Chapter Text
Bucky swears, he is this close to punching his professor. Sighing, he sits back in his chair and runs a hand down his face, wishing for a hole to open up under him and eat him alive. Or maybe transport him to the Maldives for the next several decades.
“Are you dying?” He peaks his eyes open to watch Natasha glare at him in annoyance, her perfect fingers wrapped around her pen. He wonders why Nat is even studying and suffering through this bullshit with him when she has a successful modelling career, and can probably get away with never reading another word ever again. Probably.
“Feels like it.” Sighing again, he takes a long sip of his coffee until the obnoxious slurp informs him that his cup is now, in fact, empty, and wonders if God exists, why he ever let him apply to law school in the first place.
“Can you do it, like, quietly?” Bucky needs better friends, he thinks. He lets out another sigh, louder and more dramatically this time because he’s stressed and tired and just feels like being a general ass today. Getting up to his feet, he wipes his hands on his ripped jeans before trudging towards the cashier, scrubbing a hand down his face and considers dropping out of law school to work at a Starbucks for the rest of his life.
“Hey. What can I get you?” The tall blond man behind the counter asks, flashing him a charming smile.
“Americano. Venti. Please.” The whole thing is monotonous, and uneventful, and not for the first time, Bucky wonders when he got so boring. He used to go to parties, pick up both girls and boys, drink everyone under the table, and now, he can barely bring himself to find the energy to flirt with a cute boy. After he gets back to his table, he notices Natasha staring at the counter in concentration, her eyes fixed on the same blond boy that served Bucky his drink.
“What?”
“That boy.” She squints, trying to get a better look at his name tag. “Steve, I think.”
“What about him?”
“He’s always here.” Bucky furrows his eyebrows in confusion, wondering if Nat has lost it more than he has. Understandable, it is exam season.
“Nat, he works here. Of course he’s always here.”
Rolling her eyes and kicking him under the table. “No, you ass. I meant like, always here. I was here at 10pm last night and he was still here.” Bucky thinks back to all the times he’s been in this Starbucks, attempting to scan his memories for the familiar looking blond boy, only to realise it takes too much brain power and really, Bucky doesn’t care that much. He doesn’t think he has the mental capacity to think about it right now.
“Maybe he just really likes coffee.” Bucky suggests, opening his book and going back to reading about tort law.
°•. ✿ .•°
Even though he keeps telling himself he doesn’t care, Bucky begins noticing the boy—Steve—every time he’s there, flashing him his perfect smile and asking Bucky what he wants that day. And no, it’s not because he’s adorable. It really isn’t, Natasha. So he conducts a social experiment because despite not caring, he’s very intrigued, and it’s more interesting than his stupid exam.
“Clint.” Bucky whispers conspiratorially, when he’s in the same Starbucks about a week later, poking his arm with a pen.
“What?” Clint looks up, eyes sleepy and unfocused.
“Y’know that boy? The tall, blond one. Built like a brick house on steroids?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you noticed he’s always here?” Bucky sees this same expression he had when Nat first suggested the idea on Clint’s face, eyes narrowing in confusion. Probably thinking Bucky has lost his mind. “No—seriously. Nat pointed it out and I can’t stop thinking about it, right? He’s always here.”
“He works here, Bucky.” Bucky is starting to understand why Nat kicked him that day.
“No, but listen okay? I’ve been experimenting.”
“You’ve been experimenting. Mid exam season of your first year in law school.”
“No, okay, I know what it sounds like. But I was here everyday for the past week, right? On Tuesday I came here with Nat at around 2. Then Wednesday, I came at 6, then Thursday at 12, and Friday at 10pm, and then yesterday, I even woke up at 10am just to test out my theory. He’s always here. He’s always working. Does he like, live here or something?” Clint just stares at him like he can see Bucky’s last brain cell just die and fall out of his ear.
“Bucky, have you ever considered, I don’t know, just asking him?” Clint seriously looks like he’s seconds away from conjuring the devil himself so he can sell his soul and get him out of this conversation.
“What would I even say? Hey, pal, I’ve seen you working here every single day so I did a mini experiment and found that you’re always here no matter what time it is? Do you live here? Do you need help?” Bucky questions sarcastically only to be met with another eye roll from Clint, followed closely by a frustrated huff.
“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met, you know that, Barnes?”
“Shut up, Barton.”
°•. ✿ .•°
Bucky thinks about what Clint said the next day as he pushes through the doors of the Starbucks. Just ask him. It can’t be that hard, right? They see each other everyday, they’re practically friends. So why not just ask him, right? Except, when Bucky gets to the counter, he realises just how weird what he’s doing is. He’s essentially been stalking the guy at his workplace for the last two weeks.
“Hey, Bucky, what can I get you today?” Steve asks, his lips curling up into that familiar, charming smile. Bucky lets out a stupid, unintelligent noise. Something between a motorcycle and a whale. “You okay?”
“I’m good. Americano. Venti.” He takes a deep breath, watching Steve as he writes. Eh, fuck it, right? “When’s the end of your shift?” He’s not sure why, but for some reason, Steve thinks the worthy reaction to the question is raising his eyebrows.
“My break’s in 30 minutes.” Is Steve’s response. And, okay, it wasn’t exactly what Bucky was asking, but he takes it anyway, not wanting to embarrass himself further.
“Gotcha.” 30 minutes passes by relatively quickly, because for the first time this month, Bucky is able to settle down and actually get some god damned work done so he doesn’t fail. So, when Steve approaches, his own coffee in hand and plops down on the chair across from him as if it’s his table, he gets more than just a little bit shocked.
“Sorry for scaring you,” Steve smiles, and Bucky wonders for a second if Steve is secretly the tooth fairy because there’s no way anyone’s teeth can be that straight.
“Sorry for being scared. Wasn’t expecting you.” Steve gets the same look he did when Bucky asked when his shift ended, a mixture of shock, confusion and smugness, but yet somehow, Steve still looks like the greek god he always does.
“Thought you invited me here, Buck.” The nickname slips from his lips so effortlessly, Bucky nearly doesn’t notice it. Steve says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, like they’ve been childhood best friends and he grew up calling him that. But then what he says catches up with him and now it’s Bucky’s turn to look confused.
“When did I invite you?” Bucky takes a long sip of his drink, playing with the tissue wrapped around his cup for a lack of something to do with his hands.
“You asked me when my shift was over? I assumed you were trying to ask me out?” That causes him to choke on his drink, because, yes, whilst Steve is beautiful in every way, all hard lines and strong muscle, Bucky is also an incredibly stressed out, and very busy law student with no time to date. He thinks about the experiment he’s been running on the man sitting across from him and blinks to himself for a second. He really needs to study more. And then he thinks, why would such a charming and pretty boy even want to go out with someone like him? And then he also realises, if it had been some homophobic asshole he had said that to, then he probably would’ve been lying on the floor by now with blood running down his face, but instead, he managed to say it to, not only one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen in his whole ass life, but also apparently, one of the nice ones. “Bucky?” Steve looks nervous now and Bucky feels like a dick for leaving Steve hanging for so long.
“No, I wasn’t. I-I mean, not because I don’t like you or think you’re ugly, I think you’re really, really attractive. I mean, your eyes are really pretty and stuff. I just—” Bucky huffs a breath of annoyance at himself. Smooth, Barnes. “I always see you here, y’know? It’s like, you’re always here. No matter what time I come, or don’t come. Or what day it is. You’re always here. I’m surprised you even have breaks, because I always see you working.” Bucky finally shuts himself up, pursing his lips together and cursing anything he can curse. The potted plant in the corner, the chair Steve is sitting on, Steve himself.
“How long have you noticed this for?” Steve, thankfully, looks mildly amused, as opposed to being creeped out and calling the police about a stalker.
“Uh,” he squints, thinking about the times he’s been to this very Starbucks recently, “About two weeks?”
“Ah. That explains it. I’ve been picking up extra shifts lately, trying to get enough money for both my rent and my art stuff. Usually I work the morning shift, 10 to 1 but I’ve been picking up 1 to 4 lately when I can. I’ve also been covering for one of my friends who had to rush home for a family thing and she just hasn’t been back yet. She works 7 to 10.” Bucky feels so incredibly stupid. That makes so much sense. In fact, it makes so much sense that Bucky wants to punch himself in the face for being, as he said, so incredibly stupid. He feels his cheeks heat up and curses Nat for ever pointing it out to begin with.
“You work a lot.” Is the only thing Bucky is able to say to that, earning him a non committal shrug.
“I got bills.” There’s a brief, awkward silence between them, before Bucky clears his throat.
“So uh, sorry for the confusion. I swear, it’s really not because I don’t like you or anything I. I’m just really busy, studying and all.” He winces at his own awkwardness, although, if Steve notices it, he doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t even react.
“Oh, cool, where? What’re you studying?”
“NYU. Law.” Steve’s face lights up suddenly, his signature, stupid, bright smile forming on his lips.
“Oh shit. No way. I’m at NYU too. Art and archaeology.” Bucky nods, and doesn’t stop nodding, stupidly, like he’s a fucking woodpecker.
“Cool. That’s real cool of you, Steve. What do you want to do when you graduate?” Steve tilts his head in thought, humming contemplatively, but when he opens his mouth to respond he’s cut off by a male voice from behind him.
“Rogers. It’s been 15 minutes. Stop flirting with the cute guy and come back to work.” Steve’s face lights up red, almost like he’s been slapped. He sees the colour run down his neck and can imagine it spanning the length of his wide shoulders, down his broad back, and—Bucky really needs to stop. Clearing his throat, Steve gets up and composes himself so quickly Bucky almost questions if he imagined the redness on his cheeks,
“Museum. Or my own paintings, or something. Listen, I gotta go, but if you ever wanna go on that date when you’re more free, just let me know.” The smile returns, coupled by a wink. Bucky’s suddenly so happy he’s sitting down, otherwise he may have just collapsed on the floor in a pile of stupid, stressed out law student.