Archive of Our Own

The hopes and dreams of getting accepted into a university fizzled out in Steve’s Senior year in high school.

Maybe before that, because he knew he wasn’t smart. Everyone else kept pushing for Steve to have intelligence he just wasn’t capable of, but by Senior year, at least Nancy and his dad started to believe it. Dad wanted him to get a couple of business degrees as he did and help him run the company, but that sounded like the most boring thing possible at seventeen years old.

Dad wouldn’t let Steve do clerical work at the company or anything like that once he graduated. Working minimum wage jobs at the mall was a punishment for not getting accepted into any university. Especially for not even trying to hit a community college.

Then Steve met Robin Buckley at Cold Stone Creamery. Coolest girl around with a brilliant, creative mind, and she helped Steve realize he was smart.

He was.

Just not the way everyone else wanted him to be.

Playing sports all his life and being labeled a jock in high school didn’t really lend itself to the creative hobbies Steve wouldn’t have been caught dead with back then anyway. But then Robin came, and she’s a mad scientist in the kitchen; she likes art and the exciting sciences, paranormal and supernatural stuff, books, movies, video games.

All that pressure and anxiety never let Steve flourish and think of anything but sports, earning money, and not being good enough.

Steve was a creative mind, and if anyone told him he was back in high school, he would’ve laughed in their face.

And, now, in his fourth year at Purdue, Steve is a really good writer despite not being able to string together a coherent essay in school. He’s been a good writer the whole damn time, but no one, including himself, let him figure that out. Robin brought it out, and Steve thanks her at the end of every year because, holy fucking shit—he got into Purdue.

Steve’s double majoring in professional and creative writing. He’s funny, understands numerous topics, stays far away from the ones he doesn’t, and his professors are consistently happy with what he puts together.

He’s not interested in writing books, not yet, but Steve likes writing articles across a wide array of subjects—writing, sports, opinion pieces on childcare, reviews, cooking, social media, and lots more.

Purdue has a university newsletter and Steve writes a few articles monthly for it. He’s done that since his first year, and looking at his older work is embarrassing, but he’s zippy, easygoing, and knowledgable now, and his fellow students enjoy his shit. So what can he complain about?

It’s October and the second newsletter of the year has gone out.

Steve does have something to complain about.

Everything has been going so well. He’s got an apartment with Robin; she’s working full-time and dating a super cool girl, he’s got good friends, he’s in his last year and about to earn two bachelor's degrees this coming summer.

It’s all going swell.

But this is the second time that all three of his articles in the newsletter have been subject to a complete bastard who not only challenges everything Steve writes about but he’s a dick while doing it. Steve responds because sometimes witty comebacks shut these assholes down and they never come back.

But not this guy. He immediately started trolling Steve after he responded and it’s all been downhill since.

Waking up on a Saturday morning and seeing three shiny new comments from the same guy from last month ruins Steve’s day before it starts.

bgrove23
had me in the first half but the tangent about thursday night football took me straight out of the piece. youre writing about the conceit of nfl players and the rise and fall of quarterbacks over the last 50 yrs. stay on topic or connect the dots for your readers

bgrove23
outstanding connection to the potato famine during cooking with steve hours but the fact that you bungled an irish recipe this badly and mentioned the crown while you did it is just embarrassing

bgrove23
the only horsesh*t you shoveled as a kid is the horsesh*t in this article

Steve stares at his phone for a long time. “Robin,” he says, still lying in bed. He hears her roaming around the apartment. “Robin!”

“I saw them, boo,” Robin says as she stops outside his door. “Do you want some cheer-up pancakes?”

He kicks the covers off and walks to his door, yanking it open. “Robin!” Steve says. “Yes, please. Robin, this guy. This guy.”

Robin smiles sympathetically. “You tried to school him last month and it backfired,” she says. “He’s probably gonna do this until you ignore him enough times.”

“Ignore him?” Steve scoffs, shaking his phone in the air as he follows her out into the kitchen. “You think I’m going to ignore this libel?”

She snorts and laughs. “Libel,” Robin says. “People are allowed to have opinions, you know. I mean, obviously, you have a real problem with that sometimes. But it’s true.”

Steve sighs. “I do not have a… you know what, never mind,” he says, holding up his hands. “But I’m totally not ignoring this. This is too far. We rocked that Irish recipe.”

“We tweaked it enough to call it our own thing with Irish roots. He’s just trying to get to you, dingus.”

“He is getting to me. Who does this? Four years! Almost four years!” Steve says and walks to the coffee pot. He yanks it closer and pours hot coffee into a mug. “Four years of nothing but almost all cool people commenting on my stuff.”

“You know what that means, right?”

“What?”

“He’s a Freshman,” Robin says. “Let it go, boo.”

“Oh, baby. So not doing that,” Steve says. “I’m gonna think up something good. Something to destroy him. Then he’ll never come back.”

“Freshman,” Robin says and smiles blandly at Steve. “Since when do Freshmen have any self-control? Ugh, god. Boys never have self-control. Look at you.”

Steve points at her. “Hey, hey. I have self-control. I’m destroying him but practicing that while I do. Something classy but brutal.”

“That’s what you tried last month and he took it as a challenge.”

“Jesus Christ. He did.”

“I had to drag you away literally and figuratively from the comments section. Don’t ever read the comments.”

“I literally have to. Literally.”

Robin sighs. “Yeah, okay. But don’t engage,” she says. She yawns as she brings out their tiny griddle. “You’ve published in actual newspapers and journals online. They’re, like, cesspools of insanity. And none got to you like this.”

Steve waves his hand. “Because they’re stupid and upfront about their trolling. This is a fellow student, Robin. In our newsletter!” he says. “You don’t troll the guys you go to school with.”

“Since when? The world is anonymous. He could’ve been trolling you when you were sixteen too.”

“This dude probably was trolling people at twelve.”

“Uh-huh,” Robin chuckles. “So, let it go.”

“No fucking way. I’ve got all day. I’m taking him down.”

Robin sighs and rolls her eyes and starts mixing pancake batter.

They eat pancakes and eggs and drink a lot of coffee. Steve rants about the troll and Robin shakes her head. But she doesn’t know what it’s like to have your writing questioned by some loser who doesn’t know anything about writing. Just what it’s like to have his head up his ass.

Steve vacuums the apartment and cleans the kitchen because he gets good ideas when he does mindless busy work. Robin goes out to meet Vickie and tells him to leave the comments be, but it just isn’t happening. It’s not.

It ends today and Steve won’t have to worry about a troll for the rest of the year.

Steve Harrington
The ‘dots’ connecting them were the conceit of the players and the NFL for pushing Thursday Night Football. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair so that this dear reader may find reading comprehension within your golden hair.

Steve Harrington
Creative writing and creative cooking go hand in hand. There are no rules and everything is made up—my point about The Crown was criticism, but sarcasm must not be your strong suit, or maybe you’re just new here.

Steve Harrington
This one got me, but I really did shovel horse stalls. I’m surprised you doubt my expertise being a horse’s ass yourself.

He dusts his hands and sets his phone aside. It’s nearly four in the afternoon, and it might’ve taken all day to cook those up because Steve’s annoyed, but he’s got video games to burn the rest of the energy off.

Steve manages to get an hour and a half in before he can’t stand not checking to see if bgrove23 has replied. He sets the controller down and grabs his phone, opening his email and seeing two new comments.

“Jesus, dude,” Steve mutters. He sighs and opens them.

bgrove23
nobody put those dots together but you. take my thumbs up tho for this one

bgrove23
please explain how the point on the crown was sarcasm or criticism. because it comes off as bootlicker to me

Steve might roll his eyes and consider this guy toast if eight people didn’t give the comment a thumbs up and only one thumb down. Instead, he frowns and scrolls up to the very, very sarcastic criticism of The Crown in between anecdotes about the recipe and rereads it a few times.

No way. So sarcasm. What’s wrong with these people?

He didn’t respond to the other one so maybe being called a horse’s ass isn’t sophisticated enough for him, but Steve doesn’t think that’s it.

He’s ready to roll up his sleeves and explain how stupid this guy is for calling him a bootlicker, but Steve gets a text from Robin.

Don’t do it boo

Do what

I know what you’re thinking

What am I thinking Robin.

Leave. Them. Be.

Why tho? He deserves a response.

Because then I have to hear about it for another two weeks and I don’t want to. He’s trying to get you to go after him so don’t feed the troll. Don’t feed the troll!!!!

Jfc fine.

Steve doesn’t feed the troll. He lets it go. Enjoys his Saturday night in and late Sunday morning. Sundays are for Steve and Robin, and they hang out at the apartment watching movies and eating a lot of junk food.

He has a few things to do for a class on Monday, but Steve’s a night owl and does his best work after he’s said good night. He sits at the desk with his laptop and grabs his glasses, sticking them on and opening his campus email.

Article comments aren’t unusual. Especially not two days after a monthly newsletter comes out—Steve usually has many to sort through. And the new issue always brings comments to older issues too. It’s something he loves because most people have something interesting to point out or agree on a point and expand on it. Sometimes it’s funny commentary, sometimes it’s unnecessary, sometimes it’s rude—all things he’s used to.

Steve can see each username in the subject line of the emails, which is why he immediately tries not to fly into a rage upon opening his email and seeing seven from bgrove23.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve asks, holding out his hands. “Are you kidding me, dude? Seriously?”

He’s not used to a troll.

And this asshole has gone back to most of the issues from last year to leave his little comments.

Steve gestures in the air like he’s strangling him before he starts opening emails.

Hoo, baby. He’s got opinions. Lots of opinions and constructive criticism isn’t in this guy’s vocabulary. He knows about sports, food, books, lots of stuff, and he isn’t just a bullshitter. The guy obviously knows some of these things really well—the two reviews of his book reviews Steve won’t even touch because they make him see red and he wouldn’t be able to counter the points the guy makes without being an asshole.

Still, some are just uncalled for.

bgrove23
we have to talk about your liberal use of meme culture because it devalues your writing significantly steve

bgrove23
schnoockered AND tough tomatoes in a piece touching on imperialism in italy. landing humor in politics requires some knowledge about politics. is that why you only dabble occasionally? uff da

bgrove23
when bob dylan kicks the bucket and leaves his parting letters he’s only gonna say it was all drivel. I don’t think we should wait that long for you. what happened here?

Steve holds his hands against his face and slowly shakes his head. “You absolute fucker,” he whispers and looks at the screen tiredly. “You know what? I’ve got work to do. You can wait.”

He closes his email and opens up his writing assignment. Steve lifts his glasses, rubs his eyes, then cracks his knuckles and smacks his hands together. The troll isn’t getting in the way of actual work he needs to do, but his comments will probably keep Steve up all night.

At least he gets his shit posted by midnight.

Steve stuffs chips in his mouth as he rereads the comments and shakes his head. Robin is asleep, and she holds most of his inhibitions, so Steve pops another chip and replies to the one that catches his eye the most.

Steve Harrington
You’re in Purdue and haven’t embraced meme culture? Ok, boomer.

Seriously—it’s not difficult to understand why incorporating the current trends of the internet is essential in creative writing. I wrote for two brands on Twitter, and if you weren’t up on the latest meme, you weren’t maximizing your reach. It’s business for half the work I do; this is a university newsletter, not the NYT. Which, by the way, absolutely utilizes meme culture. I get the feeling you’re the type against all things popular and sit behind your keyboard and mightily frown at what everyone else is enjoying. Whattaya expect from life but zero fun and absolutely no fulfillment from trolling?

He sleeps until his alarm clock wakes him up at ten. Steve’s first class isn’t until one because he prefers later classes and has no idea how anyone can even function at seven in the morning.

Steve checks his phone before he gets out of bed and sees he has a reply.

bgrove23
i ain’t reading all that
i’m happy for u tho
or sorry that happened

“You motherfu… Jesus,” Steve hisses. He groans and rests his arm on his forehead, staring at the ceiling. Shakes his head for a long time. “Complete dick. That’s what you are, Grove. I hate you.”

Robin is at work, so Steve rants to the shampoo bottle in the shower about how much he hates bgrove23 and that he won’t be engaging anymore. Nope. Shouldn’t have engaged at all, Robin is always right, Steve never listens, yadda yadda.

He goes to class and tries not to think about the asshole Freshman getting off on his responses.

Steve will ignore him until he’s toast.

——

Thankfully, Steve forgets about the troll for a while beyond imagining a troll living under a bridge with a laptop because it makes him giggle.

October speeds by and it’s his Senior year—his professors are absolutely brutal. They don’t grade his articles in the newsletters, and only one even reads them, but it’s good for him to be actively involved with extracurricular activities.

Writing and other assignments for classes are challenging to say the least. He’s got an entire thesis due at the end of the year that Steve is halfway through outlining. He takes a break from it during the last week of October to start writing for November’s newsletter. It reminds him of his troll and Steve hopes he’s drowning in so much schoolwork that he won’t bother coming around again.

Steve chooses his topics carefully.

Notre Dame’s game. Pasta for a recipe because he lives and breathes Italian food. Social media and its influences on university students is super risky for many reasons, but those articles usually get long conversations in the comments sections that add interesting points.

Sure, they’ve got rules about no trolling and whatever. They’re students at a fantastic university and expected to have some professionalism, but discussion and debate are encouraged. Critique, too, if it’s constructive, and bgrove23 is anything but that, but Steve won’t report him.

And the professors that might say something don’t read the newsletters and those that do probably find it way more entertaining.

Not Steve. It is not entertaining whatsoever. But he writes the articles and he writes them well. He knows what he’s talking about; he’s got humor on his side, and beyond social media, what can the guy get mad at?

Accurate commentary on the game? Authentic pasta recipes? Correct opinions on social media influence on university students? Okay, that last one, but Steve thinks his troll will lose steam.

On the first Friday in November, the newsletter is released.

For an entire glorious weekend, Steve receives no comments from bgrove23. By the time he’s lying down to sleep at one in the morning on Monday, Steve does it with a smile.

Ten in the morning on Monday wipes it off his face.

Two comments.

Two fucking comments from bgrove23.

Steve wants to launch his phone across the apartment complex’s parking lot, but he fumbles with it and opens the emails instead.

bgrove23
this reads like every other article posted online about the game. did you only watch the highlight reels? for someone majoring in professional and creative writing with football being an area of expertise, I’d expect pizzazz. where’s the pizzazz steve

bgrove23
social media vs university students is an intriguing topic and our fellow students have brought up a lot of good points that you heavily missed in the article. I like the last paragraph tho. ‘There are ways to contribute to social media that make it more of a blessing than a curse. We’ve never had open access to so many experts in well-known and obscure fields eager to share their work—why are we missing the mark when they do? What are we contributing? We and our younger counterparts learn as a full-time career and hop on Twitter to berate the experts who want to teach us. What are we adding to the mix?’

I’m curious. what are you contributing to social media?

Steve ignores the first one and narrows his eyes at the second comment. He drums his fingers on his thigh for a while—obviously, this isn’t coming from a genuine place. Grove is implying Steve hasn’t added anything to social media in a positive way, but that’s not true.

And it’s not difficult to find that out just by looking at his student profile.

Robin’s at work, so she’s not around to tell him not to feed the troll.

Steve Harrington
Welcome back to my comments section. I realize your question isn’t coming from a serious place but I’ll give you an honest answer.

We’re all cogs in a machine. Social media is a big one that keeps turning out of the sheer willpower of billions of people. We each have our own circle that’s smaller and keeps turning because people want it to. My contributions range from selling products to writing pieces for news publications and journals. Some people benefit from topics you turn your nose up on—highlights of a game they couldn’t catch or product reviews from trusted sources.

That’s my cog in the machine. What’s yours?

He gets halfway through toast and eggs with a large mug of coffee before Grove responds. Steve’s more apprehensive about opening this email because he suspects nothing good will come out of it.

With a sigh, Steve opens the email.

bgrove23
my question was coming from a serious place so thanks for your honest answer. I like your perspective on what you have to add. youre forgetting something big about sm tho. everyone thinks they’re adding to it in some way. from their perspective, yours is sh*t and theirs is correct. cogs that won’t ever fit in your niche machine

Steve narrows his eyes again.

Steve Harrington
Wait, is this an honest answer from you too? Looks like someone doesn’t have a case of the Mondays.

Opinions, assumptions, obstinance, and trolling. The worst parts of the internet even in—arguably, sometimes more so—niche corners. That doesn’t mean people are beyond the capability of adding and contributing thoughtfully.

bgrove23
have you met people

Steve Harrington
You’re entirely right. I’ve met you, the resident troll. Hopes and dreams down the drain.

bgrove23
we all have our talents steve. still waiting to see yours

“Prick,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Steve Harrington
I’d hate to know what you major in.

bgrove23
sociology

Steve Harrington
What were you saying about horsesh*t?

bgrove23
got me. it’s more interesting than creative and professional writing

Steve Harrington
From your perspective.

bgrove23
you can learn. proud of you babe

Steve rubs his temples and shakes his head. Hates him. He hates Grove and wants to tell him he hates him, but then he’ll stick around longer. But Steve hates him.

He’s annoying and stupid and his opinions are trash. And Grove is just fucking around—this probably is his entertainment between classes, and he forgets all about Steve until a newsletter comes out or Steve foolishly responds.

Do not feed the troll. Jesus Christ.

Steve opens Instagram. He has thousands of followers because of the newsletter and social media and they enjoy his personal life. It was weird at first, but now something Steve keeps up because it helps readership.

He takes a picture of himself at the kitchen table, looking annoyed because he is. But his hair looks okay, and the lighting is nice, with no glare off his glasses. A little filter and bam, posted.

After ranting to the shampoo bottle through his shower, Steve heads to campus. He’ll hear it from Robin later, but that’s okay because he’ll admit she’s right like always and never do it again.

Except that Steve does.

Everything is going well. Well, classes are more challenging every week, and the thesis will kill Steve before it gets him a couple of degrees. And it starts snowing, which is enjoyable for the first week or two. But by the end of November, Steve’s sick of driving home at eight after classes and hitting a blizzard every other day.

They hit record snowfall before the first Friday in December, which isn’t right. It just isn’t and no one’s happy about it.

But everything else is going well.

Until the newsletter goes out.

Steve obsessively checks his phone Friday night through Saturday while Robin’s out with Vickie. And, unfortunately, Grove doesn’t disappoint.

bgrove23
I’m on board with critiquing the things you’re passionate about but your quasi-love of football is exhausting

bgrove23
the passion for last month’s recipe has disappeared. why’d you even share it if you weren’t going to bother making it sound appetizing or worth the time and money

bgrove23
I’m begging you to stay out of politics. is it the snow? I feel like it’s the snow that’s got you down this month

“Alright, buddy,” Steve mutters. He glares at his phone and the seven thumbs up on the last comment.

Maybe he should stay out of politics or simply never allude to them whatsoever because he doesn’t really dive into them. But, Jesus, one or two short comments, and everyone agrees with Grove.

But that means he’s got a good point, so Steve will listen because if he doesn’t learn anything, then he’s a fucking hypocrite. Still, it doesn’t mean he likes it.

Does not like Grove. Not a smidge and this time feels more personal. Steve’s not mad about the snow—not enough to affect the thing he’s most passionate about in life. But Grove is a troll, and if he keeps forgetting that, this will spiral out of control, and they’ll both get into trouble.

Steve Harrington
I’m begging you to go outside and make a snow angel. Build a snowman. Connect with your inner child. It’ll do you some good.

bgrove23
are you telling me to touch grass

Steve Harrington
Yup. That’s precisely what I’m telling you to do.

bgrove23
alright. maybe we should do it together. put our differences aside. do you want to build a snowman?

Steve Harrington
Absolutely. Let’s do that.

bgrove23
then come on. let’s go and play

Steve narrows his eyes.

Steve Harrington
When and where?

bgrove23
just come out the door

Steve frowns at the comment and glances at the front door. He looks down at his phone and shakes his head because… huh? His phone buzzes with a text, and Steve jumps, drops it and watches it bounce to the floor.

Groaning, he grabs it and looks at Robin’s text.

Dingus. He’s quoting Frozen song lyrics at you. What did I say. What have I said a million times

Frozen????? Seriously?

Where were you when Frozen came out yes literally. He’s still fucking around. Look at how many thumbs up he already has. WHAT DID I SAY????

Okay but consider: he’s a monster.

Considered and disregarded. Don’t feed the troll boo. Your ig pic is super sexy

Ty. I didn’t even have to try.

Some of us are just blessed in the looks department. Smarts? Not so much

Thank you Robin.

Yw <3

Steve shakes his head and opens the article again. He glares down at Grove’s comments and sees that, yes, he’s got a handful of thumbs up on each. Long-time readers find it funny, Steve supposes, which means he can’t respond again.

He’s itching to. His fingers are raring to go.

“Jesus,” Steve says and gets up.

It’s five, which means dinner and beer. Definitely beer.

There’s another snowstorm outside but beer always hits the spot.

——

Exams kick Steve’s ass.

He does pretty well, but all of December is stressful and exhausting. It’s a significant hurdle and feels great once it’s over, but a few weeks off are dearly needed.

The holiday season kind of sucks. Steve usually drops in to see his parents on Christmas, but he’s busy with his thesis and Christmas shopping for people who didn’t delay his growth into a person he actually likes.

He sees other friends in Hawkins, only about a half hour away.

Joyce Byers always throws a Christmas Eve party and it’s the one day of winter break he enjoys. She works at Purdue in administration, but Steve’s known her since he was a kid.

He’s also been the unofficial town babysitter for several kids, including Joyce’s son, Will Byers. The kids are in high school now, which is frankly disturbing to think about, and they’re all getting too tall and losing their baby fat. It makes Steve feel ancient to see them and puts a pang in his heart because he doesn’t plan to come back to Hawkins.

It’s a small town, and after being at Purdue, Steve craves more of a social life. Nightlife. Dating more openly, depending on who it is. He’s not sure if he wants to live in Indianapolis, but he and Robin have been discussing a bigger city. Chicago or maybe somewhere totally different.

Miami or Seattle.

No more Indiana.

Steve hasn’t told Joyce or the kids about it, but he thinks it’ll be a terrible time when he does. For him, at least. Maybe the kids won’t care. They’re growing up and blossoming into independent individuals but Steve can easily picture them at ten.

But he enjoys the Christmas Eve party. It’s more home than his parents’ house has ever been, and hoo, isn’t that saying something? But these people are warm, inviting, funny, and they’re all close because of a bunch of crazy shit that went on a few years ago.

He never willingly wanted to be a babysitter, but life works in mysterious ways.

Robin and Steve drink spiked eggnog on the couch and watch the kids chat loudly as they sit in a circle on the living room floor.

“Do you think we’ll see this again?” Steve mumbles.

Robin rests her head on his shoulder. “Aw, boo. There’s no saying we can’t drive or fly out,” she whispers. “But them? Just like that? I don’t see them ever changing.”

“One day, they’re gonna be eighteen,” Steve sighs. “Eighteen, Robin.”

“I know. Just heartbreaking.”

“They were supposed to stay kids.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why do you guys keep staring at us like that?” Lucas asks, holding out his hands. “Like, every time we see you.”

Steve coughs a little. “Huh? Like what?”

The kids exchange glances.

Mike sighs tiredly. “Like when my mom makes me dress up for picture day at school,” he says. “Like that.”

Dustin points at him. “Exactly. That’s exactly what it is.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters. He smiles after Robin starts laughing. “No, no. Don’t laugh.”

“Oh my god,” Robin says. “We’re their parents.”

Steve giggles with her. “We totally are.”

“Oh, god,” Will mutters. “They’re drunk.”

“Off what, Byers?” Steve asks, raising his glass of eggnog. “This is a fat product. Not an alcoholic one.”

“I smelled it,” El says with a wan smile. “It’s both.”

“Blame your dad for that one.”

El nods. “I do. He said oops when he poured the cognac and rum in.”

“Oops, my ass,” Robin chuckles. “Super tasty, though.”

“Very tasty,” Steve agrees. “Very gonna need a designated driver.”

The kids look at each other and shake their heads disapprovingly.

Yeah, whatever. They’ll experience their first hangover within the next few years, and once they get over it, they’ll start enjoying it.

Jesus Christ. Steve hopes they wait until they’re twenty-one, but this is Hawkins, and there’s not much to do as teenagers but go to house parties and drink. Which is a terrifying prospect, so Steve gets another glass of eggnog.

——

The January newsletter goes out on the second Friday of the month.

Steve’s had time to clear his head; if Grove comes back, he’ll ignore the guy. He promised himself he would because what’s it really doing besides adding annoyance and stress onto his already full plate?

It’s cold, and there’s too much snow outside, but thankfully, the campus isn’t far from home. And home is always warm—living with Robin has been one of the best decisions of Steve’s life and they’ve been rocking it for three years now.

He feels sorry for the students who have to get up at six in the morning, even if he likes to complain about driving home at night in the snow. A lot of that has to do with other drivers and their inability to remember how to drive every winter.

But Steve’s weekends are free beyond the writing he does for the occasional check or classes.

Saturdays, however, aren’t as great as they once were.

Steve wakes up at eleven and checks his phone. He forgets about Grove until he opens his student email and scrolls through the comments he’s received so far.

Two from bgrove23, and Steve grits his teeth, shaking his phone before he opens them.

bgrove23
there’s gotta be other writers you go to class with who could put out better sports articles than you do. I can’t wait for the superbowl highlight reel disaster next month

bgrove23
is imperialism the one thing from 11th grade history that really stuck with you? confused about how it made its way into a southwestern corn chowder recipe. use poblano instead of jalapeno + replace half the chili powder with ancho chile powder. thank me later

“Robin!”

Robin groans from somewhere in the living room. “I saw them. Get out here before you start firing away!” she yells. “I’m about to make coffee and peanut butter waffles.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, then kicks off the sheets and comforter. He leaves his room and looks at Robin in the kitchen. “Peanut butter waffles?”

“Yes, Steve. Come. Join me,” Robin says, gesturing Steve closer. “Leave the phone. No, no. Further away… yes. The end table is good.”

He rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen. “Alright, baby,” Steve says and claps his hands together. “Peanut butter waffles. So simple, but so brilliant.”

“How,” Robin asks, putting the coffee pot on and glancing at Steve, “would you feel about peanut butter and banana waffles?”

“I mean… if it wouldn’t be totally gross, I’d so kiss you, lady,” Steve says. “Mad scientist.”

Robin nods gracefully. “You know it, dingus,” she says. “Except you just called me gross, soo. Once upon a time, you found me to be anything but gross.”

“I did,” Steve agrees. “But then you were a lesbian. And we’ve been best friends for, uhh… Jesus, seven years. We live together. So, you know. I’ve seen you at your worst. And god, I’m talking worst, Robin. At your grossest. Just plain ol’ disgusting.”

She laughs and waves a large spoon at Steve. “Oh, yeah, Harrington?” Robin asks. “So, is it banana or peanut butter you want to lose?”

“Aw, man. Don’t punish me for the truth,” Steve says. “You’ve also seen me at my worst, so it’s fair. We can be equally disgusted by each other.”

“True,” Robin says, narrowing her eyes. “Very true. You are a stinky, disgusting boy with cooties. Okay, peanut butter and banana waffles.”

“Let’s do it, baby.”

“So, Grove mentioned poblano instead of jalapeno.”

Steve groans. “Now you get to bring him up?”

“Shush. Remember I wanted to use poblano, but that smaller grocery store was closed? Now, ancho chile. We don’t have ancho chile. We should get some.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters. “You think I want to follow recipe tips from that fucker?”

“That fucker confirmed my poblano beliefs,” Robin says. “And I’m very interested in the ancho.”

Steve sighs and starts peeling bananas after Robin hands him a couple. “I guess he’d never know,” he says. “Can’t believe he quoted Frozen lyrics to me.”

Robin laughs. “I can. I believe this guy will say and do anything if it means getting you to respond,” she says. “Keep your head, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah. I do that just fine, thanks.”

She levels him with a long look, which is uncalled for, in Steve’s opinion.

But, then again, after the best waffles in the history of waffles have been devoured and Robin leaves to hang out with Vickie, Steve is stuck alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts, phone, and computer.

Steve Harrington
You could enjoy the Superbowl and not read my articles. That is a power you carry. The ability to not be a horse’s ass.

bgrove23
going to a SB party. how about you join me and I’ll help you write the next article?

Steve glares at his phone.

Steve Harrington
What’s your major again?

bgrove23
data science

Steve Harrington
I might believe it but it’s so not you.

bgrove23
got me again. I’m majoring in biology

Steve Harrington
Please tell me you’re not going into medicine.

bgrove23
nope. science education

Steve Harrington
I think education is worse. Especially science—those teachers make or break a school year. Besides, you’re full of pessimism and hatred of your fellow man, and I’m still waiting to find you interesting.

bgrove23
aw babe if you didn’t find me interesting you’d never bother with me. no worries. I have no patience for the youth. you tho? all day

Steve Harrington
Touch grass. It’s out there somewhere. Find a hobby. Go bowling. Ice fishing. Breathe in the fresh air. See a movie.

bgrove23
a hobby? in this economy?

Steve holds his hands over his face. Shakes his head. Despairs over this dude who he really wants to punch, especially because he’s not entirely annoying. Not today.

But he’s been super annoying and a complete jackass every other time, which Steve needs to remember.

Steve Harrington
I seem to remember something about meme culture devaluing writing.

bgrove23
I’m not the professional writer steve

They’re both getting way too many thumbs up. Steve doesn’t know why he realizes it just now, but with each comment they post to each other, multiple people are leaving thumbs up. Almost no thumbs down, and that’s… Jesus, that’s mortifying.

Definitely not professional.

Don’t feed the troll. He wasn’t supposed to do that and literally spent weeks promising himself he would not do that.

Steve rubs his temples and decides that’s enough for January’s issue. He’s got writing assignments and a few work projects to get sorted over the next couple of weeks.

He locks himself in his room and sits at his desk. Time flies once Steve is really in the groove of writing, and he forgets to eat lunch, but he has numerous snacks stashed in one of the desk drawers.

At six, Robin comes home, and she’s armed with Vickie.

Mini intervention, his ass, but Steve politely listens as they tell him not to feed Grove and that, clearly, this is becoming a spectacle. Steve knows all that, but he asks them to consider that Grove is still a monster. Multiple eyerolls, but whatever. It’s true and Steve will definitely keep saying it.

They have dinner and drink a whole lot of booze too. Saturday ends on a high note.

January does, too, because Purdue presents Steve with a little writer’s award for contributions to the school. He wonders if anyone at all reads the newsletter or if they simply don’t care about the comments, but Steve gets a glass award with his name on it.

Pretty nifty, actually, and Steve posts engagement-style photos with it at Robin’s suggestion. His favorite is the one with it lying on the pillow next to his as he grins like a madman.

His followers eat it up.

One of the comments does catch Steve’s attention that evening.

calilaunch23
adorable. do you add influencer to your resume too?

Steve is smack dab in the middle of writing a goddamn sports article for February’s newsletter when he sees the comment.

He gasps, points at his phone before he grabs it, takes a screenshot, and sends it to Robin.

ROBIN

Hmm

Don’t you hmm. You know it’s him. It is absolutely him and he’s on my ig page. ROBIN!

There are two pics on his page and nothing to suggest Purdue

Steve didn’t even think to check his page, which he absolutely does now. The guy doesn’t even list his name or… anything. The two pictures are both on a beach—in California, presumably—and one is taken with a dark blue Camaro in the foreground and sand and waves in the background while the setting sun lights up everything gold and violet.

The second picture is a rocket launch. The beach is crowded with people standing to watch and also in the water, and it looks… well, pretty badass.

But that’s it.

California launch? Is this dude super into space rockets? He doesn’t really seem the type for that, either. It’s not unusual to have transfers from all over the country, and Steve wonders how Grove’s doing in the snow.

How he’ll do for another few years of it.

Badly, Steve hopes.

Robin it’s him. Like so him. The 23. The vibes. It’s Grove.

I think you’re right boo. Can you practice a little self control on the ig

Yes I can do that Robin.

Good. It’s almost February Steve. I bet you can taste it

Starting to and it tastes pretty fucking sweet. Can’t wait.

Steve doesn’t respond to the comment on Instagram because he hardly ever does. There are too many and some are so stupid it hurts. He stopped weeding out the scams and advertisements when he realized how much time he was wasting, but otherwise, everyone is usually pretty cool.

It’s not like it’s hard to find his Instagram—Steve lists it in his school profile because he sometimes shares tidbits about his writing. But it feels like Grove is invading territory that is absolutely not his and Steve’s tempted to block him.

He really doesn’t have self-control when it comes to this guy. Not even a little bit because Steve doesn’t block him, and he submits his pieces for February’s newsletter with the anticipation that Grove will shit on them.

Yup. Saturday morning, the second Steve wakes up and checks his student email, he sees comments. Three goddamn comments.

bgrove23
gotta admit you went hard on this chicken tortilla soup. best looking one I’ve seen in a long time. another southwestern recipe in indiana. who are you trying to impress?

bgrove23
this is where you lost me tho. this is the one I knew would disappoint so I guess I gotta say you didn’t disappoint with the expected SB disaster article. I had as much fun reading this as I did the syllabus. at least I got the memories of the party I attended to hold near and dear cause no no no this aint it babe

bgrove23
should’ve gone to a trade school to learn to pick this apart and put it back together until it makes sense. did you read the book? is it the feudalism that got you turned around on the author’s commentary since we know you got a thing for imperialism?

Steve stares at his phone for a long stretch before he looks at the ceiling. Back to hating Grove full-time. Absolute bastard who should go back to California and chase his dreams, whatever the fuck they are, there.

Get him out of Steve’s hair.

He listens for Robin but doesn’t hear her, so Steve scoots around in bed until he’s comfortable.

Then he fires away.

Steve Harrington
Definitely not trying to impress you because I could do no wrong in life and you’d still find something, pal.

Steve Harrington
Do me a favor and go find Booger. Hear him out. Hear what he has to say about football and the NFL. Get back to me after.

He’s not touching the book one. No way. Steve understands the author’s commentary and the novel's entertainment value just fine—but everyone looks at fiction differently. He stands behind what he wrote and Grove can suck it.

Again, Steve isn’t halfway finished with breakfast when he checks his email and sees Grove has responded already like the bastard he is.

bgrove23
anyone who does no wrong in life did a whole lot of wrong. you’re heavily flawed steve and I question your credentials. a compliment from me on southwestern cuisine is an olive branch

bgrove23
babe if the next lowest tier from you is Booger, then you’ve got some real problems with sports writing. but we already knew that

Steve watches thumbs up steadily tick upward on the second comment and groans. He shoves his phone away and holds his head in his hands. Fuck, he hates this guy.

He grabs his phone again.

Steve Harrington
I’m sorry, where on earth were you extending an olive branch?

Steve Harrington
I’ve got dedicated readers of my sports articles. You’re a contrarian, so congrats on that. How about I accept your offer of an olive branch and we do as previously suggested? I’ll split the article with you.

Many, many thumbs up trickle in.

bgrove23
sure steve. your place or mine?

Lots of thumbs up.

Steve Harrington
How about neither?

Thumbs down.

bgrove23
guess what I major in and find me

Some up, some down.

n.wheeler87
At least give him a clue.

Steve wheezes a little and quickly closes the article and opens his messages. He has to scroll for a while to find Nancy’s name.

NANCY

This has been so fun to watch every month. You realize half the school reads the newsletter now, right? People are starting to talk about this.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Why are you letting him get to you?

Because he’s an asshole. Big time asshole.

No one says you have to respond.

God you sound like Robin.

Compliment taken.

I hate you both

Look at what he said!

Steve groans and opens the stupid fucking article again. His ex-girlfriend is a Junior majoring in business management, among other things. Honors courses and the whole shebang. How she does it is a mystery.

They don’t see each other except in Hawkins, really, because it’s a little weird to be the third wheel to her and Jonathan since they weren’t entirely broken up when her and Jonathan happened. Steve’s over it, considering it was years ago, but it’s still… a little weird.

Even weirder because Will Byers is Steve’s kid and Jonathan is his brother. Their mom literally works in administration, and Steve likes to bring her the good bagels from a tiny little corner store because the chew is real.

Small towns, man.

bgrove23
no problemo. college of engineering

Steve Harrington
Super helpful!

bgrove23
you know how hard I gotta work to get through your articles? your turn ;) come and find me

Steve is a little disturbed by how many thumbs up that gets. He closes the article and sets his phone aside, grabbing cold toast and munching on it.

There are over a dozen engineering majors, if Steve remembers right. And that’s if Grove is even telling the truth, which he might not be. Then again, some type of engineer suits his personality, but it could still be complete bullshit. Steve isn’t sure he wants to know and he definitely isn’t about to hunt Grove down.

Nope.

He’s a senior, he’s focused, eyes on the prize because it’s fucking February, and his thesis looks beautiful so far.

Steve looks at his phone as it buzzes and sees Robin’s name.

I cannot believe my eyes

Which part?

The part where you’re STILL responding to this guy but NANCY is encouraging it lmaaaao I’m dead

Apparently this has become a spectacle.

Do you not see how many people react to you absolute morons? They’re practically cheering for you to meet and kiss or kill each other

You know he’s a neckbeard. So, gross. And yeah I know that but I didn’t know it was something people talked about. What should I do?

Obviously you go and find him and kiss or kill him

It’s kill. You know that, right?

Only if he’s a neckbeard

Kill either way. Motherfucker is going down. DOWN. I don’t think I should tho.

It could be horrible but consider: it could also be totally cool

There are 17 majors in engineering Robin SEVENTEEN.

You know what this means, right?

Don’t even.

Joyce

Robin.

Joyce has the power boo

Never.

She can solve this mystery instantly and Grove would never even know…….

Jfc.

Smooches

——

Steve annoys the shit out of Robin on Sunday. It’s their day together and his prerogative to complain as much as he wants, but she seems to think he’s lost his chill pill and, maybe.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe Steve lost his chill pill a while ago.

Does he go to Joyce and ask her to probably violate standards or ethics or whatever? Does he go begging and pleading? Steve tells Robin she’ll either be a hard no or a gentle no, but Robin thinks differently. Still, they debate it for a long time until Robin shoves a beer and Playstation controller in Steve’s hand.

He finishes a writing assignment by two in the morning, crashes until ten, hits the shower, and drives to campus.

Steve’s nervous.

He admits it.

He’s a bit jittery. A wee bit anxious. Totally pissed off that Grove put him in this position, and, okay, Steve could back out. He could forget all of it, move on with his life, not worry anymore. Go to class and just… finish his year. Rock it.

Except Steve hasn’t been able to stop looking at his phone. Responding to comments. Getting pissed off, mostly, but sometimes trying not to laugh. Knowing an anonymous part of the school is literally watching them hasn’t stopped him and that would usually be a mood killer.

So, Steve drives to the main campus and makes the long, cold walk of shame to the administration office.

Joyce has a full-time job overseeing admission applications. They are due at different times of the year depending on the major someone’s going after or if they’re a transfer or out-of-state student. She’ll be handling transfers and out-of-state for the next school year until this one ends.

It pays pretty good money. Steve didn’t expect that expressing a little fear about visiting Purdue with only Robin in tow would earn him two honorary parents that day. Joyce and Hopper drove them to campus, and they got the whole tour and orientation and all that—Joyce got a fucking job.

Everything worked out super well that night.

So, the ball is in Steve’s court.

He walks into the office, and the ladies in the front recognize Steve so well they simply smile and tease him about no bagels or other treats.

Steve walks into the long hallways behind the front office and to Joyce’s territory. She works with two other people, but this is her office, and she’s super cool, but, man, Joyce is a leader. She walked in and stepped right into a higher position.

“Good morning,” Steve says as he walks into a large, quiet, comfortable office. He spins in a circle and points at Joyce. “How’s everyone living life?”

Joyce glances up from her computer. “Hey, Steve,” she says. She grimaces. “My god. Did you forget coffee or drink too much of it?”

“No, no,” Steve says. “The coffee helped, actually.”

“You okay, bud?” Jack asks as he swivels around in his chair to look at Steve. “You do look pretty wired.”

“No bagels?” Joyce asks, holding out her hands. “Oh, kiddo. What happened?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ. This is me at my best. I showered. Did the hair. Glasses are on straight. What’s the problem?” Steve asks as he leans against Joyce’s desk. He crosses his arms. “I’m fucked and I’m cashing in.”

Joyce cringes and leans back in her office chair. “How much?”

“At least half.”

“Is there a high probability of jail time?”

“Uhh. No? You’re literally married to the Chief of Police.”

“In Hawkins,” Joyce snorts. “He hates the guy out here. Mark.”

“Mark. Mark, right,” Steve mutters. “Nope. No jail time.”

“Then what’re you cashing in on?”

Steve squints. “I need… a name,” he says slowly. “A student’s name. And his major. And his next class.”

Joyce scoffs and laughs. “Oh, honey. In your dreams,” she says, waving her hand. She pats the top of her monitor. “This baby is considered confidential.”

“Alright. Then I’m cashing it all in.”

“What are you cashing in, exactly?” Tracy asks, swiveling around in her chair. “Does it have to do with the kids?”

“Bingo,” Steve says, clapping his hands. “The kids. I am owed… so, so, so many goddamn favors. I’m owed time. I’m owed literal years of my life back. From all the time I’ve spent with them and all the time they’ve scared the living shit out of me.”

Joyce sighs and smiles sympathetically. “You’re right. I owe you all that and more, Steve. Still a big no.”

“Aw, man! C’mon!” Steve says, throwing up his arms. “He literally wants me to find him.”

“What the heck does that mean?”

“He told me! Come and find me. Engineering. Might be bullshit, but I’ve got his student profile username. So, you know. He wants this. It’s not just me.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “It kind of sounds like you two are planning a brawl on campus,” he says and looks at Tracy as she nods tiredly. “I’m with Joyce. Big no.”

Joyce snickers. “Sorry, honey. I can’t help. Especially not with stuff better left at recess in elementary.”

He groans and leans across her desk, resting his chin on his forearms. “Joyce,” Steve says. “Please? He’s a total prick.”

“Not surprising if you want to have a brawl with him.”

“He bullies me.”

Joyce looks at Steve, narrowing her eyes. “Bullies you, huh? And you only know him by his student username?” she asks. “How’s he bullying you?”

“My articles!” Steve complains. “My beautiful, perfectly written articles. And, you know, whatever. People are entitled to their opinions. I encourage debate. But this guy. This fucking guy, Joyce. He’s a troll.”

“And… a troll is…?”

“An online asshole! Someone who fucks around and pisses people off for shits and giggles. An online bully,” Steve says. “You know I never want to get into a brawl ever again. So, you have to help me hunt him down and then I can yell at him.”

“Ever again?” Jack asks. “You’ve gotten into brawls before, Steve?”

Steve shrugs. “I was young once. It happened. More than once, maybe. I’d like to add that one of those was protecting the children,” he says, looking at Joyce. “Do you remember what I looked like?”

“As pitiful as you do now,” Joyce says dryly. “Oh my god, Steve. You’re above trolls.”

“Hoo. Not this one.”

“Found him,” Tracy says as she clicks away at her desk. “On February’s issue. So, you impressed him here. And then… yeah, he said you’re more boring than the syllabus.”

“Ohh,” Joyce says teasingly, looking at Steve. “Ouch.”

“Should’ve gone to a trade school to pick apart and put… put your article back together,” Tracy says, laughing. “Oh my god.”

“I agree with his point on Booger. You can’t go lower than Booger,” Jack says as he reads the newsletter on his computer. “But he’s definitely being a little shit. Your sports articles are great, Steve.”

“See! See!” Steve says, gesturing emphatically at Jack. “All he does is shit on them.”

Joyce frowns as she looks at Tracy and Jack, then turns to her computer. “Okay, I wanna see,” she says. “Come help me get to the newsletter.”

Steve smacks the desk before hurrying around it. He points at a picture she has of all the kids, probably ten years old, all dressed as different slashers from the olden days.

“Cutest shit I’ve ever seen.”

He kneels at Joyce’s side and takes the mouse from her, navigating to the newsletter. “But the fun thing about this,” he says, “is that it’s been going on since September. Literally the first issue. And then I made the mistake of trying to take him down, so he took it as a challenge. He went through all of last year’s articles too.”

Tracy laughs. “Aren’t these kids supposed to be busy?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“From where I’m sitting, you respond to him pretty regularly, Steve,” Joyce says. She reads through the comments and snorts a few times before going back to January. And December. “Oh my god. Oh, he’s funny.”

Steve looks at her, his jaw dropped. “No way. Take that back,” he says. “No, no, no. We don’t find this asshole funny. He’s harassing me.”

“No! He’s funny. He’s cute when he’s not being a jerk. He’s trying to get your attention, sweetie,” Joyce says and pats Steve’s cheek. “Hop pulled my hair in second grade.”

“Okay, but that’s not good either.”

“When did I say it was? I kicked him between the legs,” Joyce says. “He was too embarrassed to tell on me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve laughs with Tracy and Jack. “Well, never gonna let him forget that one. C’mon! See. You’re comparing it to that. This is not good. A campaign of harassment. He literally wants me to come and see him. Give me this dude’s name and class, and I’m out of your hair for the rest of the year.”

Joyce eyeballs Steve. “And it’s just to talk to him?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, holding up his hands. “I swear it.”

“Hmm,” Joyce hums and glances back at Tracy and Jack. “That’s gotta be breaking a rule or two.”

“Too bad the boss isn’t around to see,” Jack says, winking.

“Alright,” Joyce says, pointing her finger at Steve’s nose. “No brawling. No getting anyone into trouble. Just, you know… let’s see what he looks like. Maybe we can invite him to dinner.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, honey. You gotta admit he’s funny.”

“I absolutely do not.”

Joyce sighs and opens a program on her computer. She types bgrove23 into a student username line and a profile pops up. A lot of numbers and jargon Steve doesn’t understand, but he does see a picture.

“Oh,” Joyce says and tilts her head. “Oh, huh.”

Steve stares at William Hargrove’s student ID picture.

He’s not smiling, but the light blue backdrop, well… Jesus, he’s not a neckbeard, that’s for damn sure. Kind of the opposite, but that probably makes him a frat boy jackass which might be even worse.

His dirty blond hair is cut and styled short, and he has a light amount of facial hair. Otherwise, he is intense, and those baby blue eyes are fucking killer. It’s not difficult to tell William is in shape either, and Steve’s a little distracted by his open collar, sadly cut off by the frame.

“He goes by Billy,” Joyce says, gesturing at the nickname section. “Billy Hargrove. Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering. He’s in his third year but a transfer through his fifth. Combined BS and MS. It’s an excellent program.”

“His name is Billy,” Steve says numbly as he stares at Billy’s picture. “And he’s an astronaut. Astronautical thing. Aeronautical engineer! An engineer!”

Joyce raises her eyebrows. “Yeesh. Is it the good looks or smarts that surprise you the most?”

“He is not… good… never mind,” Steve says hastily, waving his hands. “Billy from California, space rocket engineer in the making. And resident troll of my fucking articles for no reason other than he’s bored.”

“Oh, that Frozen song,” Tracy says suddenly, laughing. “Oh, he is funny.”

Steve stands and smiles blandly between them. “I regret everything,” he says. “I regret coming here. I mean, he’s literally making me go insane once a month. And he’s not funny all the time. He’s harsh and brutal for no reason. Troll.”

“Super handsome troll,” Joyce says with a smile. “After all this, you’re not going to see him? He’s in the aircraft lab but that’s wrapping up soon. Then he’s back in the classroom.”

“The aircraft lab,” Steve repeats. “I don’t even know where that is, so, you know. Maybe that’s my sign. No, no. Joyce.”

Joyce opens a drawer and smacks a map on her desk. “As long as you promise not to make a scene. I think you should hash things out. You never know,” she says. “He could say sorry.”

“Hoo. Ma’am, you have no idea what a troll is,” Steve says, pointing at her, grabbing the map and backing to the door. “Thank you. He’s not funny or handsome or anything like that. But thanks.”

“Go get him, Steve,” Tracy says, holding up her fist. “Give him the what for.”

“I so will. I’ll bring bagels next time. You guys are the best,” Steve says, saluting them before he leaves. He looks down at the map and finds the aircraft lab.

It’s pretty huge, so it’s not too difficult. Steve will have to drive because he’s not walking, but whatever. Billy Hargrove will be headed to class around then, so Steve hopes to intercept and yell at him.

The building is enormous, and Steve supposes that’s because there are so many labs for numerous engineering majors. But the kids have forced him to be good with directions, and the directory is self-explanatory. Super weird seeing Astronautical in there because Billy is… well, these kids are nerds.

Kids who work on spacecraft that go to the moon or explore the galaxy are total nerds. But Billy didn’t look that way, and Steve supposes it’s not all computer work—he’ll be hands-on with planes and other aircraft, learning to take them apart and put them back together. Bastard. And Billy doesn’t necessarily need the degree to work on spacecraft, either.

There are probably a million jobs a Master’s will get him.

So, maybe Billy is intelligent. Total prick. Not a neckbeard. Handsome and definitely, most likely, a frat boy. Which is still worse.

Steve knows he can’t enter the aircraft lab, which is fine, but he follows the arrows that point him toward it.

A wide doorway is up ahead and Steve can see a door straight across leading into one of those big aircraft bay things. Students are milling around the entrance, chatting and laughing, and they don’t even notice Steve slip by them.

It’s a large room. There are desks kind of haphazardly strewn across the middle of it and men's and women’s changing rooms on each far wall. Changing rooms because half the kids in here are in those things. Those things people who work near aircraft wear—the one piece of garment over their clothes. Steve doesn’t know what they’re called.

They’re dark blue with Purdue’s name stitched over the left chest in black and gold.

Some students are sitting at desks with pencils and paper, but one is not. He’s standing at a desk in the far left corner, leaning over it on his elbows, tapping the pencil idly against his cheek.

Steve assumes those outfit things are supposed to be reasonably loose and comfortable, but when he’s got his arms bent like that, the material stretches over his bicep and hoo.

So not the reason Steve’s here.

No.

No, no.

He’s here to yell.

Steve stomps to Billy’s desk and smacks his hands against it.

Billy doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he glances up, an eyebrow quirked, and it seems like he’s expecting a fellow student, but he’s got Steve.

And his entire demeanor changes.

Oh, Steve could smack that broadening grin off his face. He really, really wants to because Billy is a fucking troll who has been causing him undue stress in his Senior year and deserves it.

But Steve didn’t expect Billy.

“Am I dreamin’, or is that you, Stevie?” Billy asks. His grin is white and big, and he looks like a smarmy bastard, posture much looser than just a few seconds ago. “You found me.”

“Oh, you fucker. You bet I did,” Steve says and points at Billy. “We have things to discuss.”

“Aw, babe,” Billy says. “You sound so mad. I didn’t upset you, did I?”

“I will literally deck you,” Steve says. “Don’t you babe me. This is my fourth year, and it’s been smooth sailing, you know? It’s been great. Most people want their fellow students to succeed, but no. Not you. I’m graduating in a few months, and I want to go out without any greys, but buddy, you’re gonna put them there. So, fine! Write a fucking article with me. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Billy grins, pressing his hands flat on the desk and leaning closer to Steve. “Sounds good to me,” he says. “No worries, guys. Stevie boy here is just in his feelings.”

Steve stares at Billy before he looks over his shoulder and sees everyone in the room staring at them. “Is he always like this? Like, was he born this way?” he asks and looks at Billy, who looks far too tickled. “It’s on, baby. We are going to sit and write together.”

“Alright, man,” Billy says and sticks out his hand. “I stand by my word. If you gotta have eyes on me while we write together, no problem.”

He doesn’t have to say it in that tone or look into Steve’s soul, either, but whatever. Steve grabs his hand and firmly shakes it. Ignores how warm Billy is.

“I usually like to write in peace,” Steve says. “Library?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Can you keep your head in the library, Steve?” he asks. “I got this big feeling that all you’re gonna do is yell at me.”

Steve stares at him. “Okay, maybe no library,” he says. “My apartment complex has a lounge. No one ever uses it. I live seven minutes from here if it’s not snowing or raining. I will yell at you there, but we’re getting this done. You are my incredibly unwelcome featured guest writer for March’s issue.”

“Incredibly unwelcome,” Billy teases, winking. “You know which one we’re workin’ on together?”

Groaning, Steve looks at the ceiling. “Fucking sports. The fucking sports one,” he says and looks at Billy. “Shut up. It’s not funny. Literally no one but you has a problem with my sports articles.”

“Awful confident for the guy who gets a whole lotta downvotes responding to my critique,” Billy says and waggles his eyebrows. “Thank fuckin’ god the football season is over.”

“Mhmm. Mhmm,” Steve hums, crossing his arms. “Yeah, thank fucking god. But now it’s time for me to hit the end of the NBA’s season and playoffs.” He points at Billy. “And I won three championships while I played. So, hit me with your best shot.”

“Now, I can’t believe that,” Billy says, looking Steve up and down. “A basketball player, Stevie?”

“Hoo. Just you wait, man,” Steve says. “Give me your damn number.”

Billy cackles and unzips the front of his uniform thing. He pulls his arm out of the sleeve and lets it hang as he grabs his phone from his pocket. “Take it and text me,” he says. “Promise I won’t blow up your phone.”

Steve shakes his head as he angrily puts Billy’s number in his phone and names him Troll. “What a load of horseshit,” he says, smiling blandly after Billy laughs. Definitely does not find him attractive. “I’m blocking you the second we’re done.”

“Sure, Steve,” Billy says and looks at his phone as it buzzes. “That’s not nice.”

“See you at the end of the month,” Steve says, flipping Billy off. “Chicken out and I will write about it.”

“I don’t chicken out of shit,” Billy says and wiggles his fingers. “Can’t wait for our date, babe. What should I wear? Somethin’ to accentuate what I have goin’ on?”

“Sorry, what do you have going on?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows as he backs to the doorway. “Later, asshole.”

“Ooo. Somebody’s got a case of the Mondays. Later, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head as he leaves. He shakes his head as he leaves the building and as he walks to his car. He yanks open the door and slumps into it, grabbing his phone.

Troll has already fucking texted him.

Your instagram pics are cute but you’re so much prettier in person babe

I will block you right now.

So feisty. I’ll bring you something sweet at the end of the month

Bring a computer and that’s literally it. I’m going to class goodbye don’t text me until I text you.

What will I do without you for two and a half whole weeks? I’ll waste away

Then perish.

Steve rubs his temples as Billy sends him a crying meme. Jesus fucking Christ, this dude is going to kill him. Why’d he have to look like that? Or sound like that? Why’d he ever have to pop up in Steve’s comments section?

He sends a text to Robin.

His name is Billy Hargrove, he’s a monster, we’re meeting at the end of the month to write an article together. He is somehow way worse face to face.

OMG YOU DID IT. Is he a total neckbeard?

No. He’s an asshole. More on the frat boy side of things.

Ok but now I have to know what he looks like

He looks like a douchebag. I hate him and everything about him.

Ask him for a pic

Robin.

You have to Steve

Nope. Not adding that to the list of things he will never let me forget as long as I live. He’s a complete nightmare.

I need a pic in case he murders you so I can say yes it was this man. This Billy man aka bgrove23. Hopper will enact justice upon him

Jfc. NO.

But what if he murders you?

Joyce literally has his picture and SSN.

Since when is one pic enough for a murderer

Robin I s2g. I have to go to class.

Boo you’ve got an hour. Pic!!!!!

Steve’s eye twitches but he switches to Billy’s texts.

Send me a picture. My friend wants it if you happen to murder me first. We’re good friends with the police chief.

If that’s what you’d like me to believe. I took this one with you in mind

Steve shouldn’t have asked for a picture. Should not have—he knew better. He stares at it before he groans and covers his face with his hands. Shakes his head for a while, then peeks at the picture again.

Billy is lying in the snow. It’s a bright day, so the sun is shining, and he’s lying in the fucking snow, wearing a thick blue coat with a hood behind his head. He’s holding the phone up high enough to show part of a snow angel, but that’s something Steve barely notices.

Oh, he remembers the snow angel thing.

But Billy’s eyes are so startlingly blue in the sunlight, and he could be a fucking model if he never opened his mouth and spoke to anyone.

Should. Not. Have. Asked.

Obviously, Steve can’t send this to Robin. He knows what she’ll say and it’ll be downhill from there. He doesn’t need two monsters harassing him while he’s trying to fucking graduate and get on with his life. Be a professional writer and homebody and maybe get a cat.

Never think about Billy Hargrove ever again.

You made a snow angel and it did absolutely nothing for you.

I think I might’ve even touched grass

So this is built in.

I’m loveable. You missed the memo babe

Steve shakes his head and looks at the roof of his car before he saves Billy’s picture. He switches to Robin’s text and holds his breath as he sends her the picture.

Don’t say a fucking word.

Can I say holy fucking SHIT

Robin.

Steve I have so many words to say

Shut it. Going to class bye.

I will say all the words tonight

“Can’t fucking wait,” Steve mutters and starts the car. “Beware the Ides of fucking March, baby.”

Steve drives to his end of the campus and tries not to think of anything but writing assignments. Actual classwork. His thesis. But more than half of the two classes he takes in the afternoon want to chat with him about his damn troll, and Steve could cry.

He so could.

——

If Steve could ask for one month of the school year to slow down, it’d be February. What does February have? Nothing. It has nothing but classes and no good holidays. So theoretically, it could be slow.

But it isn’t.

Hoo, baby, it isn’t.

Steve has two weeks to agonize over seeing Billy and sitting next to him. Listening to him tear apart his writing as he’s writing. Sure, he’ll return the favor, but Billy knows where he lives. Why did Steve choose where he literally lives?

And Billy isn’t super obnoxious, but he texts Steve a… few handfuls of times. Enough to threaten to block him, but that’s only because he makes it his life’s mission to annoy the fuck out of Steve.

Except he’s not entirely annoying. He’s funny, and they both complain about Valentine’s Day on the fourteenth and suddenly, two hours pass. First, it was nine, now it’s eleven and Steve is in bed giggling at things Billy is texting him.

He asks if he’s a night owl and Billy assures him he is not and stayed up two hours past his usual bedtime. That part is not lost on Steve; if he keeps thinking about it until the last week of February, no one has to know.

Robin shakes her head at him when he complains about Billy and the stupid mistake of exchanging numbers, let alone planning to meet up and write together.

She tells him he can simply say no, but that’s a load of bullshit.

Steve’s not backing down, and Billy has been trolling him since September, so it’s still on.

So on.

He does ask Billy one question because he thinks he’s owed it and Steve is beyond curious.

Dude. Why?

What else is there to do in West Lafayette

That’s literally the worst point you could make.

Not even going out with friends is that fun

Jfc the worst.

You like me

Definitely do not.

Sure Stevie

They meet on the twenty-fourth of the month. It’s cold, and a storm dumped a bunch of snow on the ground last night, which Billy is not fond of. He is very much against cold temperatures and snow, but he’s got a couple more years of it before he can get back to California and work on fucking space rockets.

Putting them together and taking them apart. Billy has always been interested in working on any engine he can get his hands on, including aircraft, because one of his buddies worked at a small airport back home. Billy worked as a mechanic for a couple of years, but he and his little sister always watched rocket launches together, and he realized one day that he was smart enough to put his hands on one.

Kind of like Steve realized one day that he was smart enough to go to Purdue and become a professional writer.

Whatever.

Steve does not enjoy talking with Billy.

The lounge in the apartment complex is right off the office, and it’s a big, beautiful room. Long, vertical windows stretch up to an arched ceiling with wooden beams. The whole place is windows beyond the fireplace, which crackles with fresh firewood.

These people rob their tenants blind every month, and no one ever uses the lounge, so Steve’s not sure why the furniture has to be so expensive. All airy, cream-colored couches and light blue armchairs with about a thousand throw pillows. Another room off the main lounge has a full fucking kitchen for parties, but thankfully, not many people want to pay for that.

Still, it’s pretty and Steve enjoys the view of the snow outside. Fresh powder sits piled up at the bottom of each windowsill, and over bushes and the patches of grass they spend a fortune on making pristine and perfect in the spring and summer.

Steve sits on the couch, which faces guest parking, which means he gets a good view of Billy too.

The stupid blue Camaro. It’s only a couple of years old, but it fits Billy, and Steve might wonder how he can afford it if he didn’t drive a BMW given to him by his dad.

The stupid blue coat. The picture of Billy in the snow is burned into Steve’s retinas for life. He is a little distracted by just how pissed off Billy looks, though, and Steve pushes his glasses up as he watches him yank open the office door, the laptop case in his hand swinging.

He smiles as he’s greeted by the front office, but Billy sees Steve and definitely did not have that swagger in his step two seconds ago, but Steve lets him because he’s stupid and attractive, and it’s funny.

“Hey, Stevie,” Billy says. “I like your sweater.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

Definitely will not tell Billy that Robin picked out his sweater.

“Thanks. I like your red nose,” Steve says and smiles after Billy sighs. He sinks onto the couch next to Steve, and he tries not to think about how good he smells, but he’s kind of flooded with the scent of Billy’s cologne. “It’s almost spring, man.”

“If a fuckin’ month away is almost,” Billy says. He pulls out a laptop and opens it. “How’s it goin’, babe? This is a nice place.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums. “Spend a fortune on the lounge and install the cheapest fixtures in the units that fall off if you look at them wrong.”

Billy laughs. “Yeah? Bet they’ve got granite countertops.”

“Well, yeah. They have to compete with everyone else. Do you think that means it was cut properly? Hoo, buddy. No fucking way. You know those tiles that look like hardwood, but they’re super expensive?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Those, but vinyl,” Steve says. “Fucking vinyl. And vinyl has come a long way, I have to admit. It can look nice. Here? No way.”

“Stevie,” Billy says, looking at Steve. “They got faux hardwood floors and granite countertops, and you’re complaining. Your rich ass would never survive in the senior residence halls.”

Steve sighs. “I am not rich. For the millionth time,” he says. “Do you know how much writers make? Do you know how much part-time writers make? I’ve heard the residence halls aren’t bad.”

Billy holds up one finger. “Roommate I didn’t choose,” he says. Another finger. “We’re lucky if we got three hundred square feet with a bathroom.” A third finger. “Enclosed building and thin doors. I gotta hear every fuckin’ conversation that someone has in the hallway.”

“Okay, yeah. But that’s dorm life, baby. It’s way worse in the regular dorms. Isn’t your roommate a guy you go to class with?”

“I told you he stays up late like you. He plays video games, man, and getting him to wear headphones is a weekly battle. I’m gonna knock his teeth loose the last week of school.”

“Oh? Oh, you know that feeling? You know what it’s like to want to knock someone’s teeth loose?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows. “Do you? I feel he shares that desire, so I’ll be thinking of him when I knock yours loose at the end of the day.”

Billy cackles and tilts his head back. “Fuuuck,” he says and grins at Steve. “I got on your last nerve, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” Steve says and cracks his knuckles. “You are too old for trolling, man. Goddamn Junior. And it endears you to literally no one. I want you to know that I hate you. Like, from the bottom of my heart.”

“I know, babe. You tell me every time we text, yet you keep replying,” Billy says airily. “You ready to do this?”

“Been ready,” Steve says. He smacks open a document. “I’ve got my outline for the first NBA article.”

“You started without me?”

“Uhh. You get no say in my outlines,” Steve says. “Not even slightly. I’ve left a lot of room for you to do whatever magic you think you have.”

Billy tsks. “You’re so mean,” he says and leans closer to peer at Steve’s computer screen. “Fuckin’ hell, Stevie. Do you hate every goddamn sport out there? I thought you were Mister Championship.”

“I am. If you can’t critique the things you love, then you don’t really love them. And critiquing is kind of my whole thing when it comes to sports. Maybe it’s exhausting to you, but people like what I write because of how I write it.”

“Who says I don’t like what you write?” Billy asks. “I compliment you all the time.”

“Well, that’s a load of—”

“Shh,” Billy says, shaking his finger. “We got an article to write.”

Steve sighs and looks at his computer. “Cannot wait to hear all your compliments,” he says dryly. “Let’s do it.”

He barely gets two sentences down before Billy opens his mouth. Steve points threateningly at him and manages to get a solid five minutes of writing in before Billy swats Steve’s hands away.

Billy adds comments in parentheses following sentences he has a problem with. Steve lets him do it, for the most part, pointedly erases ones he won’t let fly, and they talk basketball. It’s super distracting trying to write an article while they do, but Billy knows basketball as well as Steve does, and while they have their opinions—Billy’s are wrong—they get along for the most part.

It takes a few hours. Billy hits a vending machine for snacks and they’ve got a fridge full of free water bottles in the lounge.

By the time they’re wrapping up the article, they’re slumped against the couch, pressed shoulder to shoulder, sliding the laptop across a long pillow between each other.

Billy hasn’t really written his own half. They forgot about that part, but Jesus, he might as well have with all the goddamn comments littering the document. Steve makes him take the foul language out because he’s not allowed to use any; otherwise, they scroll up and down along the document and consider it.

“Huh,” Steve says.

“The format works.”

“It does. It does fucking work,” Steve mutters, tapping his chin. “Jesus. Okay, well. Gotta edit it and we’ll throw your username in before every comment that makes the cut. Bam, guest writer. Do you want to write a small blurb at the end?”

“Sure,” Billy says, wiggling his fingers until Steve slides him the laptop. “I’ll write a blurb. We should take a couple of pictures and add ‘em. Let your readers know we’ve set aside our differences.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Hmm,” he hums. “Yeah, okay. Maybe. Put ‘em on Instagram, too, so more people read the newsletter. Sure.”

“Right on, babe,” Billy says. “Right after I blurb you.”

“Jesus,” Steve laughs. “Just know it’s subject to the chopping block.”

Billy smiles, glancing at Steve, then at the computer. He doesn’t say anything, just types away, and Steve doesn’t stare like Billy stared the entire time. He’s lucky he’s got confidence on his side, or he might have forgotten how to write.

After a few paragraphs, Billy slides the laptop back to Steve.

“You’re already so mean to me, but I don’t mind if you’re harsh.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums. “So mean, man. I make your life a living hell.”

He smiles after Billy chuckles and adjusts his glasses, reading the blurb.

Chaos is my friend. Bob Dylan said that once upon a time. With no zeal or sense of irony, he was also quoted saying, I’ve never written a political song. He said he was inconsistent, even to himself. I firmly believe that Mr. Dylan will admit it was all drivel one day, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find meaning in his words and relate to them.

Steve and I collaborated side by side to write this article, yet, I find no meaning or relatability to his bizarre semi-hatred, semi-zest for the world of sports. That doesn’t make me part of the majority or imply his writing has less meaning because of one troll’s opinion. His passion, while seemingly wildly misplaced, is impossible to mistake.

But, to quote another great man: it’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

At the end of the day and after setting our differences aside, that’s okay. Steve’s a good guy and I’ve forgiven him for everything.

When can I take you to dinner?

Steve’s heart skips a beat as he finishes reading. He’s been sitting here shaking his head, rubbing his temple and grinning like a moron, but that last line hits him like a ton of bricks.

His stomach swoops, and Steve bites hard on his lip, a little afraid to look at Billy.

Jesus Christ.

If he could melt into the couch and vanish forever, he’d die happy.

“Oh my god,” Steve mutters. He takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“C’mon. That was beautifully written,” Billy says. He plucks Steve’s glasses out of his hands and puts them on. “How do I look?”

Steve squints at him. “I dunno,” he says slowly. “Kind of like a blob.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Billy says, taking the glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “The fuck is wrong with your eyes?”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs and puts them back on. “I’m gonna get that laser eye surgery one day when I can afford it.”

Billy rests his elbow on the top of the couch and his chin in his hand. “Yeah?” he asks, grinning. “You look good with ‘em on and off. How come you don’t do contacts?”

“Hoo,” Steve says. “You are way underestimating how lazy I am.”

“Guess I am,” Billy says, raising his eyebrows. “You’re a procrastinator too.”

“Big time,” Steve says and smiles, looking at the computer screen. “For lots of things, you know. But I dunno. That last line. Smooth. But you’ve been a literal menace since September, so you’ve got that working against you.”

Billy nods, squinting. “Uh-huh. So, I gotta make up for it,” he says. “No problem. Give me until September. See how you feel then.”

“Yeah?” Steve laughs. “All the way until September, huh? How about I give you one night first? Let’s start from there.”

“Deal. It’s Saturday. We could start tonight.”

“Pushing your luck,” Steve mutters, but he sighs because he thinks he gave in a while ago. A couple of weeks ago, probably. “Alright, fine. You seem to critique my pasta recipes less than the others, which is the only smart thing about you.”

“Ooo. Ignorin’ that in favor of pasta. Are you gonna make me dinner, Stevie?”

“You can use my kitchen and make me dinner.”

“Deal.”

Steve shakes his head and shuts his laptop. “I’m going to regret this,” he says. “I can feel it.”

Billy pats Steve’s knee. “Not gonna let you regret it,” he says. His laptop is already packed away, and Billy stands, offering his hand. “Show me this horrible place with faux hardwood and granite countertops.”

He laughs and takes Billy’s hand. “Man, shut up,” Steve says. “At least Robin is out with Vickie tonight.”

“Ashamed of me already?”

“No, that’s not it. I’ve got this feeling that if you two met, you’d burn down West Lafayette together.”

“That makes me want to meet her more.”

“Not happening.”

It’s funny how Billy’s mood drops with the temperature outside and how fast his nose gets red. But he bumps shoulders with Steve as they walk to his building and into the apartment. It’s toasty and cozy, and Steve cleaned the whole place after he woke up to sweat out the nerves.

“This is a nightmare, Steve. Why do you put yourself through this?”

Steve sighs and grabs two beers out of the fridge. “Put your money where your mouth is, Hargrove,” he says. “Do you know penne alla vodka?”

“The only time I let that much cream near any sauce I make,” Billy says and winks. “I got you, babe.”

The horrible thing about it is that Billy really does. The man oozes confidence and a lot of other things, but once he’s got everything where he wants it, Billy works as smoothly in the kitchen as Steve does. Robin, too, if she wasn’t filled with frenetic energy half the time.

Steve doesn’t help much and mostly enjoys the show. The jeans do a lot for Billy, and so does the light blue button-up shirt he has on that is unbuttoned way, way too low.

Like, Jesus Christ. Way too low.

They eat at the table, and god, Steve hates him. He does. He wants to hate Billy, but he can’t. He’s too charming, and he makes Steve laugh until his stomach hurts, and he flirts relentlessly now that he’s ensnared Steve in his grasp.

It’s easy to take pictures together, pulling faces or grinning, showing their empty plates and promising a collab article, all to post on Instagram and a few throughout the article.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever spent so long sitting at the kitchen table, but they’re warm, well-fed, in the middle of great conversations, and they don’t think about moving.

“You still haven’t told me how you found me.”

“Yes, I did. I asked enough people on campus who was the biggest asshole around, and they pointed me straight to you.”

Billy grins. “You can lie better than that, Stevie,” he says. “Come on. How’d you find out?”

Steve holds up his hands. “That’s for me to know. You will literally never find out,” he says. “I’ll use your tactic of a different answer to the same question soon.”

“It’s not like I thought you’d believe me if I told the truth. Just didn’t want anyone else to believe it,” Billy says. “It was a big hit with my classmates, though.”

“Sure, it was.”

“I’m serious. Most of ‘em,” Billy says. “They’re still askin’ each other if they want to build a snowman.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters. “I mean, I know you know. But Robin had to tell me what you were doing.”

Billy cackles. “I was hoping it’d go on longer, man. I figured someone did,” he says. “Everyone else Max’s age loved that shit at the time. She didn’t, but we both knew the songs. She’d sing ‘em to annoy me.”

“Every time you mention your sister, she gets cooler,” Steve laughs. “Though she kind of sounds like you.”

“Don’t say that in front of her, Stevie. She’ll never forgive you for it,” Billy says. “She’s fourteen now, man. She wants to come up and see the school and doesn’t believe me about how fuckin’ horrible it is here.”

“Uhh,” Steve says. “Well, it’s small. Not a whole lot to do. Yeah, she’d probably hate it as much as you do. You’ve got two more years, buddy.”

“Don’t remind me,” Billy sighs. “Gonna look real nice on a resume, but I gotta suffer the winters here. And allergy season never ends. It never fuckin’ ends, Steve.”

Steve laughs, leaning back. “Nope,” he says. “You can take meds for that, you know. Like, you don’t have to suffer all year long. Because spring is coming and it’s going to kick your ass.”

Billy shakes his head. “There are three things I like about Indiana so far and I got here in late August,” he says. “The program is kickass sometimes and I’m comin’ out of it with a dual degree. The backroads are nice to drive during the summer and fall. I don’t gotta worry about getting stuck in standstill traffic and cops aren’t hanging out anywhere.”

“And the third?”

“You gotta ask?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head, looking at his empty plate. “You know,” he sighs and looks at Billy, “if there’s one thing I didn’t expect from you, it’s a romantic side. You have to be at least a little nice for that.”

Billy laughs. “I’m plenty nice,” he says. “But I can show you nicer. I promised you somethin’ sweet.”

“Okay, sure. Fine. Give me sweet, Billy.”

The apartment door unlocks and swings open.

Robin walks in and glances around, then at the kitchen table before her eyebrows inch slowly upward as she looks between Steve and Billy.

“Oh my god.”

“Robin,” Steve says hastily. “Where’s Vickie?”

“In my car, dingus,” Robin says. “Oh my god,” she repeats as she walks into the kitchen and opens a drawer. She looks at Steve. “What did I say this morning? Hey, Billy. Robin Buckley, by the way. What did I say, Steve?”

“Robin,” Steve hisses. “Shut up. You didn’t say anything. Not a word.”

“I gotta know what you said,” Billy says, holding out his hands. “Good to meet you, Robin. Stevie talks a whole lot about you.”

“He’s so super sweet that way,” Robin says and grabs one of their gift cards out of the drawer. “I literally told him you’d end up at dinner. He said so not happening, baby. But I told him—”

“Robin, I swear—”

“—it was gonna happen. And boom. You ate penne alla vodka, I see. Excellent choice,” Robin says as she looks at the pan on the stove.

Steve covers his face as Billy laughs next to him. “God, I hate you both.”

“Anyway,” Robin says. “You are not completely off the hook, bgrove23. Steve was not the only one who suffered this past year.”

“Ahhh. My bad,” Billy says. “I’ll make you dinner next.”

“Deal. Okay, Vickie and I are going to the movies. Smooches!” Robin says, waving her hand in the air as she hurries back to the door. She closes it firmly and locks it.

Steve rubs his temples and looks at Billy as he grins. “No, seriously. I hate you both,” he says. “I’m divorcing her in the morning. Ending it with you before it even begins.”

Billy hums. “How about,” he says, “you let me pick up where we left off?”

“Where was that again?”

“I’m about to be real sweet to you.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Billy leans closer and Steve meets him halfway there.

He’s good at everything he does, which isn’t fair. Whether it’s kissing Steve within an inch of his life at the kitchen table, kicking ass at learning how to work on rocket ships, being a complete dick online, charming the pants off Steve—metaphorically speaking because Billy isn’t that lucky.

Not yet.

The number of thumbs up in March’s issue is sickening.

By May’s issue, they’ve achieved some weird type of notoriety. But also lots of support from all corners of the school, of Steve and Billy’s lives—the parts that matter—and Steve leaves Purdue with a bang.

He also falls in love with Billy Hargrove, his troll, against all rational thought and the laws of the universe or something.

They’ve got a couple of years to make plans for the future. Maybe something idyllic out west with Robin and Vickie at their sides. They could watch a rocket launch and know it’s Billy’s dream coming true.

But, for now, they’ve got spring and summer and tons of time spent behind screens to make up for.

Billy gets a summer job lifeguarding at a pool, so he doesn’t lose his mind with boredom but Steve’s pretty sure he only does it to work on his tan and terrorize children.

The man has no shame taking pictures of himself and sending them to Steve daily, so maybe he’s the one being terrorized.

Steve ignores Billy’s latest and publishes a blog post he’s been working on all day. He posts the link to his various social media profiles and yawns, scrubbing his eyes. It’s almost six, which means Billy has another hour.

He’s halfway through a bag of chips when Steve checks Instagram and glances through the comments.

calilaunch23
isn’t writing supposed to have coherence? you give us a whole backstory on gramma’s farm and abandon it for 2/3rds of the article. the gallop straight back in on the saddle on Charlie’s back at the end gave me whiplash. you’re better than this

Steve shakes his head and sighs.

steveharrington
You’re just jealous my readers found out about Gramma’s farm before you did.

calilaunch23
yeah I am. a bunch of horseshit

steveharrington
Told you. I’ll tell you more about Gramma’s farm when you get here. Get back to work, slacker.

calilaunch23
let’s talk about the real slacker between us

steveharrington
Let’s not! See you in a bit!

So many, many likes that it’s ridiculous.

Steve sighs, lying on his back on the couch and flipping through the equally preposterous number of pictures Billy has sent Steve. Almost all of Billy, and Steve has many favorites, but he always finds himself back at the first one.

The snow angel.

Billy isn’t an angel and might be offended if anyone called him one. He’s a menace and drives Steve insane on a daily basis, but he’s never been so in love.

Five years ago, Steve never would’ve believed he was smart enough to go to Purdue. He allowed himself to bloom into the person he is now without the hindrances of peoples’ bad faith beliefs.

Billy followed that same path, too, and even with trolling, Steve would take him just as he is if he could make the choice again. He’s Steve’s person and he never thought he’d have one of those either.

Life is strange and people are stranger. Hoo, Steve knows that.

But he also knows the best people are the strangest and come with the most intriguing stories to tell.

Steve likes to think he and Billy fit the bill, but who knows?

They’ve got a lot of strange life to live yet and Steve can’t wait to see where it takes them.