Archive of Our Own

Bucky's sure he must have imagined it, not just the first time, but the first several. It just doesn't make any sense. 

Of all the people who come into this coffee shop—the one that's exactly two blocks from his building, which is the farthest he can walk before the honking and tire screeching and constant, constant noise get to him too much—Bucky's the last one the slim, blond man with eyes like bits of summer sky should be paying any attention to. 

The man's name is Steve, and he's there behind the counter every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday morning. Bucky comes on all the other mornings too, because it's his assignment. He gets to sit across from his therapist after and say, "Yes, I left the house. I handled the noise. I spoke to someone and made eye contact and made it home again." It maybe doesn't sound like that much, but his therapist beams at him and Bucky smiles back, and thinks that maybe next month he'll be able to go a block further. 

For now though, two blocks is good. This coffee shop is good. Monday, Tuesday, and Friday are especially good. 

The other baristas that Bucky sees the rest of the week are loud and perky, and give him long descriptions of "drinks of the day" that have so many ingredients in them Bucky doesn't even know where the coffee is supposed to fit. Steve doesn't do that. He just says, "Americano for you, Bucky?" in his surprisingly deep voice, and Bucky nods, and then—and this is the thing, the thing that Bucky keeps thinking is just a trick of the light, his brain messing with him as it sometimes likes to do—he smiles.  

Not like the other baristas do. Not like a stranger does. He smiles at Bucky like he's been waiting to see him. Like he's so goddamn glad that he has. 

That's so nonsensical that Bucky has managed, over and over, to convince himself it didn't really happen by the time he's walked back home. But then… well then it happens again. And again. And Bucky may have a lot of shit going on in his head since his honorable discharge from the Army, but as far as he knows he's never actually hallucinated anything.

The next time he goes in, when it's been a few weeks of Steve remembering Bucky's name and his order, he stops before stepping inside and tells himself to breathe. Nice and slow and deep, so his head will be clear when he talks to Steve. So he'll maybe actually talk to Steve instead of just smiling a little and nodding his head. Giving him a quiet thank you when he takes his cup and leaves. 

Mostly, though, it's so he can focus and be absolutely sure he's not making this up.

"Morning," Steve says when Bucky has done his breathing and made it to the front of the line. Steve's wearing a black t-shirt under his apron today. Stark against pale skin and prominent collarbones. 

Bucky swallows hard. 

"Morning," he says back, and Steve is smiling, he is. 

"Americano?"

Bucky hesitates. At his session yesterday his therapist suggested he try ordering something different. Make himself a little uncomfortable. But he's already uncomfortable and he said good morning instead of just nodding which he doesn't normally do, and that feels like an adequate replacement. 

Especially if he plans to talk more. Which he does. Because there's something else he wants to try. 

"Yeah, please," he says. 

Steve's lips part for just a second, but then he nods quickly, covering over his surprise. "Comin' right up then."

He smiles at Bucky warmly before turning around to get his coffee ready. Bucky plays it back in his head a few times before it can fade. It was a real smile. There were creases next to Steve's eyes, and his narrow face rounded a little with the rise of his cheeks, and his mouth was soft. Natural. He's definitely actually smiling at Bucky like… like most people don't, that's for sure. 

Bucky is quiet, and his hair is long, his beard thick. The brim of his baseball cap is always pulled down low because he knows he has the same eyes as some of the other vets he meets with twice a week—shadowed and tired—and that can make people uncomfortable. He's not someone folks pass on the street and just smile at. He's not someone guys with soft hair falling just past their eyes and curling lightly around their ears look at and just…

Steve's doing it again. He's holding Bucky's drink out to him and there's color in his face that wasn't there before—from the steam, probably—and he's looking at Bucky in that way he does. It makes Bucky want to cover his face. It makes him want to peek inside of himself and see if he can actually spot the butterflies.

"Here you go," Steve says. "Extra hot, so be careful, 'kay?"

"Okay, thanks..." Bucky says. And then he has to swallow again, and his throat feels awfully tight but he practiced this last night and he can do this. He can. He opens his mouth again and adds, "Steve."

Shit, that pause was way too long. It sounded stupid and weird and now Steve is gonna—

Oh.

Steve is gonna bite his lip. And then smile. With his cheeks pink and his fingers still wrapped around Bucky's coffee cup even though Bucky's holding it now too. 

"Any time," Steve says. His thumb brushes Bucky's finger before he lets go. "I'll see you Monday?"

Bucky doesn't know if it's really weird that he comes here every single day. He doesn't know if Steve thinks it's weird. He doesn't think he should bother worrying about it though, because Steve's eyes haven't left Bucky's, and when Bucky nods (he has talked a lot already, he's allowed to nod this time) Steve catches his lower lip between his teeth again and then smiles so big that it slips free. He smiles so big that Bucky doesn't have to capture it in his head and try to replay it to make sure he didn't misread it somehow. He's not misreading this.

That doesn't mean it means anything, anything beyond friendliness. But friendliness isn't meaningless either. It's another person, one with soft fingers that haven't touched war, looking at Bucky like there's nothing keeping them from connecting like any other two humans. 

So Bucky smiles back, because he doesn't even have to tell his lips to, which is nice. And he leaves with his hot cup of coffee, his name scrawled over the cup in Steve's loose writing. It's soft and rounded, and Bucky tries not to let it make him think too much about big blue eyes and a wide open expression.

He's not very successful. 

*

The weekend is slow and quiet, as most of Bucky's days are. He works from home, and the rest of his time is filled with therapy, and VA meetings, and training with the prosthetic that sits where most of his left arm used to be.

There's also his friend Sam, and he comes over Sunday afternoon so they can watch a game together with the sound turned low. Neither of them really like a lot of noise, but Sam talks a lot which he says isn't noise you asshole. (It is, but it's okay.)

"Still going to that same coffee place?" Sam asks during the commercials.

"Yep."

"Gettin' easier?"

"Some," Bucky says, and then because he's an idiot, "One of the guys who works there is… nice."

Sam puts down the chip he was about to eat, and turns every bit of his attention to Bucky. It's like having a goddamn spotlight pointed in his face. "Nice, huh?"

Bucky does not look at him. 

"What kind of nice?"

Bucky does not answer him. Sam doesn't need anyone to answer him to keep going.

"Are we talking Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood nice, or like...oh, oh don't think I don't see that Barnes. I see that."

(Bucky is blushing. His friend is the worst.)

"So he's nice looking," Sam says. 

"And nice," Bucky clarifies, because it's not just Steve's pretty eyes and strong, lean arms that keep him popping up in Bucky's head. There are plenty of good looking guys out there, but Steve is… Steve makes Bucky smile.

"Okay," Sam says, with that obnoxious expression that makes it obvious there's a whole lot he's keeping behind his lips (but will eventually let out). "Okay, that's cool, that's cool. You ever wanna talk about it…"

"His name's Steve," Bucky says. "That's enough. Pass the chips and shut up."

Sam is simultaneously the worst and an excellent friend, so he does just that. He doesn't bring it up again and Bucky doesn't think about it, at least until Sam has gone home and Bucky is quiet in his bed. Thinking about what his goal should be for tomorrow. Order a new drink? Say good morning to Steve before Steve says it to him? Those both sound kind of terrible.

He's not sure. He'll sleep on it. 

In the morning he looks in the mirror for a long while and decides that maybe he won't say anything. Maybe he'll just do something. 

It feels very up in the air whether it was a good idea or not for the whole walk to the coffee shop, and the whole wait in the long, slow line. But then he gets to the front, and Steve is there, and his mouth falls open the moment he sees Bucky. That could be good or bad, actually, except his cheeks go immediately pink too, which always seems good.

"Bucky, hey!" Steve says, with his eyes still wide. "Man, you were rocking that beard, but you look… really great like this."

Bucky feels like his face is burning up. He's twenty-seven years old, and he was a Sergeant, but here he is blushing like a school boy. Of course, Steve's about the same age as him, Bucky's pretty sure, and he's doing the same, so...

"Thanks," Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over his bare chin. He hasn't been clean shaven like this since he came back stateside and he feels horribly exposed, but also a little free. "Felt like time."

"'Specially with it heating up, huh?" Steve says, leaning towards Bucky with his palms on the counter, like there isn't a line behind Bucky and they have all the time in the world for a casual chat. His fingers are long and slender, his wrists bony. Bucky could close his hand right around one of them and God, speaking of heating up.

"Yeah," he blurts out, because that train of thought definitely needed to come to a stop. He hadn't even noticed, actually, how spring has been bleeding into summer around him, but he glances back over his shoulder and registers the colorful blossoms in the planters outside the tall windows. "Yeah, I guess so."

Steve beams at him. "Americano for you?" he asks. "Or do you want something cold to celebrate the new look?"

"Cold, yeah," Bucky says, which is not a complete sentence but he's doing his best here. "But not, like… not with all the shit in it. The stuff, sorry."

Steve is laughing now, and he doesn't seem offended. "I assume you mean all the things that make coffee actually bearable?"

"You… you work in a coffee shop," Bucky says. "You don't like coffee?"

Steve crosses his arms across his thin chest, his lips pulling up in a smile Bucky hasn't seen before. It's warm and nice, and also kind of… sly. "What do you do for a living, Bucky?"

"I… I'm an IT specialist. For the VA."

The teasing look on Steve's face softens a little as he takes that in. "You a vet?" he asks, and Bucky nods, unconsciously shifting his left arm. He usually has his left hand in his jacket pocket when he's out, but it's at his side now. "Thank you for your service, Bucky."

Oh God, this has developed into an entire actual conversation and Bucky was not prepared for this. He just wanted to shave and get his coffee and Steve's smile, and then be on his way. He nods again and braces himself for more questions, for Steve's eyes to go to his prosthetic hand again.

"But listen, be honest," Steve goes on, still looking Bucky right in the eye. "Would you say you like information technology?"

Bucky has to play back the last minute or so and remember what they were talking about, and then he smiles. He shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't."

"Okay then," Steve says with satisfaction. "One iced Americano, coming up. I'm putting whipped cream on it, though."

Bucky just nods. He watches Steve write his name on a clear plastic cup instead of his typical paper one. The marker squeaks loudly, and Steve laughs and catches Bucky's eye.

It's so weird, still, the way Steve is so ready to just exist in shared moments with Bucky, like it hasn't taken Bucky an entire month just to say Steve's name, but here they are. Weird, but…nice. It's really nice.

"Enjoy," Steve says when the cup has been filled and topped with a swirl of thick whipped cream. "If you hate it, I promise I'll make it bitter and awful next time."

"I don't hate sugar," Bucky points out, taking the cup from Steve's hand and noting the way their fingers brush again. "I just like things… simple."

"Hm," Steve says. "Good to know."

Bucky doesn't know what exactly that means, but Steve is giving him the same warm smile he always does, and even Bucky's constantly spinning mind can't find a way to overcomplicate that right now. 

"Thanks, Steve," he says. It was quieter than he meant it to be, but Steve caught it. Bucky knows because his face does the same thing it did last time Bucky said his name. 

Bucky's heart is racing once he's back on the street with a cup full of whipped cream, and he has to walk home very fast because the horns sound extra loud and the sun is extra bright, but he thinks it was worth it. 

I shaved, he writes in a text message to Sam, once he's sat in the dark for a while and is feeling calmer in some ways and frantic in others. He snaps a picture and sends that to Sam too. I don't look terrible do I?

Holy fucking shit Barnes, Sam writes back immediately. How the fuck were you hiding those cheekbones under there? And that goddamn Cary Grant chin???

The hell does that mean, Bucky says.

YOU LOOK GOOD, Sam replies. Has Steve seen you yet?

Bucky sends back a shrugging emoji because he is the worst too. There's a reason he and Sam became friends.

*

Tuesday morning is a lot like Monday, except that the conversation is different this time, because now it's not just an exchange of standard pleasantries. Now they have something to build on. 

Bucky does understand how this works, he has friends, but since he got back he just hasn't been that great at being friendly. And now here he is, telling Steve the whipped cream was nice on the iced coffee, smiling when Steve looks pleased as punch to hear it. 

"You know, I tried an Americano last night. I'd never had one."

"Was it bitter and awful?" Bucky asks.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "Pretty nice, actually."

Bucky would like to say something else now to keep this going, but Steve specifically drank Bucky's standard coffee and that's making it extra hard to think. 

"Same thing today?" Steve asks, easy and relaxed like Bucky isn't being awkward. "Extra whip this time?"

"Let's not get too crazy," Bucky manages. 

"Right, right," Steve agrees with a smile. He busies himself getting Bucky's drink together, starting with his name on the cup, and Bucky watches him pause for a moment when he finishes, blue eyes coming up to find Bucky's face.

"This a nickname?" he asks.

Bucky nods. "My middle name's Buchanan. James Buchanan."

"A mouthful," Steve says with eyebrows raised. "I like it."

"It's... weird," Bucky says.

"What?" Steve says. "No way, it's cool. It's historic."

"You like history?"

"Love it. Enough to suffer grad student loans to go back and learn some more of it."

"Ah," Bucky says. So that's where Steve is when he isn't here. Or one of the places at least. Off being excited about history and dead president's names, which is… "Cute." Fuck. That was supposed to stay in his head. 

Steve does the lip-biting smiling thing again and looks away, finishing up Bucky's drink with what does seem like extra whip after all. 

"I'm Steven Grant, by the way," he says when he gives the cup to Bucky. "Rogers. But… still."

"Still," Bucky agrees, once he's heard it again in his head. S. Grant. "Like Ulysses."

Steve nods, smiling proudly. "Guess we match, huh?"

Steven Grant Rogers is no more than a hundred pounds, and Bucky's pretty sure if they were right next to each other that blond head would only reach Bucky's shoulder. He has two perfect arms, and the brightest goddamn eyes Bucky has ever seen.

Bucky is… completely different. Broad and tall and shadowed. He's stilted where Steve is effortless, closed where Steve is open. 

Bucky is also smiling at Steve and nodding his head. "Yeah, looks like we do," he says. 

They have matching faces right now at least. Smiles that are trying to be too big and cheeks trying to be too bright. Bucky ducks his head and leaves quickly after mumbling a goodbye.

The extra whip is very good and he focuses on consuming every last bit so he won't explode out of his skin on the way home. 

He doesn't know what this is. He doesn't know what this is but goddamn does it make his heart race in a way that's completely different from panic and fear. 

Steven Grant Rogers is a kind of terrifying that Bucky doesn't want to fight and doesn't want to run from. 

He just wants to see him again.

*

Friday morning, of course, takes an eternity to come. Wednesday and Thursday last as long as at least two weeks. Thursday night is interminable.

By the time Bucky is outside the coffee shop he's almost buzzing. He doesn't need coffee. He should really probably order a decaf, actually.

"Hey, Buck," Steve calls when he sees him, even though there are two customers still in front of him.

Bucky smiles and fiddles with the zipper of his jacket. It's getting too warm for one, but he's wearing short sleeves and he's still self conscious about his prosthetic when he's out in public. 

When he gets to the front of the line Steve is already beaming, his cheeks are already pink, and Bucky hasn't even said anything yet. 

"Morning, James Buchanan," Steve says, and Bucky laughs. 

"Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes."

"Oh," Steve says, flushing a little deeper. "How are you today, Barnes?"

"Bucky."

"Bucky," Steve repeats with a smile. "So many names."

Bucky nods. They all sound really nice coming out of Steve's mouth though. "I'm good," he says. "What about you?"

"I'm great, I'm really good," Steve says in a bit of a rush, almost like he's nervous, but why would he be? "The usual?"

"I don't know what the usual is anymore. It seems to have more whipped cream every time."

"Ha," Steve says. "You want me to stop, just say the word."

That is not what Bucky wants. The whipped cream is good, and Steve is… Steve should definitely not stop.

Something does seem a little off though, while he's making Bucky's drink. He fumbles with the plastic cup and drops the marker. He puts so much whipped cream on that the lid won't fit and he has to knock some off.

"Sorry, Jesus," he says, sprinkling on some chocolate flakes that Bucky didn't request but is not going to refuse. He likes the way Steve keeps adding his own little touches.

"Are you... alright? You seem—"

"I'm a disaster, I know," Steve laughs. "But I'm fine, I'm good, I swear. I just… here you go."

He sets the cup on the counter instead of handing it to Bucky. It would seem like a bad development if it weren't for the cup itself, which has a new development of its own. 

Bucky's name is scrawled across it, like it always is. And underneath it there's something else, there's… a heart. 

Bucky stares. His mouth is open and he's not sure how to close it.

There is a heart. On his cup. And Steve put it there.

"I, uh... I don't want to make things complicated for you, so you can pretend I never did this if you want me to keep just being your coffee guy, okay?"

"Okay?" Bucky says. That's not what he wants, but he's having a very hard time with thoughts and words.

"Here," Steve says, slipping a napkin out of his apron pocket and setting it next to the cup. His voice is a little wobbly but his smile is still there, warm and soft and hopeful. "Just… in case."

Bucky nods. His mouth is so dry he can't say anything, so he just takes the cup in his prosthetic hand, which he's never used in front of Steve but Steve doesn't even blink, and then takes the napkin in his right.

There's black marker on it, just like on the cup. Instead of Bucky's name though, it's a phone number. Followed by SGR, and another heart.  

"Steve…" Bucky says, barely audible.

"Really, it's totally fine if you don't—"

"I'll call you," Bucky says, cutting him off because Steve doesn't need to be saying that. He doesn't need to worry that Bucky doesn't want this. "I need to... to—just have a minute? Because—"

"Yeah, yeah of course," Steve says.

"But I'll call you. Soon."

"Good," Steve says. His whole face is a smile. Bucky's might be, too. "I'd really like that."

"Okay," Bucky says. "Okay I'm... thanks, Steve."

Steve just nods his head, his lip between his teeth again and his hair falling in his eyes. That fair, silky hair that Bucky has wondered about, wondered if it's really as soft as it looks, and is now realizing he may actually get to find out and holy shit.

He has to leave very quickly and breathe very deliberately. He has to press the napkin flat on his little kitchen table when he's home and smoothe it with his hand again and again, waiting for it to disappear.

It doesn't. Steve's bold writing is still there, clear and simple. The numbers. The initials. The heart.

Bucky types the number into his phone very carefully, double and triple checking it before he sends the call through. 

"Hello?"

Steve's voice is very nice on the phone. 

Bucky takes a deep breath. "Steven Grant Rogers?" he says.

"That's me," Steve says, and he's smiling. Bucky hears it in the shape of his words. That smile he thought shouldn't be for him but it was, it is. "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering. If I could buy you something other than a coffee some time."

Steve laughs and Bucky knows just what he looks like. He holds the phone close to his ear and listens to Steve's answer. It's a good answer.

Bucky is probably almost ready to start going to another coffee shop—one that's a little farther away—and that will be okay. The fact is that he does not want Steve to just be his coffee guy, so no matter where he gets his Americano (with whip), he's still going to see him. 

He'll start by seeing him when Steve gets out of class tonight. It's a little hard to believe, but there's a folded napkin in Bucky's pocket now that tells him it's true. And even if there wasn't… Bucky's starting to think it's okay to just trust himself.