The more affectionate Hawk gets, the more he finds himself leaning into it. His eyes shut with a satisfied squint when he kisses his cheek, and when they press closer again, there’s a very, very quiet sound from the back of his throat that may or may not have been something like a pigeon coo.

Phil’s definitely got a slightly pricier cologne on. Nothing opulent, not to mention he’s trying to save to support the new household, but there’s a sense of sophistication there. He’s a man who likes expense, though he’d hardly demand it of someone else.

He just basks in Hawkeye. His warmth, the smell of his aftershave, the landscape of his skin.

“Yeah? What’re the other two? Shuffling out of place and placing in shuffles?”