Clint’s never had this before. Sure, he once unintentionally followed a guy over the Mexican border and into Guatemala and then onto Flores, where they met again on the side of a lake and it was all very awkward, especially as he’d had to borrow some dollars from the guy to get over the border in the first place, but this was different. He’d been travelling in Central and South America for a while now, and this same group of Russians were turning up everywhere.
And they had to be Russians, of course they were Russians. Russians were the worst, so obviously they’d be following him around South America.
Clint scowls at them from the bar in the hostel he very much regrets booking into now. And of course they’re at the bar. Russians are always at the bar; it’s what makes them the worst. They drink like fish, are loud and obnoxious, and accidentally barge into your room at three in the morning when they mix up the 2 and the 5 on their room keys because they’re too drunk-slash-hungover-slash-high-probably to see straight.
Literally the only reason he doesn’t leave is because one of the Russians is this straight up fucking stunning red-head and Clint likes the eyes candy.
FIC: Shoestring [ G | no warnings ]
And they had to be Russians, of course they were Russians. Russians were the worst, so obviously they’d be following him around South America.
Clint scowls at them from the bar in the hostel he very much regrets booking into now. And of course they’re at the bar. Russians are always at the bar; it’s what makes them the worst. They drink like fish, are loud and obnoxious, and accidentally barge into your room at three in the morning when they mix up the 2 and the 5 on their room keys because they’re too drunk-slash-hungover-slash-high-probably to see straight.
Literally the only reason he doesn’t leave is because one of the Russians is this straight up fucking stunning red-head and Clint likes the eyes candy.
Continues on Ao3