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Steve has a lot of money troubles. Money troubles that have culminated in a full time job at a coffee shop in the middle of New York, despite the fact that he’s still studying art and art history full time at college, a freshman at the age of 24. He was in the army first, but he doesn’t tell anyone that. It probably helps with how well he manages to keep his life in check, though; he runs his day to a strict, if general, itinerary, and uses his bike to get from place to place in efficient, record time. And of course, his boss is understanding, so that helps.
He’s got the busy shift, Saturday morning, six till twelve. He’d say he hates it but he’s lying; he likes how methodical the job is and he likes meeting people, he likes the busyness, the distraction. He enjoys his job and he enjoys the busier shifts, even if they do totally wipe him out.
He’s firing orders at Natasha and Sam, naturally taking the lead, when the door opens and someone else comes in. Steve, ever observant, notices that he’s hot. Like, seriously hot. Dark hair pulled back in a bun, a few strands falling into his face, leather jacket open to reveal a white t-shirt, and jeans that are fraying in various places. He could make Steve melt just from that.
And then, he gets closer.
Storm grey eyes that seem blue around the edges look up, and meet Steve’s. When he smiles, he smiles brightly, charming, and yeah, Steve is so gone. Beside him, Natasha sniggers.
“Uh—Can I help?” Steve asks, giving him a smile he hopes is more charming than it is goofy.
“Just a black coffee, please. To take out.” He says, and Steve nods. He scribbles it down, even though it’s hardly something they could forget.
“Can I take a name?” He asks, because yeah, there are people waiting, but y’know—he’s curious.
“Bucky.” The other guy – Bucky – answers, and smirks.
Steve tries not to blush, takes his money, and sets about making his coffee.
It’s over far faster than he wants it to be, of course, because a black coffee is hardly anything difficult. He hands over the cup with a smile, and is met with a smile from Bucky as their fingers brush over the cup.
“Thanks.” He grins, and he turns, and goes.
Steve watches to him, and vehemently denies that he was looking at his ass, no matter what bullshit Natasha spouts during their break.
(He was definitely looking at his ass.)
~*~
Steve is off on Sunday, and back again on Monday, working the same shift as Saturday. He doesn’t see Bucky, or anyone even vaguely like him, and he tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him. Luckily, he’s not on shift with Natasha or Sam – he spends his time with Peggy and Gabe, earns his tips, and goes to class.
He works a different shift on Tuesday and Wednesday, but he still doesn’t see him. He’s off on Thursday, but he’s back in on Friday, in the evening. No joy.
Saturday rolls around, and he switches shifts with Clint so he can spend time with his girlfriend, and ends up back on the six till twelve shift. Now, he’s hyper aware of the door opening and closing, of people walking by. So yeah, maybe the chances of seeing him during the week weren’t very high, but now, at the same time on the same day of the week? Well now it’s pretty likely. He can’t stop himself from getting his hopes up.
Every hour passes so god damn slowly. Steve watches the clock on the wall tick by, hands barely moving, despite the constant stream of customers and the complex orders, the breakfasts he has to make. It’s not easy work, but it’s not much of a distraction either.
The doorbell chimes just after eleven, signalling another customer, and when Steve looks up with hope in his eyes, he’s not disappointed as Bucky comes in, swagger in his step, just as hot as he was the last time. Steve finds himself already smiling, much to the amusement of Kate and Sharon, the other two he’s on shift with.
“What can I get you?” he asks, trying not to sound too chipper.
Bucky hums, pauses, and looks at the menu above Steve’s head. “What would you recommend?”
“Uh—“Steve falters. What do they serve again? Where is he? He’s not sure, too caught up in the curve of those pale pink lips and the grey of his irises. “Well, I normally get a chai tea latte. They’re a little sweet, but they’re good.”
Bucky nods, and grins. “Two of those then, please. To sit in.”
Steve falters, but he nods. Two must mean that Bucky’s on a date; he’s waiting for someone. Steve tries not to seem too disappointed at the idea that Bucky could be dating someone as he moves away to make his drinks for him – Bucky might not even be gay, despite the vibe Steve was getting. Maybe he’s just imagining things. Probably wanting to imagine things.
He makes both of the coffees, and hands them over on a tray, smiling as Bucky goes. Kate elbows him in the ribs. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. Who’s that guy?”
“No one.” He answers, shoulders shrugging. “Just a customer.”
He gives a smile that she narrows her eyes at, and then he moves away, off to get somebody else’s order. He pretends he’s not looking at Bucky the whole time, but he totally is. He sits there for a good half an hour, drinking his tea, waiting even after his own is finished. With every passing minute he gets a little bit less chipper, eyes focused more and more on the table. Eventually, he gets up, and he leaves. Steve feels like punching whoever stood him up, as well as sorry for poor Bucky; he deserves way better than that.
Steve tries to shake it off; it doesn’t matter. Bucky can live his own life, do whatever, and Steve really shouldn’t get involved.
But he’s probably going to get involved.
~*~
It happens again for another month.
Steve doesn’t see Bucky at all during the week, and then on Saturday he’ll stroll in, swagger, charm, his hair either tied back or loose around his shoulders (both of which are pretty god damn hot), and he always orders the same thing: two chai tea lattes, to sit in. And every week, Steve watches as whoever it is he’s supposed to be going out with doesn’t show, and leaves him in the lurch. It starts getting quite hard to watch Bucky’s fabulous ass leave the store when he looks so disheartened, and Steve wants to punch his date in the god damn mouth.
He tells Natasha all of this – or rather, she wheedles it out of him – on Saturday night. Steve huffs into his beer, trying not to look directly at her face. He doesn’t want to see her expression.
“Go over to him.” She says. “Just ask him if he’s okay, if he needs any company. I guess that’s the most you can do if you’re gonna meddle.”
“I don’t want to meddle.” He says, glaring at her. “C’mon, of course I don’t want to meddle, I just—he looks sad.”
Natasha puts her beer to her lips, takes a sip, and sighs as she pulls it away again. “Then do what I said. Talk to him.”
Steve grimaces; he’s never been very good at talking. But, hey—he’ll try. Like he said, Bucky looks sad. Steve doesn’t want to see him sad.
~*~
He remains apathetic (read: too nervous to talk to him) for another two weeks. But then, after almost two months, he caves. Bucky orders both cups, and goes and sits down. He’s there for a good ten minutes with no one turning up, so when Steve is sure Natasha and Sam can handle things on their own, he moves over to Bucky’s table.
He sits down opposite him, eyes on the grain of the wooden table top, not looking at Bucky for a second. He’s just nervous, that’s all, and he almost feels rude for interrupting.
“Listen, I—“
“Took you long enough.”
Steve looks up to see Bucky grinning, absolutely beaming across the table at Steve. Steve frowns, looks at the coffee, untouched, in front of him, and looks at Bucky again. “What?”
“Did you really think I was waiting for someone?” Bucky asks, leaning closer across the table, fingers wrapped around his mug.
Steve is still frowning, confused. “Well—that’s what it looked like?”
“I was waiting for you, dumbass.” Bucky grins. “I ordered your favourite drink, I thought that might have been a hint.”
Steve blushes, realisation hitting him in waves. He’s the one who’s been standing Bucky up. He’s the one he’s been waiting for. He feels kind of awful, but he also can’t stop himself from smiling.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come any sooner.”
Bucky shakes his head, his expression telling Steve that it’s nothing. “I’m just glad you got here, eventually.”
Steve pauses, and then he laughs. He pulls the drink towards him.
“Can you stay?” Bucky asks.
Steve nods, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah,” He grins. “I can stay.”