Chapter Text
Staring at the wall of his office, Steve sighs as he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips. The air conditioner that’s wedged into the janky window rattles as it cools the small room, but he’s not paying much attention to anything other than the maelstrom in his brain. The beginning of the semester is approaching at top speed, and he’s not ready.
With a sigh, he shakes his head and clicks his computer mouse. The screen blinks to life, a white page with his unfinished syllabus for music appreciation filling the screen. Scanning over it quickly, he makes a few corrections and scrolls down to the third page where he’s supposed to insert a schedule for the 16-week course. He’s been teaching music appreciation since he first started at the university, but he’s feeling incredibly burned out instead of rejuvenated after his summer break.
The problem is that he can predict exactly what’s going to happen this semester because it’s the same every single time. The fall session will open with all the optimism and enthusiasm he can muster, and he’ll get inane questions from bored students who don’t want to take his class and slowly suck enjoyment from his job until he wants to scream. It’s the same every year, while all he wants is some excitement—an event or experience to shake up his dull routine and give him something to anticipate.
“Well, don’t you look like you’re ready for another school year.”
Glancing up at the sound of the droll voice, Steve attempts to muster a smile for Natasha, his colleague from the Dance Department in the School of Fine Arts. They’ve been friends for ages or at least since they both were hired a dozen years ago. Both young, eager, and good-looking, they gravitated toward each other, and they’ve since settled into a deep friendship that Steve cherishes. The only other professor he considers as close of a friend is Sam Wilson, a professor with a specialty in African art. Unlike Steve, Sam teaches the studio classes instead of history, appreciation, and theory. He’s also wickedly funny and incredibly popular with the students for his laid-back attitude and easy-going smile.
Tossing Natasha a rueful grin, Steve waves at his screen. “Finishing syllabi. You’d think I’d have this down to a science by now. Instead, I decided to change all my supplemental sources and redo the major projects. Feel free to tell me I’m an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yes, thank you,” he sniffs. “I’m just…I could use another month or two of vacation.”
“You and me both, sweetheart,” Natasha says as she perches on the corner of his desk. “You far enough along to take a coffee break with me? Kind of craving the caffeine. Besides, I like walking across campus on your arm. People sit up and take notice when we stroll by, especially if we’re giggling. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”
“Yes, they do. Including me. To be honest, I don’t feel much like laughing right now.”
“Well then, you really need some coffee. Get up, Rogers. Let’s go.”
“Nat, I don’t—”
“Steve, I’m not asking. I’m telling you to get up. Sometimes, friendship means making sure the other person is okay, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
Shaking his head, Steve snorts in frustration. “You’re a pain in my ass, Romanoff. You know that?”
“I sure do,” she sing-songs and pushes off his desk.
As much as he hates to admit it, he feels better as soon as he leaves his office. He’s been stewing. He knows that, but somehow, he can’t quite shake the despondency he’s been feeling for the past several months. When he allows himself the luxury of examining his inner thoughts and feelings, he can admit that he’s lonely. It’s been months since he’s had a date, longer than that since he got laid, and there are no potentials on the horizon.
When they settle at a table in the coffee shop, Natasha motions to him and demands, “Spill it. You look like you’ve lost your will to live, and I can’t have that.”
Sighing heavily, he toys with his mug. As much as he wants to bend her ear, he hates whining, especially when he’s the one doing it.
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t particularly think that’s true.”
“I—”
At her look, he stops himself. There’s no use in lying to her, and he’s tired of carrying his burden. He might as well admit what’s wrong.
“I’m just…really tired of being alone.”
Considering him carefully, she takes a sip of her coffee and puts the mug back on the table before crossing her arms over her chest. “How long’s it been?”
“Define ‘it’.”
“Since you didn’t feel alone.”
Her question stumps him because he genuinely has no idea when it was that he started to feel as if he’d never find anyone again. For so long, he’d been focused on his career, getting his degree, and finding a job. During that time in his life, he’d put relationships on the backburner, and now, he’s in his mid-forties and alone. Now that he’d like to date someone exclusively, he can’t figure out how to find interested men.
“I d-don’t know,” he admits after a much too long pause. “I can’t really remember when it started. I’ve been single for a long time, but I could always find someone willing to…scratch my itch. Now, though, I’m…I don’t know.”
“Horny as fuck? In need of some man meat? Desperate for some sausage?”
“Don’t be crude.”
“Am I wrong?”
Miserable, Steve shakes his head. “No. You’re not wrong. Unfortunately.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
Taken aback, he stares at her. He’s had enough experience with others that he knows her response isn’t normal. Usually, he’d get a platitude instead of empathy, and it unnerves him. Instead of pitying him or minimizing his pain, she’s willing to sit it in with him. It’s an uncomfortable place to be, but it’s also kind of nice.
“Thanks. I think?”
“You’re welcome,” she replies and pins him to the seat with a look. Her green eyes examine him with such intensity that he squirms a little—for good reason. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Choking on his coffee, he tries not to spit, but liquid dribbles down his chin. “What do you mean? What’s there to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asks and cocks her head to the side. “If you’re feeling lonely, you pick up someone. Get a little freaky. Feel better.”
“That’s not—”
Leaning forward, she grins at him as her eyes sparkle with delight. “Wait…you mean, you’re looking for more? Does Steve Rogers, bachelor extraordinaire, want a relationship with someone?”
His face burns under her scrutiny. He’d rather be anywhere but in this coffee shop. Feeling vulnerable isn’t something he enjoys in any way, and she’s got him flayed open and exposed. Not in a good way.
“There doesn’t seem to be much of a chance of that.”
“How do you know? Have you even looked lately? It’s not like there are a million men walking around campus or anything.”
“Nat, they’re students.”
“They’re not your students. Besides, there are plenty of non-traditional students who attend this university. Find one of those. There’s absolutely nothing in the code of conduct that says you can’t date someone who’s enrolled here. You just can’t date someone who’s in one of your classes.”
Holding his head in his hands, Steve shakes it in frustration. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this is where I am in life. Taking dating advice from a dance professor who’s encouraging me to hook up with men half my age.”
“I didn’t say half your age,” she protests. “Steve, nothing’s going to change if you don’t do something different. Would you rather do online dating? Because I can tell you, that’s a total crapshoot.”
“And what’s wrong with dying alone?”
Shrugging, she takes another sip of her coffee. “Nothing, but it’s not as fun as getting laid every once in a while.”
“Oh, good God.”
“You’re such a prude,” she teases and wrinkles her nose. “Since when have you been so squeamish?”
“Since my colleague started giving me sex advice in public.”
“Would you rather I give it to you in private? Sure you’re not bi? Because…”
“Jesus! Will you be serious?”
“Will you be? I’m trying to help. Wouldn’t it be nice to find someone you’d like to spend time with? Have a date for major holidays? Not walk into an empty house every night? Come on, Steve. You’ve got to be practical. Your pool of potentials is either waiting for you online or is right under your nose. I’m not telling you which one to choose, but I’d think it’s obvious.”
Groaning, he raises his mug to his lips and drinks deeply. “Why does all of this have to be so hard?”
“Because we’re professors. We have more education than 98% of the population, and you spent the past two decades worrying about getting a good job and tenure.”
“Stop making sense. It’s depressing.”
Chuckling, she sits back and runs her fingertip around the rim of her mug. “You’re right. It is. But remember, you chose this. You wanted to teach and research, and you are. Now, you just have to figure out if you’re willing to do what it takes to be happy in other areas of your life.”
Steve’s just about to respond when a loud laugh interrupts them. Glancing up, he spots their friend Sam and waves him over to join them.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Doctors Rogers and Romanoff. Are we having a little romantic get together before the semester starts? Am I interrupting something? I can leave. Maybe I should leave.”
“You are the absolute worst,” Natasha answers with a roll of her eyes. “Go away.”
“Don’t you dare leave,” Steve mutters. “Nat’s been roasting me over a spit for the past 15 minutes. Rescue me.”
“Oh,” Sam says while rubbing his hands together. “What’s the issue? What’s happening? Fill me in on the topic at hand.”
Before Steve can speak, Natasha blurts, “Rogers needs to get laid. Also, he’s walking around like he’s lost his best friend. Maybe a little romance wouldn’t hurt him either.”
“Romance is the key,” Sam concurs. “Play a little music. Light some candles. Come on, you’re a music prof. Sing him some Rachmaninoff or something. Serenade a dude and take him home with you. Let somebody see what’s hiding under those terrible sports jackets you wear to class.”
Wounded, Steve demands, “What’s wrong with my jackets?”
“Besides them making you look like a hundred year old man? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”
Picking up his coffee, Steve carefully positions his middle finger so that Sam can see it clearly and takes a drink. He loves his work wardrobe, and not even Sam, who is objectively the coolest of their unlikely trio, is going to make him feel bad about them.
“Looks like Rogers has a backbone. Maybe he can muster enough gumption to pick up a date by the time the semester’s over.”
“You can’t rush love,” Natasha jokes and swallows her laughter.
“Hey, Nat. What’s…what’s this I have?”
“Why, Dr. Rogers, are you flipping me the bird too? How very naughty of you. You may be salvageable yet.”
“Or I may be completely beyond hope,” he admits. “A date before the end of the semester seems like…a pipe dream.”
Clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder, Sam grunts. “Have a little faith. You’re a good-looking dude. You can pick up a stallion.”
“Did I mention that you’re the worst? Because you are the worst,” Natasha repeats.
“Maybe,” Sam agrees, “but I’m also smooth as fuck. What are you doing on Saturday night?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Want to grab some dinner? Maybe catch that movie you’ve been wanting to see for forever?”
Cheeks flushed pink, Natasha grins at the invitation. “Sure. I’d love that.”
“Pick you up at 7?”
“Sure.”
Glancing at Steve, Sam drawls, “And that’s how it’s done. Now, I’ve got a date with the hottest dance professor at the college. Bite the bullet, Steve. Land you a stud.”
Shaking his head, Steve pushes back from the table. “Thanks for the advice, but I have syllabi to write. Romance will have to wait.”
“It’s never a good idea to put off picking up a date, but do you. Just make sure to set your cap for someone really great.” Pursing his lips, Sam muses, “In fact, that’s your nickname until you find your man. Cap Rogers.”
“At your service,” Steve mumbles. “Catch you both later, and if I don’t see you before then, have a good date night on Saturday.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he chugs the rest of his coffee and tosses the paper cup in the trash as he leaves the café. He’s got work to do. Finding love will have to wait.