Clint goes easily, wrapping his arms around Sam, holding tight. His breath shudders out of him, but this close he can feel the beat of Sam's heart, steady, strong. It's good, they're good. Maybe everything isn't perfect, maybe he's still feeling vulnerable and shamed and unsure. But that's -- well, somehow that's not too unusual.

Instead, he holds tight, basks for a long moment like a cat laying in the sun.

It takes a moment, pulse soothing out from the jackrabbit rate, mind clearing from the blue and he fear and the panic. Eventually, he pulls back, but not so far as to lose contact all together. Eyes Sam, takes in the worry still written faintly into his expression, and doesn't know what to do about it beyond what he's already doing. So, he makes a joke. Kind of.

"Should I get used to the emotional hugs?"