The following day, Steve sat at his desk twenty minutes before first period started. He had thrown himself into grading assignments. His wedding band glinted at him in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Anger bubbled in his chest, and it felt like his throat was closing up.

The pen fell from his hand, and Steve angrily tore off his ring. He opened the top drawer of his desk and dropped it in, slamming it for good measure.

Since Bucky had seen the ring on Steve's hand, Steve wanted to do nothing more than melt the damn thing down and be rid of it. He knew deep down that he could never bring himself to do so, but at the moment Steve wanted nothing to do with it. He leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the papers on his desk.

Steve glanced at the clock over the door. First period wouldn't start for another ten minutes, which would be just enough time for him to walk down to the tech wing, maybe put a word in with Bucky, and be back just in time for his class. He considered it for a moment. Bucky wouldn't want to see him though, would he? Steve decided against it, and tried to grade at least one more assignment before class started.

Students started to file into the classroom. The bell rang, and Steve instructed class like usual. Forty minutes of pure lecturing, with the occasional raised hand and confused stares. As soon as class begun, it had ended. The students' glazed stares cleared when the bell had rung, and they all hurried out the door. Steve hadn't even bothered to remind then of their homework that was due at the end of the week; hopefully they would remember themselves.

The rest of the week lended itself to this sort of routine: get up, go to work, mindlessly lecture to his students, go to practice, come home, throw himself into grading assignments, and try not to have a nervous breakdown before bed. One week went by like this. Every single time that Steve walked by the classroom at the end of the tech wing he would pause, but continued after a moment. Bucky made it clear that he wanted no part of Steve.

At the end of the week, Steve made his way from his classroom to the baseball diamond. Again, he passed Bucky's classroom in the dimly lit hall, faltering. He wanted so badly to explain that their situation was a huge misunderstanding. He wanted to tell Bucky that no, he was not engaged or married, and that the ring was a reminder of his best girl. Steve's anxiety over the whole thing seemed to prevent him from doing so. He didn't want to push Bucky further away, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Steve looked at the door again and carried on outside. The sky was overcast and gray, almost like it was about to pour. Hopefully it wouldn't. Today was the last game of the season. There was a small glimmer of hope incessantly rearing its ugly head in Steve's mind that Bucky would be in the stands like he normally was, as if what happened on Monday was a horrible nightmare that Steve had yet to wake up from.. A quick look at the stands reaffirmed his suspicion. The auto mechanics teacher was nowhere to be seen. His shoulders dropped, and he continued to drag his feet in the dirt.

Most of the boys were on the diamond already, warming up and tossing pitches to each other. Peter's pitch faltered as he watched his coach trudge over to the dugout. The ball landed several feet away from Wade and stopped at his feet.

"What the hell, Pete?" Wade exclaimed loudly. Peter continued to stare at Steve.

"Coach Rogers looks terrible," Peter replied softly. Even from the diamond, Peter could see the horrendous dark circles under Steve's eyes. His complexion looked pale and his eyes red."He looks like he hasn't slept in days."

Wade walked over to Peter and looked to the dugout. He stared at their coach. His tone took on a rare tone of genuine concern. "Man, you're right."

Peter's brow furrowed. He couldn't possibly imagine what it was that had his coach so unlike himself. Coach Rogers was a pretty positive guy. He (unfortunately) knew that he and Mr. Barnes were a thing. From what Peter could tell, Mr. Barnes made Coach Rogers happy. However, Peter noticed that both teachers were not their usual selves in class for the past couple of days. Mr. Barnes seemed to snap at everyone over any little thing, and Coach Rogers seemed uncharacteristically down on himself.

Peter looked to the stands and noticed a lack of people, more so than usual. He didn't see Mr. Barnes anywhere. The lightbulb went off in his head. Before explaining to Wade, Peter ran over to the dugout.

He approached quietly as Steve had his back turned to him. "Uh, Coach?"

Steve glanced over his shoulder, saw it was Peter, and turned around to face him. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow in response.

"Not to, like, pry or anything," Peter stammered. "But what happened to you and Mr. Barnes?"

Steve's shoulder visibly dropped, and his gaze fell to his shoes. His mouth twisted for a moment before answering almost inaudibly. "It didn't work out."

The brunet blinked stupidly at his coach. Mr. Barnes' foul mood in class all week made sense to him now. Peter wrung his hands together. He wanted to know what happened.

"Why did-"

"Peter." Steve's tone of voice commanded him to shut his mouth. "We're not talking about this. Let's focus on the game today, yeah?"

He nodded, let out a small "sorry", and headed back over to Wade. Steve could see the two of them whispering with each other. He instinctively went to twist his ring, but remembered it wasn't there. Instead, he anxiously ran his fingers through his hair.

The other team arrived a short while later. Usually while the opposing team warmed up, Steve would give the boys a pep talk, but today he didn't have the heart. When the team rounded up in the dugout prepared for a speech, Steve shooed them away and told them to play their best. He noticed the surprised glances and the shrugs and the murmurs, but he didn't say anything about it.

Steve couldn't focus on the game. Not when he was glancing at the stands every five seconds, hoping against hope that Bucky Barnes would be there. The opposing team scored three times before Steve shook himself out of his thoughts.

He felt awful that he wasn't there in full for the team today, seeing as it was the last game of the season. Guilt had weighed down on his shoulders all week, and it wasn't easing up. Steve linked his fingers through the chain link fence that separated the dugout from the diamond and leaned his forehead against it.

Before he knew it, the game was over. The Marvelle Academy Avengers had gotten their asses handed to them one last time. Steve rounded up the team after the game and gave them a half-hearted speech. He said it was a pleasure being their coach for the season and hoped to see familiar faces next season.

The drive home was quiet. The radio in the car had busted halfway through his drive home from work sometime last week and hadn't had a chance to get it looked at. All that could be heard was the rumble of the engine and the whipping wind outside.

He killed the engine in front of his apartment building. The blond sluggishly pulled himself out of the car and up the stairs to his apartment. The key slid in the lock, and he turned it. The door swung open with a faint creak. Steve dropped his bag in the doorway and toed off his shoes. He didn't bother flipping on the lights. Steve trudged into his room and peeled off his coaching attire. His clothes dropped to the floor and kicked them into the corner. Steve pulled a pair of worn grey sweatpants and a white tank top from his dresser and tugged them on. He walked back out into the living room and turned the TV on for background noise and flopped down on the couch to peruse his phone.

Steve opened up the photo album. He scrolled up slowly, running his eyes over every single picture. There were times when he tried go be artsy and take photos of the sunset, but most of them ended up out of focus or the tip of his finger would be covering the lens. Only a handful of them were good. There was a picture of pages of his gradebook and some of his written lessons, just in case he had forgotten either of the books at home. His breath hitched in his throat when he came across pictures of one auto mechanics teacher.

He clicked on a picture of Bucky wearing one of his hoodies, sitting crossed-legged on the floor of Steve's apartment. It was gray, and it read Marvelle Athletics est. 1971. His eyes were closed, the corners of them crinkling with laughter. The smile that stretched across his face was lopsided, the left side coming up more than the right. Bucky's hair was half up in a little bun at the back of his head, the rest of it framing his sharp square jaw. The picture had come out a little blurry because Steve had probably been laughing too.

Steve swiped backwards. It was another picture of Bucky. This time it was at the coffee shop where they had their first date. Bucky's blue eyes crossed to look down his nose into the white mug he had lifted to his face. His lips were pursed as if he was about to take a sip. Steve only looked at it for a second before swiping backwards again.

Steve's heart dropped when he saw the next one. It was kind of grainy and dark in the photo, but Steve could still make out what it was. Bucky must have taken his phone when Steve had already fallen asleep. Steve's head rested against Bucky's bare shoulder with his lips slightly parted. Bucky's dark hair covered most of his face as he tilted his head down to kiss the top of Steve's head.

The blond threw his phone down on the coffee table in front of him. He leaned back into the couch, carding his fingers through his hair. Steve's chest felt tight. He hadn't realized that hot tears had started to run down his face. Curling in on himself, Steve bowed his head so that it touched his knees, and he cried.

Bucky was the best thing to happen to him in such a long time, and he went and screwed it up. Screwed it up royally. Steve felt so lost. He didn't know what he was going to do. He was rapidly approaching his thirties, and he had always wanted to have a family. That was shot down when Peggy had been diagnosed, and it still pulled at his heartstrings that he couldn't have started a family with her.

But he could've had that with Bucky. It sounded crazy even to him, but even though he had only known the brunet for a short while, Steve felt at home with him. He felt like Bucky could have been so much more to him. Now Steve couldn't even look him in the face anymore without wanting to cry.

Steve sat up again and furiously wiped at his eyes. He hated the empty feeling in his chest; it felt like he was gasping for air. More silent tears streamed down his face. Steve wanted something, anything to distract him. He glanced at the TV and saw that The Princess Diaries title panned across it. He made for the remote as if he was going to change the channel, but decided not to. Besides, The Princess Diaries was a good movie. And distraction.

He got up to scrounge around the fridge to come up with something to eat. Steve hadn't had time to go grocery shopping yet (that would have to wait for the weekend), and he didn't feel like ordering take out. A pint of chocolate ice cream sat on the top shelf of the freezer. Steve glared at it for a moment, and before he could hate himself anymore, he took it and dug around in the drawer for a spoon.

He sat back down on the couch, ice cream in hand, and let his mind wander as The Princess Diaries opening scene played.

Steve hadn't realized how much time had passed until his spoon hit the bottom of the pint and a knock came at his door. The credits of the movie rolled on the screen. Steve shook his head to clear it, set the empty pint on the coffee table, and headed for the door.

He opened it to reveal Tony Stark. Steve raised an eyebrow in question. Tony ran his eyes up and down the blond, stopping again at his face. Steve must've looked like a train wreck; his hair was disheveled and stuck up at odd angles. His eyes were red and the circles underneath them were dark and pronounced; He was still teary-eyed. There was an obvious chocolate stain on the front of his shirt. Tony peered over his shoulder to look into the living room. He scoffed.

"Chick flicks, Rogers, really?" Tony laughed. "Damn, you need to go out to get your mind off of the whole thing. You're getting yourself so worked up."

The retort stung a little. "Tony, I don't need to go out to get my mind off of it," Steve persisted as he wiped at his eyes. "I'm fine, really."

Tony stood in the doorway of Steve's apartment, arms folded across his chest, eyebrow quirked. It was nearly nine o'clock that Friday night. The blond wanted nothing more than to continue to watch stupid chick flicks and cry his brains out over a pint of his favorite ice cream. He did not want to go to the gross dive bar down the street and get totally shitfaced with his colleague. Tony tapped his foot impatiently.

"C'mon, Rogers, you can't stay holed up in here like a teenage girl after her first break-up!" Tony nearly shouted.

Steve had half a mind to slam the door in his face right then, but he didn't move. He only glared at Tony in the hopes that he looked angry and not upset. It didn't work. Tony's expression softened.

"Look," he started. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. You just shouldn't be stuck in here wallowing in your pit of self-loathing over it. Come out."

The blond mulled it over for a few moments. He wasn't much of a drinker; it took a lot of alcohol in his system for him to even feel a buzz so there really was no point in him drinking for pleasure. On the other hand, Steve knew that if he stayed in tonight that he would be left alone with his thoughts for the fifth consecutive night. That didn't seem appealing to him. Steve sighed.

"Screw it," he mumbled. "I'll get changed, and then let's go."


Approximately two hours later, Steve Rogers was drunk off his ass.

When they first got to the bar, the blond was intent on only having a drink or two just to humor Tony. Two drinks and three shots later, Steve was having a hard time sitting upright in his barstool. He slouched over onto Tony's shoulder and played with a thread on Tony's shirt, eyes wandering down the line of the bar.

"Steve," Tony started slowly, still nursing his first drink in his hands. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Bucky hates me," Steve mumbled into Tony's shoulder. His words slurred together. "Bucky hates me an' it's my fault. All my fault."

Hot tears stung at the corners of Steve's eyes and blurred his vision even more than with the alcohol in his system. Tony looked down at him, eyebrow raised in question.

"What did you do?"

Steve slid further down his shoulder. "My ring! That stupid, stupid ring, Stark. I wore it and he saw it and he got really, really mad-I mean reeeally mad-I've never seen him so mad before. I think he hates me, like loathes me to my very core."

Steve fell silent for a moment. More tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face into Tony's arm completely. Steve sobbed.

"What if he-if he never wants to see me again? He's so pretty, Tony. So, so pretty," Steve wailed. Tony looked around at the other patrons in the bar. They were starting to stare. Tony sighed.

"I want to see him," Steve mumbled. Tony didn't think he was serious, but his muscles tensed when Steve braced his hand on the counter, ready to push himself up and off of the stool. Steve stood upright for all of two seconds before he started to sway on his feet. His vision spun. The only clear thought that repeated in his head like a mantra was I want to see Bucky, I need to see him, I need to explain.

Steve went to step away from the counter, and the floor rushed to meet him. He was just going to let it happen, but something caught at his shoulder. Steve slowly dragged his eyes over to Tony struggling to keep him somewhat upright.

"You're heavier than you look," Tony grunted. "Come on, up you go."

Tony somehow managed to get Steve back up on the stool. By now, most of the patrons were sending sly glances their way. Tony made a particularly rude gesture to a guy who sat a few seats away from them who seem to be staring the both of them down. Tony looked at Steve slouched over on the countertop and sighed.

"Look, Cap-"

"Bucky used to call me Cap."

Tony exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. "Because that's your fucking nickname. Look, have you tried to explain to Bucky the reason you wear the ring?"

"Yes, of course I have," Steve sniffled. "But when I tried he just got angry. He didn't-he wouldn't let me."

"'Wouldn't let you'? Has someone not letting you do something stopped you before?" Steve was about to answer, but Tony cut him off. "Rhetorical question, Steve. But seriously, the Steve Rogers I know wouldn't just stand idly by and let someone like that slip through his fingers. He would do something about it."

Steve looked up at him from behind glassy eyes. Tony hated seeing him like this. He knew Steve back in college, and when he broke the news about Peggy, he was just like this: lost and upset with no clear path in mind. Although the situation back then was much more detrimental, Tony couldn't help but feel that the root of Steve's sadness was the same.

"Yeah, you're-you're right," Steve mumbled. He gave a little laugh as he added, " I just hope he doesn't hate me as much as I think he does."