Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.
Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.
Sam manages to sell a fixer-upper to a combat veteran who’s ready to put down roots in the suburbs. But when he told him “Keep in touch if you need anything else,” he didn't expect James Barnes to take him so seriously.
Guy had Wilson on speed dial, fer cripes’ sake.
“It’s my turn with the scanning gun. Give it here.” Sam made grabby hands for it, but Bucky snatched it back with a chiding look.
“Only if I get to register for the Snuggie.”
Sam’s expression flattened. “Barnes. No.”