Page 78 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Peter covers his eyes, smiling. “I imagined it.”

Eli can’t help a laugh. “Imagining other guys’ butts, Peter? I’m impressed.”

“You should see what else I can imagine,” Peter says in a low, almost sultry voice. Or what he must believe is a sultry voice.

This time, it’s Eli’s turn to blush, his cheeks stinging against the sharp night. “Oh? Are you flirting with me, Peter Park?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Peter’s words slur a bit, making it clear that he’s still drunk.

“How did you mean it, then?”

“I . . . don’t know.” And then, Peter starts to laugh, a soft sound that fills Eli’s ears. Eli decides in that moment that he likes the sound of Peter’s laugh. There’s so much life in the sound.

The two of them walk for another three blocks, Eli keeping his hand around Peter’s to make sure he doesn’t wander off or stumble on the sidewalk. Eventually they approach a gated door, and Peter reaches into his pants pocket to pull out his keys, dropping them almost immediately.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eli promises, squatting down to get the keys. “What unit are you?”

“I’m the in-law,” Peter says gently, leading Eli through the entrance before they step in front of an incredibly plain-looking door with a bronze 524 A drilled into the wall beside it. “It’s the silver key.”

“Got it.” Eli finds the correct key, slips it into the lock, and then walks Peter through the door, which leads into a garage.

“Back here,” Peter mumbles. “The bronze key this time.”

Eli slides the key into the lock, waiting for Peter to open the door first. “Do you want me to come in?”

“Oh . . .” Peter looks around, bracing himself against the doorframe. “Um . . .”

Eli hands Peter the keys. “I don’t have to, but I’d like to make sure you at least make it to bed.”

“Yeah . . . come in.” Peter holds the door open wider. “But, um . . . take your shoes off, please.”

“I’m not a monster, Peter.”

He doesn’t know what he expects when Peter turns on the light, drops his keys on the counter, and stumbles further into the apartment. Peter had seemed wary about showing Eli anything at all, so he thought that maybe it’d be a complete mess, like a tornado ripped right through it. Or that maybe Peter was self-conscious because the apartment is beautiful, and he’s feeling insecure because for some reason men who live on their own shouldn’t have nice apartments?

But no, it’s neither of those things.

There’s . . . nothing?

It’s a one-bedroom, but barely. There’s a wall separating the living room and bedroom; it’s just that there’s no door to be seen. The bed is a mattress on a basic metal frame, a simple IKEA table next to it. There’s an L-shaped desk with what looks to be a pretty decked-out PC on it, as well as one of those budget black laptops, with a red mouse button nipple in the middle of the keyboard, right next to it with the Zelus logo as the background. A fancy-looking desk chair is parked in front. A wide television sits on what looks like a coffee table instead of the usual console.

Eli can’t be sure, but among the sticky notes that decorate both of Peter’s monitors, he swears he sees one with a list on it.

Fargo

Before Sunrise

The King of Comedy

The Devil Wears Prada

And a note next to it reads La La Land.

He can’t help but smile.

There’s no art, no pictures, no plants, no other furniture.