Whoops, Wrong Drink

2

Bucky doesn't sleep that night.

Not that he sleeps any night, but this time he doesn't sleep for a reason other than his seemingly perpetual insomnia.

He made the entirely wrong drink for that man.

And he might not be as smooth as he was seventy years ago, but damn, he really fucked that up.

After a night of marinating in unrelenting embarrassment, Bucky returns to work in the morning.

The day goes as usual, with the crowds following their usual breakfast and lunch routine, filling their location to carrying capacity, then vacating when the hour passes. He makes countless frappucchinos and hot chocolates, coffees hot and iced. He's numb with ennui before nine that afternoon. Bored to the point where he considers returning to his life assassinating people instead of serving endless hot drinks to the point where he could no longer feel his hands.

He's looking forward to the end of the night. It's thirty minutes before closing time, and as usual, no one is anywhere near the doors. He sets himself to thinking. Thinking about Brooklyn, and Steve, and how he can never face the Captain again. Then he starts thinking that this is about the same time as last night, and maybe that man from last night will come back - perhaps for the right drink. Bucky resolves that if that is the case, he will not disappoint (again).

A customer does come in ten minutes before closing, snapping Bucky out of his reverie with the sharp ring of a bell that signifies someone entering, but Bucky has a hard time convincing himself it's the same man as before.

Hoodie and sweatpants have been traded in for a black jacket and t-shirt, and blue jeans. The casual look is topped off by his beat up sneakers that Bucky notices on his way in. He notes that, yes, the man is just as muscle-bound, possibly more so than Bucky had estimated.

And damn does he look good.

If Bucky thought he looked good from the grimy face of last night, then the man in front of him now might just as well be a model carved from a gay man's wet dream.

The man orders the same thing as last night. While Bucky takes pains to ensure that he pays more attention to the drink than the striking figure in front of him.

"You look tired," the man says nonchalantly.

Bucky pauses, then for lack of anything else to say, he shrugs with a grunt.

The man tries again, "So your name is James?"

"I go by Bucky," Bucky responds automatically, not really thinking about the words coming out of his mouth. Side effect of regaining his memories; he tends to say things regarding his former life without realizing it. The trained assassin in him absolutely detests it.

The man nods, making an amused sound as he leans on the counter. "Slow day?"

Bucky snaps a lid on the man's drink, "Business is always slow ten minutes before closing time." After a moment, he adds in irritation, "Since you're so interested in me, what's your name then?"

The man in front of him laughs, "Name's Clint. But most people who know me call me coffee addict extraordinaire."

Bucky regards him, expressionless save for a little more color in his cheeks than usual. He decides on another shrug accompanied by a slightly less-than-disapproving noise.