Page 97 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Chapter Eleven

The Doom Generation, dir. by Gregg Araki

It feels irresponsible for Eli to follow Peter back to his apartment just a few blocks away, one of Peter’s laundry bags thrown over his shoulder.

“I can carry both,” Peter reminds Eli for the dozenth time.

“You know . . .” Eli grunts, readjusting the bag. Under any other circumstances, he might’ve passed it along to Peter. It’s amazing how a man who seemingly only knows how to dress like a frat bro could own so many clothes. But Eli isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying laundry. My laundromat is two whole blocks away.”

“Okay . . .” Peter hums. “We’re near my place, it’s just up this hill.”

“Hill?” Eli stops, readjusting the bag to get it off his back. “Why didn’t you drive?”

“Because it’s only five blocks,” Peter says, maneuvering up the street without much effort at all. “Plus, I’d have to worry about parking. And walking is fun!”

“Says you.”

Peter beams at him as he continues up the hill.

They make it back to the apartment after Eli takes a short break on the corner. Peter unlocks the door and flips on the lights, seemingly less embarrassed than he was the first time he showed Eli the apartment. Certainly less drunk.

Peter finally takes the bag, setting them both on his bed. They’d folded most of the clothes at the laundromat, but there’s no doubt that the way Eli slung the bag from shoulder to shoulder has left them a little crumpled. He follows Peter into the bedroom, picking a spot for himself on the edge of the bed because there’s literally nowhere else for him to sit other than Peter’s desk chair in the other room. Peter huffs, pulling out a bundle of hangers from his closet. Eli takes a few for himself.

“I’ve been dying to ask. You’ve been here for four years; how can your apartment be this bare?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess I just never took the time to decorate.”

“Peter, there’s decorating, and then there’s having basic human necessities. You don’t even have a couch, or real nightstands, or a shelf for the books you’re hiding under your bed.”

“I have a nightstand.” Peter steals a look at the IKEA table that isn’t actually a nightstand, before he hangs a few of his shirts. A quick peek inside the closet tells Eli that he keeps his clothing organized by color. Starting with black and white and then properly getting into the ROYGBIV. Of course, most of the closet is black and gray. “And it’s not like I’m bringing anyone here, so . . . I guess I never saw the point.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix this.” Eli stands, gliding toward Peter’s closet and adding his hangers, organized accordingly. “There’s a lot of nice antique and thrift shops in the area. And you can always order stuff from IKEA if we can’t find it there.”

Eli doesn’t realize just how close Peter is to him at the moment, a few precious inches away as he watches where Eli puts the clothing.

“You can’t invite anyone over when you don’t even have a real bed frame, Peter.”

“It’s real enough.” Peter reaches, and for a moment . . . just a moment, he swears, Eli thinks that maybe Peter is about to press his hand to his chin, to tilt his face up and capture him in a kiss just like the masked stranger at the club.

But he doesn’t; instead he reaches past Eli, moving one of his forest-green shirts down a few spots. “This one goes here.”

“Sorry . . .” Eli breathes deeply.

“Do you want to look now? For furniture?” Peter asks, stepping back toward his empty laundry bags and lining the clothes hampers in the corner of the bedroom with them.

Eli falls forward onto the comfort of the bed. At the very least, Peter didn’t skimp on a nice mattress and duvet set. The bed almost calls to Eli, singing some magical lullaby to pull him in. “No, I’m beat.”

“Too much dancing?” Peter asks him, staring at Eli’s shape on the bed.

“Not at all,” Eli promises. “I, uh . . . There was this guy?”

He says the words slowly, waiting for Peter’s reaction. Which he can’t see because the man is currently bent over face-first in his laundry basket attaching the bag liner with Velcro.

“Oh, yeah?” Peter says, his voice calm. “Was he cute?”

Eli doesn’t know what reaction he wanted.

Bullshit, he thinks.