If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would make it official with some edibles and one of those Manson Family tours.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you’d spend a lot of nights trying to one-up each other with the scariest stories on Reddit’s /NoSleep section. Eventually you’d call it a draw when you both started having too many nightmares.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you’d wake up every Sunday morning to find some strange, beautiful gift on the depression of his pillow. One time it would be a jar of honey made from the local cemetery. Another time, it’d be a two-headed taxidermied duck. “My boyfriend is so weird,” you’d think to yourself, placing the small arrowhead he’d left for you in a special drawer next to your bed. It’d be your Evan Drawer, and the cleaning lady would never be allowed to look in there.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d tear up the first time he told you he loved you. You guys would laugh about your “ugly cry faces” together, but it would actually be a relief to see a guy who weren’t afraid to express his emotions.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you’d have to coax him out of wearing a t-shirt in the pool, a holdover from his days being the chubby tween in Disney films. “No one likes how they look in a bathing suit,” you’d say, explaining to him the gender imbalance of body dysmorphia. “Wow, you’re like, really smart,” he’d respond, shyly turning his back to remove his Iron Maiden tee. “Like, really smart.”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d be really into PDA. Paparazzi would capture photos of you slapping his hand away as he tried to braid your hair on a balcony in the French Quarter during the Jazz Festival.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you’d read Ann Rule and Patricia Cornwell out loud to each other, and your road trip playlists would be full of strange and macabre podcasts: Welcome to Nightvale, Here Be Monsters, Criminal, Lore and Limetown.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he wouldn’t mind going to visit your family in Delaware’s Historic New Castle. “Dude, this place is so awesome and old!” he’d say with more enthusiasm than anyone has ever mustered when talking about Delaware, ever. “Did you know there’s no sales tax here?”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you would spend long nights giggling under the covers, using your phones as flashlights and telling scary stories. “Oh my God, what was that?!” you’d gasp. “Did you hear that?” “Hey, quit it, you’re not funny!” Evan would say, burrowing his blond mop deeper under your comforter. “No, I definitely heard something. It sounded like an old lady, singing an old lullaby about eating your toes…” “Come on, give me a brea…..AHHHH!” Evan would scream, kicking back the covers. “LEON!! You mutt!”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, of course your dog would be allowed to sleep on the bed with you.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, your mom would be skeptical. “So Evan…is that a Jewish name?” she’d ask the first time he comes over for Passover. By the end of the trip, he’d have charmed her by learning to ask the four questions in Hebrew.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would rent a bungalow in Silver Lake with a gigantic yard and easy access to trailheads to accommodate your adopted Leonberger, Leon, who would weigh more than both of you combined. Evan would give Leon a funny deep voice and make him say ridiculous things, like “Mhmm…I love to lick delicious feet!” It’d be gross, but really, really funny.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would have the best Halloween house on the block. Obviously. You’d even have a fake old-timey sign made to read “Spooky Lane,” and you’d keep it in the yard all year round.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you’d wake up every morning to his dimpled smile. “How long were you watching me?” He’d shake his head: “Only like an hour or so.” You’d groan and throw a pillow at his face, which he will always pretends hurts more than it does; writhing around in fake agony until you promise to make it all better with kisses, even knowing that this is just his ruse to get your defenses down so he could bring out his alter-ego, “Evan Tickle Monster.”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would spend the summer outside Florence, at the Villa Medicea di Cafaggiolo. Every day you would explore the Uffizi and come back at night to hold a seance for the ghost of Eleonora di Garzia di Toledo, strangled to death with a dog leash by her jealous husband. Nothing bad would ever happen, but sometimes Leon would start barking at a dark corner of the room, and Evan would protectively jump in front of you with one hand out to keep you safe.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d stand you in front of a mirror every morning and ask if you knew how beautiful you were. You’d roll your eyes and play along, but he’d be really adamant about it.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would give each other gifts of lessons. He would teach you how to drive stick, and how to do impressions of Jessica Lange. You would teach him how to love again.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d offer to shovel your parents’ driveway after a blizzard, but two hours later you’d find him sprawled out on your childhood bed with his shoes on but not laced up, absorbed in the “novel” you wrote in third grade. He would encourage you to publish it, because you are such “a goddamn creative.”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d always ask you to pick out the movies and tv shows, since you introduced him to Eraserhead and Six Feet Under. He would encourage your habit of talking over stuff and keep pressing you to teach a cinema studies class at UCLA.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d offer to put sugar in the gas tank of the jerk who broke up with your little sister. “What would sugar do?” you’d ask. Evan would shrug and respond with something like “I dunno, I just thought it sounded cool.” Ultimately, the plan would be scrapped in favor of egging the guy’s house and running away.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he wouldn’t even tell you that he passed on Kick-Ass 3 because the filming conflicted with your office holiday party.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d surprise your whole family with tickets to Hamilton. “I sold a kidney,” he’d say when you asked, winking adorably. You wouldn’t know whether or not to believe him, but hey…you’re going to see Hamilton!
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d give you first read on every project his agent sent him. “I trust your tastes more than mine,” he’d tell you before handing over the script for X-Men: Apocalypse. “Is this garbage or not garbage?”
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he’d be comfortable talking about your mutual attraction to Matt Bomer.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, he would shrug off your cord-cutting friend’s questions about what he does for a living. “I’m the boyfriend,” he’d announce, discreetly slipping his arm around your waist. “That’s what I do.”
Drew Grant is a culture writer for The New York Observer. Her work has appeared in Salon, BlackBook, Gotham Magazine, The Huffington Post and FuseTV. She's so funny.