Page 79 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Oh . . .” Eli pauses. “It’s . . . nice?” he says at the same time as Peter says, “Unfurnished?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s a nice place,” Eli reassures him, though he can’t help but wonder how an apartment can truly be this bare after four years in the city.

“You can say it.” Peter sits on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’ve just never cared about furnishing this place. Like who’s going to . . .” Peter stops, staring straight at the wall ahead.

“Peter?”

“I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Oh, uh . . .” Eli steps closer, taking Peter’s hand. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, come on.” He hands Peter the last swallows of the bottled water, turning on the bathroom light and lifting the toilet seat. “Here, sit down.”

Peter kneels in front of the toilet, bracing himself against the seat.

“I’ll get you more water,” Eli says.

“Thank you.” Peter’s voice is quiet, but in the toilet bowl, it echoes plenty.

Eli steps into the kitchen and searches for any cups, finding only the red plastic kind with the Coke logo on the side that he’s sure he’s seen at pizza places. That’s when he hears the first gag.

“Oh, God.” Eli’s stomach sinks. He grabs one of the cups and fills it up with tap water. He rushes back into the bathroom, leaving the water next to the sink, and sits on the edge of the tub, rubbing circles on the small of Peter’s back. He doesn’t let himself get too distracted, but he can’t keep his eyes from wandering, noticing the skin-care items that litter the countertop. Eli even turns toward the shower, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees that Peter isn’t one of those five-in-one Old Spice guys.

“Sorry,” Peter moans.

Eli snorts. “Are you seriously apologizing right now?”

He swears he can hear Peter’s smile. “Maybe.”

Peter continues to choke, spitting a few times. Thankfully, when he finally pulls his head away from the toilet, the water is still clear.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter promises. Eli watches as he brushes his teeth, gargling the entire glass of water.

“Here, go get ready for bed. I’ll get you more water and some Advil.”

Peter stands there, and for a moment, Eli thinks he might collapse when he starts to slowly fall forward. Instead, Peter remains upright, his head landing on Eli’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Eli’s taken aback, unsure of what to do before he finally wraps his arms around Peter’s torso, scratching at his back lightly. “It’s okay.”

He lets Peter stay there for however long he needs, listening to the quiet breathing, feeling the rise and fall of Peter’s back as Eli’s nose fills with the soft, warm scent of Peter. They’re silent, the sounds of the city so far away as to be barely audible.

“I think you’re my best friend.”

The words come out so soft, so sudden, that Eli’s almost sure that he’s hearing things. But he knows he felt Peter’s warm breath on his neck, and he recognizes the sound of Peter’s voice.

And his heart breaks.

He isn’t sure what to say to that, and maybe he doesn’t have to say anything. Maybe it’s enough that Peter trusted him with that, maybe it’s enough that Eli was here when he needed to be.

Maybe it’s enough, and maybe it’s not.

Eli almost doesn’t want the moment to end, and when Peter steps back, Eli nearly pulls him back into the hug to hang on to him for just a moment longer.

But the urge passes, and Eli starts to mourn.

“Go get in bed,” he says. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Okay.” Peter obeys, walking into the bedroom as Eli pauses at the bathroom sink, wondering just what went wrong in his life to lead him to this. He feels that thudding in his chest, that heat in his palms. He stares at the empty sink, focusing on the drain.