rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

office hours (b. barnes x gn!reader)

it had to be you. it's just his luck.

this whole ordeal should've taken twenty minutes: a handshake, a brief discussion about the homework, then returning to the safety of his apartment. at least you being here confirms that he didn't read the syllabus wrong. that sitting in the stiff chair outside erskine's office and enduring the furtive stares of passersby wasn't for nothing. where the hell was this guy?

"i'm sorry about your arm."

bucky's eyes flash to your concerned expression—and then to your backpack, half-crushed between you and the wall.

that backpack, which has irritated him all semester.

in class, you sit one row in front of him, two seats to the right, and somehow your backpack is never more than halfway zipped. never.

he's always choked his pencil, resisting the urge to volunteer to close it when you scooch by his desk. to ask for your name, if you'd wanna get coffee sometime.

"do you go by Cannon?" you ask, hugging your notebook to your chest.

he cringes. only to fans and some of the younger guys on the team, who don't really know him. "uh, bucky."

you nudge a leg of his chair with your foot. "was it scary when you broke your arm, bucky?"

he stands immediately, his own rudeness dawning on him. "you should sit down."

a cute little wrinkle forms between your brows. "i'm fine."

"are you sure?"

you nod. "i've never broken a bone, is why i'm asking."

with a grimace, he lowers himself onto the arm of the seat. "it was a little scary."

this is the third bone he's broken in his lifetime. he knew it was shattered as soon as he hit the turf, that he'd have to be escorted off the field, that he'd let everyone down.

"i'm sorry you had to go through that."

bucky hadn't even said ten words to steve or sam since it happened, and was bracing himself for a roommate intervention any day now.

"and i'm sorry for all the things you'll have to go through after."

he flinches at the gentleness coloring your voice, the unmatched sincerity. "thanks."

after a moment, you quirk your lips. "out of curiosity..." you flip to a page in your notebook. "have you started the problem set? because there's a—"

"typo. number three." he chuckles at your relieved sigh. "did it take you a long time to figure out?"

"no, 'cause..." you shrug. "um, do you still have practice every night?"

"it's optional." he sits back in the chair a little. "i gotta help train my backup, though."

"rogers?" you nod to yourself, like that name sounds right. "he's pretty good. not as good as you."

bucky tries to hide how much your certainty about this pleases him.

"my friends and i have a study group, if you want to join."

maybe he'll finally confront you about your stupid zipper. "when do you guys meet?"

"wednesday nights." you close your book suddenly. "i'm sure you have your own—"

"no," he insists, "i would like that."

"okay." returning his smile, you dig your hand inside your bag and reveal a pen. "c'mere."

he gives you his left arm and repeats back your name when you offer it to him. you scratch ten neat digits onto his cast.