When the pencil gets let down, Hawkeye expects a confrontation- a bigger one. He stands straighter and squares his jaw and even feels a little ridiculous at the reaction. The grim frown's still in place and he's resolved not to let it slip until the boy looks up at him again. Then he shifts his weight to one leg and still can't hold back the breath, the sigh, the huff, all just hot breath that would've burned the back of his throat if it hadn't been for the exhale. He tightened his jaw more, because the kid was too calm. Because the look in his eyes wouldn't let him speak up.

He looks up- at nothing. At the ceiling. Because he feels like he's wearing a muzzle.

When he glances back at the boy, he's returned to his drawing and Hawkeye feels like he has to try and see what the hell it is that's so important. He steps forward. He shrugs and rolls his shoulders like, oh, if the boy can be so casual about this than so can he. Just look at the nonchalance he can radiate too. "I think they'd be happy to get some food. Water. Medicine. But don't listen to me, I haven't watched. It's just a hunch."

Twerp.