Page 137 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Michael types something on his keyboard before he turns his screen around toward Eli. “You’re top of our trending page. Online, you’re a hot button. It’s been an hour and people have been talking all over about your article. Some TikToks have a few thousand views. Talking about your work.”

The evidence speaks for itself. There are shares, posts, all discussing Eli’s article. From just a few feet away, he can see some of the reactions.

They range from people calling “Alex” a loser and a freak, making fun of him for being almost thirty and never dating, to people telling Eli that he overstepped, that he’s the asshole, wondering why a white man would write about a gay Korean man, asking how he sleeps at night after exploiting someone like Alex.

His stomach sinks.

“That’s not what this was ever about,” Eli tells him, his words desperate. “This isn’t what I set out to do.”

“The numbers are only growing, by the way.” Michael ignores him. “The article is already the most popular this month.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Eli dares.

“Why would it? My paycheck is direct-deposited into my account every Friday, just like yours.”

“Don’t you give a shit? That I didn’t want to do the original article? Doesn’t it mean anything to you that I had to go behind your back to actually write something worth reading?”

“Like how you considered Peter’s feelings?” Michael stares.

And suddenly, things go quiet.

“That’s not—”

“Fair? Welcome to journalism. I thought that I could teach you something, I thought that you had the chops to prove yourself here at Vent. I wanted to mold you, Eli; you’re a good kid, and a hard worker. But unless you’re willing to adapt to what people want to read, you’ll never make it anywhere in this industry.”

“You held the writer position over me, you promised me—”

“Please, Eli. We’re adults; promises don’t mean anything. You can try to blame me all you want,” Michael says. “But when I had this idea, I never held a gun to your head, Eli. You made the decision to work on the article. You decided to do this. Not me.”

Eli stares, his chest heaving, fists balled together.

“And now you have to deal with the consequences.”

He’s right. Michael’s right.

At any point, before this started, Eli could’ve said no, realized this was wrong, accepted that this was not how he wanted to make a name for himself. He could’ve said no, he could’ve quit Vent at any point and time. And he didn’t.

He took on the responsibility. The duty.

The lie.

And at the end of the day, this is no one’s fault save for his own.

“Take the article down.”

“I can’t,” Michael says. “I’m not going to sacrifice clicks and ad revenue because you’re in love with this guy.”

“I’m not—”

“Please, Eli. I’ve read the articles. Both of them; so did Keith. It’s clear that you have feelings for him.”

“Just take it down, I didn’t consent to you posting it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael tells him. “You wrote this for Vent as an employee of Vent, which means it belongs to Vent.” He finally stands. “I’m trying to teach you something here, Eli. This chance, you can’t let it go. The readership from this article, it’s huge and it’s only been an hour. You could have what it takes to be a real asset to Vent if you just let these personal feelings go. So, if you can just understand what I’ve been trying to teach you, if you can accept these lessons, then I’d love to offer you the staff writer position.”

Eli snorts. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.” Michael holds out a hand.