with a sniper rifle.

Lirael had responded by shooting him down with a single arrow.

Although Coulson later reassured him that Clint wasn't hurt and had only been shaken up, Lirael wasn't entirely convinced that Hawkeye bore no grudges.

What if Clint remembered who he was and decided to settle the score?

Would Lirael have to fight him?

Should he use his full strength?

If he accidentally killed him, who would take the blame?

Caught in an internal tug-of-war, Lirael ultimately decided to feign ignorance and let bygones be bygones.

"Is that so? I must be mistaken, then."

Clint nodded, his mouth full of cookie crumbs.

His easygoing nature kicked in, and he let the matter drop.

If Lirael didn't want to talk about it and Clint couldn't immediately recall, there was no point in prying.

Why waste energy digging into the past when there were delicious cookies to enjoy?

Where had Captain America found this bakery?

The flavors were incredible, and it was so conveniently close to Avengers Tower.

Wait a minute—wasn't Steve the one who claimed to dislike sweets?

Why didn't he invite me on this cookie run?!

Clint felt betrayed.

Clint felt outraged.

He decided that he was going to buy an enormous batch to take back and eat right in front of Steve, just to rub it in.

"No problem," Jimmy chirped proudly, setting a drink down beside Clint. He puffed his chest out with pride. "If you ever need it, our shop also offers delivery services!"

"Really? You deliver anywhere?"

"As long as you're in New York."

Leaning against the doorway to the workroom, Lirael shook his head with a wry smile.

He wisely chose not to expose Jimmy's true intentions—it was clear the young man just wanted an excuse to stroll through Avengers Tower under the guise of making a delivery.

Quietly marveling at how humans still held such fervent admiration for heroes, Lirael's lips curved upward as he turned back toward the workroom.