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Sam is annoyingly awoken one morning by taking a shoe to the face.
"Hey, get up."
Sam jolts out of bed to see his roommate putting on his other shoe. Sam glares and throws it back, then glances at the clock. "Shit!"
Every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, he and his roommate, Riley, open the university learning center. Normally they're both early risers, but he had stayed up late scrambling to finish a paper and finally stumbled into bed around three. If he doesn't leave in the next ten minutes, they'll be late; luckily, Sam has mastered the skill of getting dressed and out the door in four.
They get there in time and start setting up shop. The university has done well in stocking the place; the center has a computer lab to one side, rows of tables on the other. Whiteboards and blackboards cover the walls, along with personal whiteboards for each tutor. Above them are posters that say things like three out of two people have trouble with fractions and Chuck Norris: the most abundant element in the universe.
"Good morning, assholes," Dr. Riskon says, breezing into his office. He might be co-head of the learning center, but he claims to be above such labels. Today he's wearing a blue shirt that says what's your sine? with his usual red high tops.
Sam puts on his name tag and zips up his hoodie. "Do you really have to keep it at subzero temperatures in here?"
"This is my palace, so yes," Riskon calls out.
"I like it," Riley says, pushing up his sleeves.
Sam yawns and waits for opening, when his regulars typically arrive on the dot. Sam's a math tutor while Riley is chemistry (although he can do some physics as well, a fact known by everyone due to his boasting). The first hour flies by, as some classes have a calculus test this afternoon, so students are scrambling last minute to learn the material - or rather, to memorize just enough to pass.
Sam notices the guy around noon; he's small, and he holds himself like he knows it but doesn't care. He chews on his lip as he reads, his blond hair falling into his eyes, and Sam has to admit he's cute as hell. Sam doesn't realize that Sam's still staring at him when he looks up and makes eye contact. His gaze drifts down to Sam's name tag.
"You wouldn't happen to know chem, would you?"
Sam laughs at that. "Nope, that's my man Riley. Riley, you've got a new victim over here."
"Yo," Riley says, carrying his portable whiteboard over. "Which class are you taking?"
"It's an environmental course at ISAT," he says. "I like environmental science itself, but the professor is so smug and keeps telling us that we're destroying the earth instead of actually teaching us about how we're doing it and how to stop."
"Sounds like Jacobson," Riley says.
The guy laughs, absently tapping his pen. "Yeah, that's him."
"He's renowned around the chem department," Riley says. "I took him for another course, so I know how he works. What's your name?"
"Steve, and I hate chemistry."
Riley grins. "Hey, this isn't an AA meeting. How do you feel about other sciences, Steve?"
"I like bio?"
"Think of it this way - you will have to learn basic chem for that," Riley points out. Sam can tell he's barely managing to hold back from his typical bragging about how chemistry is the most important of the sciences. "I'm willing to show you some shortcuts for Jacobson, though. What chapter are you on?"
"Really? That'd be great. We're on paleoclimatology."
"Whatever that is," Sam says. Steve smiles at him in response, and yeah, cute doesn't begin to cover it.
Another student with brown hair scoots by Sam, dropping his book bag on the table and sliding into the seat across Steve. "Sorry I'm late," he says, making a face. "Brayden kept us for twenty minutes after class."
"Bucky," Steve says, and it's not until Steve points at him that Sam realizes that he's introducing his friend.
As Sam shakes his hand, it's hard not to notice that Bucky is an attractive guy; out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve duck his head to stare at his textbook with a frown.
"You with Jacobson, too?"
"Yeah," Bucky sighs. "Regretting this elective, man. I got a 5 on my AP exam in high school so I'm pretty good at chemistry, but this guy teaches the class at a 400 level instead of an introductory course. Should have gone with history."
"Told you," Steve says.
"And I told you the section I wanted wasn't available. I'm not getting up for discussion sessions at eight AM on a Friday."
"Don't blame you," Riley says, and he launches into telling them about paleo-whatever.
Sam finds himself lingering for some reason, listening (he has to admit, he does more watching than listening - he actually can't remember one thing that was said). Steve pays close attention, scrambling to write down everything Riley says. Bucky interjects every now and then to ask questions, and at some point, Steve looks Sam's way, a smile curving his lips. Sam doesn't realize how long he stays until a student gently taps his shoulder. He curses at the fact that he's been ignoring his students, and he turns to help.
From the sound of things, they'll be seeing a lot of Steve and Bucky this semester. He's more than okay with that.
*
Steve and Bucky come in at least every Monday and Thursday. Steve gives him the same smile every time when he first comes in; it starts off hesitant, almost like he believes he doesn't deserve to give it to Sam. When Sam returns it, Steve gives him a little surprised look, although that's thankfully growing dimmer and dimmer by the day.
The computer lab has the chemistry program necessary for their homework, so they spend half their time there and the other half at the tables. Sometimes they show up without homework and watch Netflix on one of the computers in the corner. Riskon couldn't care less; sometimes he even watches with them if he doesn't have any work to do.
Today, though, Riskon is by the whiteboard with Jim, another math tutor, frantically filling the whole surface with proofs. It's always amusing to see him working on a proof he can't solve, because he grumbles and swears loud enough to draw the attention of every student in the center. Sam shakes his head and goes back to reading James Joyce for his lit course. He's not on duty yet, but he still helps when students ask for it.
He misses Steve and Bucky's arrival as he teaches one girl about regression. Steve has his head in his hand as he yawns, scanning over his chem book. Bucky looks exhausted too; at closer investigation, Sam sees that the sentence he's writing isn't even legible.
"What happened to you guys?"
Bucky rubs his eyes. "One of our floormates was really sick last night, so we took him to the hospital. Turns out he's got bacterial meningitis and that he would've died had we not taken him."
Sam winces. "He going to be okay?"
"Gonna be out for a while, but they say he will be," Steve says, suppressing another yawn. "We were at the hospital until five this morning."
"You guys should go back home," Sam says, staring at their worn faces.
"Can't, got homework due today," Bucky mumbles. He blinks a few times at the text.
"Hold on a second," Sam says, and he makes his way to Dr. Michaels, the other head of the center as well as the chem department (although Riskon calls Michaels his executive officer). "Look at those guys, Dr. Mike. Look how sad they look."
Sam's pretty sure Bucky has fallen asleep sitting up; Steve gives him a nudge.
"That is pretty sad," Dr. Michaels agrees.
"They have homework due for Jacobson - Dr. Jacobson," Sam amends after Dr. Michaels' look "- and they had an emergency last night. Can't you talk to him or something and get it postponed?"
"Emergency?"
Sam explains it to him, and Dr. Michaels frowns a little, but still says, "What, like I can just interfere with other professors' classes?"
"Call it asking a polite favor?"
"They friends of yours?"
"Just some regulars."
Dr. Michaels watches him carefully. "You're a bleeding heart, you know that?"
Sam shrugs. "Only asking for a homework extension." He figures he's got a good shot; Dr. Michaels doesn't care much for homework, as he prefers to judge students' level of understanding by group discussions.
Dr. Michaels looks back at them. "I guess I could do that, if they promise to turn it in tomorrow."
"You're a good man, Dr. Mike."
"Meh," he replies, taking down Steve and Bucky's names.
Steve gives Sam a relieved look when Sam tells them, and together they pull Bucky to his feet.
"You're amazing," Steve says, his grateful expression nearly blinding.
Sam does his best not to preen.
*
Sam's passing through the quad on the way to work when another student cuts him off, nearly knocking him down. The guy stomps his way to four other students, who watch him with trepidation; Sam slowly follows them to the center with a foreboding feeling. They sit in one of the middle tables, just one away from Steve, who thankfully looks much more awake.
"Hey," Sam says before he goes in the back to grab his name tag. "How's your friend?"
"Good!" Steve says. "He went home for a bit, but he's already bragging about how he didn't have to take his Spanish exam, so I figure he's going to be okay."
"You get your homework turned in?"
"Yep," Steve says. "Jacobson was a little weird, though; kept stopping by our table to talk to us throughout class. I think he was excited that we're apparently close enough to Dr. Michaels to have him ask for a homework extension."
"Yeah, Dr. Mike's published about a million papers in some pretty important journals, so Jacobson was probably starstruck or something. If he asks for an autograph, get the hell out of there."
It's a stupid joke, but Steve laughs all the same. "Will do."
It's busy today, so Sam doesn't get a chance to talk to him after that; he seems content on his own, and Sam's glad that Riley's tutoring has sunk in.
"...figured we could put that on the PowerPoint," Sam hears as he walks by the group in the middle table.
"You're a fucking idiot, Walsh," the jerk says, and Walsh quiets, frowning.
"Hey, don't be rude," Steve says quietly to the guy, and Sam finds himself stilling on instinct, watching.
"Yeah? What's someone like you going to do about it?"
"Come on, Alex," one of the girls says, looking uncomfortable. "Let it go."
Alex scoffs at her, then packs up his book bag. "Fuck this, I'm done." He purposefully knocks into Steve's chair on the way out. Steve rolls his eyes but goes back to tapping at his calculator.
Sam makes a mental note to look out for that guy if he ever comes back.
*
Steve shows up with Bucky on Thursday with a split lip and bruised cheekbone. Sam's out of his chair in a second, and his hand touches the bruise before he can even think about it. He lets the touch linger for a moment, maybe a moment too long, but he doesn't care.
"What happened to you?"
Steve shrugs. "Guy didn't take kindly to me calling him out the other day."
"Steve's a Chihuahua who thinks he's a Rottweiler," Bucky says with a scoff.
Sam can tell this is an old argument.
"So I shouldn't have said anything?"
"I'm not saying that," Bucky says. "I'm saying that you need to watch your back when I'm not around."
"I can do it on my own."
Bucky stares pointedly at Steve's bruised face.
"Hey, I got in a good hit."
"Steve Rogers: defender of justice, the American way, and peaceful study groups," Bucky says, opening his text book.
Steve laughs. "Damn straight."
"I'll put up a wanted poster," Sam says, attempting to follow Steve's casual lead and push the anger down. "If I see him in here, I'll kick him out. We don't need guys like that around here."
"I'll take care of him myself," Bucky says. "Gladly."
"As long as you 'take care of him' outside and let me come too."
Bucky winks. "Of course."
"Yeah, yeah," Steve says with a fond expression. "Can we get back to chem? I'd like to pass this test."
"When's the test?" Sam asks, already waving Riley over.
Bucky winces at that. "Today?"
"That explains why I haven't had a free moment in three hours," Riley says. He does a double take at Steve's face, but doesn't say anything about it.
Sam lets them be, but his eyes keep finding their way over in Steve's direction when Sam hears him laugh.
It might be his new favorite sound.
*
The end of the semester comes before he knows it, and winter break passes a lot quicker than it should have. He walks slowly to his first shift for the spring semester, shoving his hands in his coat and ducking his head against the cold. At the center, Riley watches him with a knowing expression as his gaze keeps lingering on the table that Steve normally sits or Steve's favorite computer.
Except there Steve is the second week in, this time with a statistics book. Sam grins broadly at that.
"So you're mine this time, huh?"
Steve gives him a shocked expression for a brief moment, then smiles. "Yes. I'm yours, I guess. That's good."
Very good. "Need any help?" It is just the second week so the material should be light and relatively easy, but Steve nods anyway.
It is easy, simply explaining the different kinds of data, but Steve pays just as close attention to Sam as he did with Riley.
To his disappointment, Bucky joins them about thirty minutes later. Not that he doesn't like Bucky, of course, he's a great guy. He actually stays pretty quiet though, reading a communications book. When Sam asks, Bucky claims that he'll need help writing essays for the semester (but the playful nudge he gives Steve makes Sam suspicious). Sam introduces him to Janet, a brunette who's in her third year, and they immediately begin talking about a history essay (Bucky must have found a class after 8 AM).
Steve watches them with a smile before he turns back down to his book. Sam's disappointed that Steve isn't asking anymore questions, and eventually another student flags him down.
By the time he's finished with that student, Steve is gone.
He's not disappointed.
He's not.
(He's lying.)
*
On Monday, Bucky shows up on his own, looking a little worn around the edges as he sits down.
"Where's Steve?" Sam asks as he erases the sample size formulas on his whiteboard.
"Sick. It's his monthly nasty flu."
"Monthly, seriously?"
Bucky laughs, but not from amusement; it's more like a weary, resigned sound. He looks more tired than the day after his floormate got sick. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. Scared the hell out of me when we were kids."
Sam frowns. "Has a lot of health issues then?"
"Yeah," Bucky sighs, but he doesn't elaborate, so Sam lets it be.
"How was your essay?" he asks after a few moments for lack of something better to say.
"Good, I think - I'm feeling an A. Janet's a great tutor."
"Don't tell her that; she'll get a big head," Sam says.
"Too late," Janet says as she walks by. She ruffles Bucky's hair. "Always nice to be appreciated, but I really didn't have to do much."
Bucky ignores Sam's wary look and pulls out an anthropology book. "I'm good without tutoring today; I just needed a place to read."
"Sure thing," Sam says, standing up. "Hopefully I'll see Steve back here soon."
Bucky gives him a slow, coy smile. "I'll make sure to tell him."
Sam's not sure how to take that.
*
Sam doesn't see Steve at the center during the next week, but Sam does find him at one of the campus dining halls. He's sitting with a pretty red head, looking tired as he shoves food in his mouth.
"Hey," Sam says, silently asking for permission to sit. The redhead pushes out the empty chair with her foot. "Looks like you need a nap."
Steve blinks slowly at him. "Hey, Sam. Nah, I've missed enough time."
"So you're Sam," the redhead says with a scrutinizing look. Steve kicks her under the table.
"Yes ma'am. May I ask your name?"
"Natasha," she says, almost lazily. She twists one of her french fries in half without breaking eye contact. Sam carefully arranges his face in a casual expression; he can tell he's being examined - for what, though, he doesn't know.
"Do you need help catching up? I don't mind doing that."
Apparently that was the right thing to say, because Natasha nods and goes back to her sandwich. Steve gives him a small, grateful smile.
"Thank you, that'd be great."
"I'm in Chesapeake," Sam says, giving a confused look at Natasha's raised eyebrow.
"Oh, catching up at your dorm, you mean?" Steve says. He leans forward as if he thinks he didn't hear Sam right the first time around.
Huh, he didn't even consider another option, which is strange - this is the first time they've even spoken to each other outside of the center.
"Yeah," Sam says, mainly because A: he can't backtrack now and B: he doesn't want to backtrack.
"Okay," Steve agrees while Natasha takes a dainty sip from her straw, her expression unreadable.
Steve comes over a few times that week to study, which somehow turns into the week after that, and the week after that. Things quickly go from studying to watching movies, then to ordering pizza, then going out to eat at Jess' Quick Lunch. Steve still comes to the learning center, but he doesn't ask for much help, even though Sam feels Steve's eyes on him more often than not.
Sam may have gleaned information about the big things in Steve's life before they started hanging out: that he doesn't have any siblings, lived with his friend Arnie after his parents died, and moved to Virginia from New York to attend university. However, it's the little things that make him smile. Sam loves how Steve smells like mint after a shower, curses when he plays video games, and drops into a Brooklyn accent when he gets distracted.
On his part, Sam tells Steve that he loves peaches but hates strawberries, has a shoulder that likes to pop out of its socket from time to time, and has never had the chicken pox. Sometimes Steve brings fresh peaches to the center that must have come from the farmer's market, and Sam ignores Dr. Michaels' chuckle when he eats them during break.
On a Thursday, he notices that Steve and Natasha are at the computer in the corner watching something, sharing headphones, opened textbooks ignored. Sam feels the need to go over there, because Steve, but also because he somehow understands that he really needs to be in Natasha's good graces. Steve pulls his eyes away from the screen when he sees Sam coming, and he smiles.
"Oh my God, is that the Tick?" Sam asks.
"'I'm taking off the kid gloves, and putting on the very mad gloves,'" Steve quotes.
Natasha rolls her eyes and makes a point of ignoring them, watching the screen. Still, she's somehow cautiously watching Sam at the same time, and he's very aware that he's wearing his name tag, on duty, so he doesn't sit with them.
"Great," Sam says. "I'm going to go back to work. Because they pay me for that."
"That's typically how things work," Natasha says, but Sam sees the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips.
Still, he can feel both of their eyes on him, but every time he glances over in their direction, they're either watching the screen or talking with each other. At some point he manages to trip on his own portable whiteboard and fall flat on his face. When he looks up, he sees that Natasha is smirking.
(Sam decides that Natasha is some sort of magician.)
It's a little worth it when small hands wrap around his and help pull him up. Steve's mouth is twitching like he's barely holding back a laugh.
"Don't," Sam says in a mock threatening voice, "don't you dare."
Steve manages to put on an innocent face as he slowly pulls his hands away. "Do what?"
Sam looks at Natasha over Steve's head as she tucks red hair behind her ear, watching him with a knowing glance.
Sam looks away first.
Damn.
*
Sam doesn't care for Riley's leer that Saturday night when he gets back from dinner with Steve at a small, queer-friendly bar called the Artful Dodger. (If anyone were in doubt of that, he would point to their decorations for gay pride weekend.)
"How was your date?"
"What?"
"Date," Riley repeats, that leer still lingering.
"It wasn't a date."
"Dude, you've been dating for like, three months. I walk in here and you're sitting so close to each other on your bed you're almost touching, even though there's a chair right there. Have you seen the way he looks at you?" Riley widens his eyes and folds his hands under his chin. "Sam, please ravish me, I love you, kiss me -"
"Shut up, he does not."
Riley scoffs at him. "Denial is not a good look on you."
"I don't -"
Riley sticks his fingers in his ears. "La la la I can't hear you."
Sam needs new friends.
*
Finals roll around, and the center is suddenly full of students; some have to stand because there's no space. It leaves Sam no time for himself to study, but it's no big deal. He's used to it by now.
His eye catches a blonde girl who's pulling her hair up in a ponytail: she's reading the stats book that Steve uses. She raises her hand after her hair is up and gives him a pleading look.
After introducing himself and learning her name (Sharon), he pulls her book in front of him.
"When's your final?"
"Wednesday at ten," Sharon says. "I feel pretty good about most of it, but probability is messing me up."
"One of my regulars has that time slot, too. You know Steve?"
Sharon gives him a surprised look. "Steve comes in for stats help?"
"Yeah."
Sharon frowns for a moment before a smile slowly slides across her face.
"What?"
"Steve's amazing at math," Sharon says. "He helps out calc students even though he hasn't taken a course here. He practically teaches the stats course himself." She looks Sam over. "I wonder why he could possibly want to come for 'help'?"
Oh.
Oh.
He can very much work with that.
*
Steve ends up coming by early in the afternoon, Bucky and Natasha nowhere in sight. At a closer glance, Sam sees that Steve is actually reading his psychology text, which is slightly hidden underneath his stats book.
"Got a psych final?"
"Ah!" Steve almost yells, his book toppling to the ground.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Sam says, leaning down to pick it up.
"It's okay," Steve says, straightening his papers. "I zoned out a little. I'm taking a break from stats."
"Yeah? How are you feeling about the material? Because someone told me you're pretty damn good at stats."
Steve's eyes dart to Sam's. "What? Who?"
"Sharon."
Steve wrinkles his nose. "That might be a little true."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well," Steve begins, "I wanted to come back here? So. I didn't tell you."
Sam laughs. "Steve, you didn't need to ask for help to come back here. You could have just, you know, come back here."
"...oh."
"Riley says we've been dating for three months."
"Oh?"
"Yep. I kind of like the idea of that, if you do."
"Yes," Steve says, going for casual. He fails. "I like that idea, too."
"Great."
"Great," Steve echoes, then frowns. "Should I -"
Sam leans over and kisses the pout away, lingering but chaste (as they are surrounded by people and they don't deserve a free show). Steve returns the pressure, his hand finding Sam's knee and twitching like his fingers want to dance up further. "You were saying?" Sam asks.
"Nothing," Steve says, just a tiny exhale. "That's a good start to me - but I may need a lot of help with that."
"Finally!" Riskon shouts from across the room, pointing at them, and the entire center claps.
Sam needs a new boss.
*
When Steve drops by the learning center from then on, it's for a...different type of tutoring.