Work Text:
Small white flurries fell from the sky as Steve made his way to his favorite coffee shop. It was a daily routine for him, no matter the weather, to wander to the quaint shop in the early morning and spend some quiet time sketching and sipping a on a hot beverage. Today the cold bit at his cheeks, a bitter February snow storm swirling about, so it was with great relief that he finally ducked into the small cafe, the bell on the door tinkling happily.
“Steve!” Natasha smiled at him from the register, her red hair looking coppery in the soft lighting. Steve always thought she seemed too chipper to be working at 5:30 in the morning, but he found it admirable and smiled back.
“Nat,” he greeted, giving her a nod. The soft sound of the Avett Brothers drifted out of the speakers that were dotted around the shop, and Steve appeared to be the first customer. It was already looking to be a great day.
“Just the usual?” Natasha asked as he approached her, fishing in his back pocket for his wallet.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Nat shook her head a little, a smirk twisting her full lips, as she punched his order into her register. “You know,” she said, her tone teasing, and flicked her eyes up at him, “we have things other than black coffee.”
Steve laughed, the sound loud and bright in the quiet room, and shrugged. “I like black coffee.”
“But you might like something else more.”
Steve handed over a couple of dollars and dropped a third in the tip jar. “Do you always argue with your customers?”
Natasha finally broke, laughing as well and shaking her head. “No, just you Rogers. You’re a special case.”
“Now, don’t go making me blush already. The day’s only just started, Miss.”
“It’s never too early to see that schoolgirl blush of yours,” she quipped. “Besides, we have a new barista, so it’s probably a good day to stick with your usual, anyway. He can’t possibly screw up a black coffee.”
Steve had gotten to know Nat’s entire staff over the past few months of frequenting the place, so the chance to see a new face excited him. Naturally, it was that moment that the door to the back room swung open, revealing two baristas. One of them was Darcy, a gorgeous and witty girl that Steve had an extra-soft spot for, and a dark haired man, hair pulled back into a sloppy bun beneath his black cap, and a new, shiny, trainee name tag that read, ‘Bucky.’
Steve stared at the back of the man’s head as he and Darcy wandered over to the coffee brewers. They spoke softly, and as Darcy showed him how to work the machines, Steve just continued to watch, unable to tear his eyes away.
“Like what you see, Rogers?”
Steve cleared his throat and quickly snapped his attention back to Nat, her green eyes calculating. “Uh,” he replied eloquently.
Natasha snorted and tossed a rag at him. “Go sit down. I can’t have you distracting my employees.”
Face hot, Steve nodded and turned to find his favorite table. It was back in a corner, right next to a window, and it was his favorite because he could see everything from there. He could watch people walking by outside, and it gave him a view of the entire shop. Of all the subjects he drew, people were his favorite, especially when he could capture them doing something as ordinary as drinking a coffee or reading the newspaper. It wasn’t posed, but completely natural, and he felt it was easier to capture the human essence this way. Unfortunately, he realized as he pulled his sketchbook and pencils out, being the first customer of the day meant he only had the staff to choose from, and as much as he wanted to draw the new guy, he didn’t think it was a great idea.
Steve laid the sketchbook out on the table, opening to a fresh page, and then stared blankly outside. He’d just have to wait until somebody else came in. It was only a matter of time, after all. Usually the place was crowded by 6:00. The snow was coming down even heavier, though it’d only been minutes, and Steve could hardly make out the brownstones across the street. It was only February 1st, but it had been a couple of weeks since New York had seen a proper snow storm. Steve had thought that maybe winter was finished, but clearly he’d thought wrong.
“Uh, hi.”
Steve whipped around to find the new guy standing at his table, a large mug clutched between his hands. He looked nervous, huge blue eyes staring frightfully at Steve. “Hi,” Steve said.
“This is yours,” the guy, Bucky, responded, sliding the mug onto the table. He said it like a question, even though it was obviously Steve’s, and then began to retreat, back ram-rod straight.
“Thank you,” Steve practically choked out, the heat returning to his face. Damn his Irish skin.
Bucky nodded and turned, walking swiftly back to the front of the shop. Steve wanted to kick himself as he met Natasha’s eyes from across the room, full of mirth.
•••
For the next week, Steve continued his routine, and Bucky was there nearly every morning. The two hadn’t exchanged any more words after the first day, though Steve couldn’t stop himself from staring. More than once he found himself daydreaming, unknowingly watching the dark-haired barista as he worked. It wasn’t until those round, grey-blue eyes would meet his that he would even notice he was looking. He couldn’t help but hold the brunet’s gaze for a moment each time, before tearing his eyes away with a soft curse.
Naturally, Steve had only lasted about half an hour on the very first day before he caved to sketching out a messy drawing of the guy. His strong jaw was too good not to put on paper, his loose strands of hair, falling from under his hat, too human. His huge eyes and cleft chin made him stand out from those around him. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled made him shine brighter than sunlight. It was Steve’s duty to capture such a work of art, even if he didn’t think he entirely did Bucky justice.
Over the week Steve had started several drawings of randoms, everything from an old man flipping through a small book, glasses perched delicately at the end of his nose, to a little girl, halfway through a cupcake that seemed as big as her head, frosting dotting her chin and nose, but he hadn’t been able to finish any of them, always coming back to Bucky. More than once Nat had snuck up on him, scoffing and rolling her eyes as she saw what he was drawing. He never bothered trying to cover it up, knowing it was no use.
“C’mon, Rogers, again? Ask him out, already. I know you want to.”
“It’s not that easy, Nat.”
“Sure it is.”
Steve wanted to believe her, but every time he thought about talking to the brunet, his mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof, and he’d completely freeze. Once he’d stood at the small coffee station, which stood only about a foot away from the counter, pretending to stir sugar and cream into his coffee for nearly ten minutes as he tried to work up his courage, until a woman cleared her throat at him, forcing him to evacuate and go back to his table.
Which brought Steve to his current situation; asking his roommates Sam and Clint for advice. Sam gave him the same talk as Natasha, telling him to just ask the guy out. Steve understood that they were probably right, but he didn’t actually have anything to say to the brunet, and interrupting his work simply to say ‘hi’ didn’t seem like the correct way to approach the matter. When he told Sam as much, the three sat sat in silence for a few moments, until Clint suddenly perked up, apparently struck with a fantastic idea.
“Dude, I’ve got it.”
“Pray tell,” Sam responded, leaning back on their old, noisy, leather couch, amusement lighting his face. “I’m sure it’s a great idea.”
“It is,” Clint insisted, scooting excitedly to the edge of his chair. His dark blond hair was a mess as per usual, and the wheels that were turning behind his eyes made Steve a little nervous. “It’s nearly Valentine’s day,” he continued, immediately earning groans from both of the other men.
“Really, Clint? Valentine’s day? That is so cheesy,” Sam laughed, shaking his head.
“Who cares?” Clint shrugged back, spreading his arms out in a show of nonchalance. “It’s a perfect in for Steve. It gives him a reason to talk to the guy.”
“What, am I going to give him a dozen red roses?” Steve asked. “That seems like a bit much.”
“God, no. Man, all you have to do is ask him out,” Clint laughed. “You have a week. Figure out what you want to do on the big V-Day, and then the ask the dude if he’s down. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He could say no,” Steve pointed out.
“Only because he has a date with his laundry. This guy isn’t going to turn you down, Steve. You’re a hunk, and you know it. I’m straight, and I know it,” Clint grinned, adjusting one of his purple hearing aids as he spoke.
“He has a point,” Sam added. “And from what you’ve told us, it sounds like the guy might be into you as well, considering how often you two make eyes at each other.”
“Exactly,” Clint continued, not giving Steve a chance to argue with them. “You should also skip out one morning; don’t go in, and see what happens. You have to keep the mystery alive, man. Make him wonder what you could be doing that’s important enough to make you miss out on your morning coffee.”
“Fine,” Steve finally gave in, sinking back into his armchair with a sigh, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously helpful,” the blond supplied, “and if you don’t follow through and ask this guy out, I will personally kick your ass.”
•••
Seven days later, the 14th of February dawned with a bleary, wet morning, somewhere between snow and rain, but not heavy enough to put a hinder on Steve’s morning. He unfolded the piece of paper one more time, double checking that everything was spelled correctly on it for the hundredth time.
Steve hoped it wasn’t too much. After four days of idea after idea, he’d finally come to a conclusion. He’d drawn two small sketches on the paper, side by side, one of the stunning barista sitting at a dinner table, a soft light glinting off of his dark hair, and the other of Bucky in front of a movie theater, hands tucked into the pockets of a leather jacket, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Beneath the sketches it said a simple, ‘Be my Valentine?’ in Steve’s messy scrawl, and to top it all off, he’d added two boxes, one labeled ‘yes,’ and the other labeled ‘no.’ He hadn’t been able to draw it at the coffee shop, too paranoid that he’d get caught, so he’d had to do it by memory. Honestly, he’d surprised himself at the amount of detail he’d been able to put into it, but he had, after all, been staring nearly non-stop at the guy for almost two weeks.
Nodding to himself, Steve folded the paper once more and tucked it into his sketchbook, before heading out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. He only lived a couple of blocks away from the shop, and though he normally found this to be a convenience, he found himself wishing it was a bit further today. When it came to most things, Steve was confident and eloquent, but based on his past attempts at romance, he could only see this going badly.
The second Steve walked through the front door, that damn bell tinkling over his head, he wanted to bolt. Natasha, Bucky, and another barista, Wanda, all looked up at him. The girls both smiled, Bucky gave a tiny wave, and Steve thought he might die.
Having taken Clint’s advice, Steve had forgone his usual trip the day before, which had earned him a ‘What in the hell was so important that you couldn’t come see me this morning?’ text from Natasha, immediately followed by a ‘Bucky asked about you.” Steve knew bait when he saw it, but he couldn’t deny that it made him happy to know Bucky paid enough attention to him to notice that he was missing. He’d cooly responded with a, ’Accidentally slept in,’ which he knew Nat would see right through, but she’d only responded with a ‘You’d better be here tomorrow,’ for which he had been grateful.
Now as he stood staring at the small group, no other costumers in sight, as per usual, he didn’t think the day off had been such a great idea. He wasn’t ready for this, and his idea was too cheesy, and he was going to make a complete fool of himself. He also didn’t particularly want an audience as he asked Bucky out, but it didn’t look like he was going to have much of a choice. He was either going to have to do it in front of the girls, or he was going to have to wait until there were other customers, and risk Bucky being too busy to get a moment with him.
With a deep breath, Steve made his feet move, carrying him over to the counter. Today, ‘Hold On,’ by Alabama Shakes played over the speakers, his steps moving in time with the beat, until he came to lean on the counter, trying to look as calm as ever.
“Let me guess,” Natasha greeted, smirking.
“A large cappuccino, heavy on the foam.”
Nat’s eyes widened, sparkling, and she grinned widely at him, punching the order into the register. “Mixing it up today, Rogers? I’m proud of you.”
Steve nodded and handed her a five, dropping a single into the tip jar as usual. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled out another dollar, dropping a second one in the jar for good luck, before taking his change from the redhead. “Well, if the day goes as planned,” he said, hoping he could make his point apparent, “by the end of it you’ll be even more proud.”
Nat’s eyes flicked to Bucky for only a second, but she was an intelligent woman, and she understood. “Good luck, Steve.”
“Thanks,” he murmured back, the blood already racing to his face, “I’ll need it.”
She leaned over the counter and gave him a peck on the cheek, before whispering in his ear, “You don’t, but I’m giving it to you, anyway,” and with that, she went to grab Wanda by the arm, stopping her in the middle of dismantling a broken milk steamer, and dragged her into the back room.
Steve felt dazed as he moved to the other end of the counter, his steps slow and nervous. Bucky hadn’t seemed to notice his coworkers’ retreat, as he was already busy on Steve’s drink. The blond had noticed that about him; he put passion and focus into everything he did. Even if it was something as simple as a black coffee, he was careful, and never got sloppy or lazy. He usually worked with a small twist to his lips, a content smile, and as Steve drew nearer to him, he could hear him humming softly under his breath.
Not wanting to interrupt Bucky’s focus, he stopped and took a moment to watch him. He was so used to watching from across the room, and up close was an entirely different experience. It was clear that the barista hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, a dark five o’ clock shadow spreading over his jaw and down his neck, only adding to his attractiveness, in Steve’s opinion. His eyelashes were long and dark, sweeping shadows over his cheeks as he looked down at his work. When he drew his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration, biting it thoughtfully, Steve lost his breath for a moment.
Bucky finished the drink, looking satisfied, and those eyes finally flicked up, immediately widening in surprise.
“Steve, uh… hey,” he stuttered out, cheeks reddening in only the slightest. “You don’t usually wait for your drink.”
He knows my name.
Steve couldn’t help his embarrassed grin. He could feel his flush moving over his chest and shoulders, warming the skin, and he was suddenly thankful for the cold weather and his layers of clothing. He couldn’t find his voice, tongue refusing to work, so he pulled his drawing out instead, handing it wordlessly to the confused brunet without explanation. Bucky stared at the folded paper for a minute, as if unsure what to do with it, before his long fingers worked to slowly unfold it, gentle and nervous.
Steve held his breath, panic suddenly gripping him as Bucky’s eyes scanned over the paper. This was it, he was sure. The brunet was going to be completely creeped out, and Steve was never going to be able to come back here, and he’d have to figure out a whole new morning routine, and Bucky’s gorgeous eyes would always haunt him, and - wait.
Bucky had laid the paper on the counter, pen in hand, and was writing on it. The espresso machine was just perfectly blocking Steve’s view, so he waited, biting his tongue, for Bucky to finish writing.
When he seemed satisfied, the brunet picked the paper back up, tearing it along the middle, just beneath the sketches Steve had done, and handed Steve back the bottom half, before tucking the drawings into his apron pocket with a small smile.
Steve knew he was red as a tomato, but he swallowed his nerves and glanced down at the paper. A huge smile burst to life on the blond’s face, and he laughed.