Originally posted in November 2014 as part of a 30 day writing challenge on Archive of Our Own.
"It's due tomorrow!"
Steve jumps at the sudden noise, and he scrambles to stop his coffee from spilling all over his linguistics notebook. There's a tiny puddle in the corner, but if he's honest, a few drops of coffee is nothing compared to the time he managed to drop a slice of pepperoni pizza on his calculus review sheet.
Coffee stabilized and moved farther from both his notes and any hands that could knock it over, Steve twists in his seat.
Bucky stands at the door of the study room, hair wild and backpack hanging haphazardly off of one shoulder. He's got his laptop clutched under one arm and is wearing, Steve notes, a pair of pajama pants with an alarming number of yellow ducks printed on them. He debates with himself for a moment if he should say anything or just let Bucky explain on his own
"What's due tomorrow?" Steve asks after a few seconds of Bucky standing motionless at the door. At the question Bucky startles, all but leaps across the room, and he begins unloading his stuff on the other side of the table.
Steve's about to ask again when Bucky says, "The paper Pierce assigned last week! I thought it was due next Thursday, and I had that thermo midterm today so I studied for that first, right? And I figured hey, I can just finish the paper this weekend once I don't have anything else to study for! Except Pierce changed the date for the paper when they asked him to speak at this conference on fucking Mars, because god forbid the TA collects the papers instead of him!"
Bucky punctuates his last sentence with a sound that's almost a laugh. "I'm such an idiot. And you know the best part? He announced it in class and sent out an email about it last Friday, and I somehow still managed to completely forget about it until Sam asked me how many non-web references I used ten minutes ago while we're brushing our teeth. And it's due tomorrow. Frickin' fantastic."
Under different circumstances, Steve would laugh at the comical way Bucky turns on his computer, pulls out a short stack of textbooks and flips each one open to a specific set of pages in about fifteen seconds. With things as they are, Steve just casts a longing glance at his coffee – still fresh enough to have steam rising slowly from the lid – and sighs before pushing it in Bucky's direction.
The sincere smile he gets is more than worth it, as is Bucky's contented hum after the first sip. "You are a lifesaver."
"You'll get it done."
"I have eleven hours, Steve, and that's before I take out any time I need to go to my other classes."
Steve knocks his foot against Bucky's shin under the table, doesn't bother to hide his grin when Bucky ducks his head and nudges Steve back. Steve points at Bucky's computer, repeats himself and adds, "Just start writing."