"Well, I dunno...it coulda possibly happened." He shrugged, but he was sure his eyes told it all. He didn't think Phil would turn him in. He didn't know the man that very well, but he remembered that night and he remembered Phil bailing him out of trouble. He had been the first person who didn't think Clint was just some punk kid who got into fights or anything of the like on a regular basis. He was. But he was so much more than that if people just took some time and listened to him. It was easier to open up to Phil in the couple of hours he was at the bar than anyone he had known for years. He didn't think it was just because he was attracted to him. It went deeper than Clint knew and he didn't know how he would be able to handle it. "The circus kept movin', I forgot to do an address...forward, crap. Then I got put in the hospital cos of...the event that caused my condition." The entire time he was there he wished that the next person to open the door would have been Phil instead of a nurse or a doctor. All of which just said 'someone will come visit soon'. No one ever did.
Clint left two nights later, regardless of the fact he had been admitted with "supposedly" mortal wounds. It was a miracle he survived, they said. Most nights now, he wished he didn't. "Is it bad to say 'm glad you didn't go on? Not that..." God, there was no way of saving that, was there? He had hoped that Phil wouldn't have moved on. "Not that...it would have been bad. It just woulda made me breakin' in a little bit awkward." Or the hugging. Or the fact that Clint didn't seem to fight the need to gravitate towards him when he wasn't running away when Phil's back was turned.
For what it was worth, Clint had regretted the idea the moment he stepped out of the apartment and onto the street. Clint was sure that writing Phil back would have just been...a mess. He had sent a couple letters when (apparently) the postcards didn't get returned. A little later, he'd sent some that remained...unsent. At some point he had gotten to the point where he thought he could send a letter that said 'I like you, do you like me? Check yes or no.' like some gradeschooler. But he didn't think it was for the best. Nor did he want the postcards to stop at the time. Especially when he knew that Phil was overseas and he wasn't. He was sure he could've watched the man's back if he was able too. A part of him had stood in front of an army recruiting office for about two hours every day for a week while the circus had been in town, contemplating whether he should just sign up and follow Phil over there.
He decided against it; it might have seemed a little too creepy.
A bit of hope sparked within him when Phil asked that. Stupidly placed hope, but hope nonetheless. He slipped the postcards into the backpack, zipping it closed and dropping it at his feet. "Well, if you want to be into that. I could get a red wig and skirt."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-09-18 07:04 am (UTC)Clint left two nights later, regardless of the fact he had been admitted with "supposedly" mortal wounds. It was a miracle he survived, they said. Most nights now, he wished he didn't. "Is it bad to say 'm glad you didn't go on? Not that..." God, there was no way of saving that, was there? He had hoped that Phil wouldn't have moved on. "Not that...it would have been bad. It just woulda made me breakin' in a little bit awkward." Or the hugging. Or the fact that Clint didn't seem to fight the need to gravitate towards him when he wasn't running away when Phil's back was turned.
For what it was worth, Clint had regretted the idea the moment he stepped out of the apartment and onto the street. Clint was sure that writing Phil back would have just been...a mess. He had sent a couple letters when (apparently) the postcards didn't get returned. A little later, he'd sent some that remained...unsent. At some point he had gotten to the point where he thought he could send a letter that said 'I like you, do you like me? Check yes or no.' like some gradeschooler. But he didn't think it was for the best. Nor did he want the postcards to stop at the time. Especially when he knew that Phil was overseas and he wasn't. He was sure he could've watched the man's back if he was able too. A part of him had stood in front of an army recruiting office for about two hours every day for a week while the circus had been in town, contemplating whether he should just sign up and follow Phil over there.
He decided against it; it might have seemed a little too creepy.
A bit of hope sparked within him when Phil asked that. Stupidly placed hope, but hope nonetheless. He slipped the postcards into the backpack, zipping it closed and dropping it at his feet. "Well, if you want to be into that. I could get a red wig and skirt."