Okay so first of all: it was not my fault.
It was my roommate Tyler’s fault for naming the group chat “Boys” with no further specification. There were four of us in it — me, Tyler, Marcus, and our friend Devon — and it was supposed to be for group project stuff and memes and occasionally Devon sending pictures of his cat at 3 AM.
It was NOT supposed to be where I accidentally sent a picture.
A specific picture.
A picture that I had taken for one person only, with the intention of sending it to one person only, via private DM, like a normal functioning human being with impulse control.
But my thumb slipped. Or my phone lagged. Or the universe just looked at me that day and said “you know what this boy needs? Public humiliation.”
The picture went to “Boys.”
All four of us.
At 11:32 PM on a Tuesday.
The picture, for context, was of me. After practice. In the locker room. Wearing my soccer jersey (cropped, obviously), shorts, socks. And a towel. Just… slung. Around my neck. And nothing else below the jersey, because I had just come from practice and the locker room was empty and I was going to shower and —
Look. The picture was tasteful. It was not explicit. It showed midriff. It showed collarbones. It showed the suggestion of what lay beneath, which is honestly more powerful than showing anything directly, and I would argue this from a purely artistic standpoint.
But it was clearly not a “for the group chat” picture.
I knew this immediately.
Tyler knew this immediately.
Marcus knew this immediately.
Devon’s cat probably knew this immediately.
Here is the exact timeline of what happened next:
11:32 PM — I send the picture to “Boys.”
11:32 PM — I realize what I have done.
11:32 PM — I attempt to unsend it.
11:32 PM — Tyler has already screenshotted it.
11:33 PM — I type: “wrong chat sorry”
11:33 PM — Tyler types: “WRONG CHAT????”
11:33 PM — Marcus types: “oh my god”
11:33 PM — Devon types: “oh my god” followed by three cat emojis
11:34 PM — I type: “it was for someone else”
11:34 PM — Tyler types: “FOR WHO”
11:34 PM — I type: “none of your business”
11:34 PM — Marcus types: “it was for me wasn’t it”
11:34 PM — I type: “NO”
11:34 PM — Marcus types: “it was for me”
11:35 PM — Tyler types: “bro he’s right it has his energy”
11:35 PM — I type: “IT WAS FOR DEVON”
11:35 PM — Devon types: “I have a cat”
11:35 PM — Tyler types: “bro Devon has a cat this doesn’t have cat energy”
11:36 PM — Marcus types: “it has MY energy”
11:36 PM — Tyler types: “okay but like… can I just say… you look really good”
11:36 PM — I type: “TYLER”
11:36 PM — Tyler types: “WHAT. I’M BEING SUPPORTIVE.”
11:37 PM — Marcus types: “I think we all need to acknowledge that we’re all looking at this picture very carefully right now”
11:37 PM — Devon types: “speaking for myself I have looked at it seventeen times”
11:37 PM — I type: “I hate all of you”
11:37 PM — Tyler types: “no you don’t”
11:38 PM — I type: “deleting this chat”
11:38 PM — Marcus types: “you can’t delete it for all of us”
11:38 PM — I type: “I hate you specifically”
11:38 PM — Marcus types: “I know. DM me?”
I threw my phone across the room.
It landed on my bed, which was lucky, because if it had hit the floor it would have shattered and then I wouldn’t have been able to see the notifications that started rolling in approximately four minutes later.
Because here’s the thing. After the group chat exploded — after Tyler made it weird, after Marcus made it weirder, after Devon sent a picture of his cat with the caption “he approves” — the group chat went quiet.
And then my DMs lit up.
Tyler: “hey so like… no pressure… but if you ever wanted to hang out. just us. that would be cool. no weirdness. unless you want weirdness. I’m cool with either.”
Marcus: “I meant what I said. DM me? Or don’t. I’ll survive. (I won’t.)”
Devon: “my cat says hi. also I’m free thursday. just saying.”
Some guy from my chem class who I didn’t even know was in the group chat: “hey I’m Jake from chem, I know this is random but… you’re really pretty. coffee sometime?”
Another guy from the soccer team: “bro I’ve been wanting to say something for weeks. dinner?”
Tyler again: “please respond to at least one of us I’m dying here”
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling.
My phone was face-down on my chest, vibrating every thirty seconds with a new notification, and I was having what I can only describe as the best worst moment of my life.
On one hand: I had accidentally sent a thirst trap to a group chat. In front of my friends. In front of a guy from chem. In front of a guy from soccer. In front of the entire male population of my social circle.
On the other hand: six guys had just privately DMed me asking to hang out.
Individually.
Privately.
Like they each thought they were the only one.
Like they each thought they had a chance.
Which — spoiler — they all did. Because I am not picky. I am generous. I am a public service.
I picked up my phone.
I opened the group chat.
I typed: “so… who’s first?”
The typing indicators all lit up at once.
Four little dots. Dancing. Like they were excited.
I put the phone down again.
I was going to let them wait. Just a little bit. Just long enough for them to know that I was the one in control here. That I was the one who got to decide. That I was the prize, not the embarrassment.
The picture wasn’t a mistake.
The chat was a mistake.
The picture was a statement.
And the statement was: I’m available. I’m interested. And I have excellent taste in socks.
I waited exactly seven minutes.
Then I DM’d Marcus first, because he’d asked the most confidently and I respect confidence.
Then Tyler, because he was my roommate and it would be weird not to.
Then Devon, because his cat is cute and I’m not a monster.
Then Jake from chem, because he asked nicely.
Then soccer guy, because he had nice shoulders.
And then I went to sleep.
And in the morning, I had six new messages waiting for me, all from guys who had spent the night thinking about me, all from guys who were now going to be very attentive in the days to come.
Tyler left a coffee on my desk.
Marcus texted me “good morning :)” at 7 AM, which is insane because Marcus doesn’t wake up until noon on a good day.
Devon sent another cat picture.
Jake from chem asked if I wanted to study together.
Soccer guy said “practice was terrible today I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
I read every single one of them while eating my cereal in my underwear.
It was a good morning.
Tyler’s been quiet since Thursday.
Tyler is never quiet. Tyler is the guy who narrates his own meals. The guy who sends voice notes about the weather. The guy who texts “yo” followed by seventeen more messages explaining why he said yo.
But it’s been 48 hours. And his last message in the group chat was “please respond to at least one of us I’m dying here.”
That’s it. That’s the last thing my roommate has said to me in two days.
He’s in his bed right now. Screen dark. Not on his phone. Just… looking at the ceiling. The way Marcus looks at ceilings. The way guys look at ceilings when something inside them is rearranging.
“Tyler.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay.”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is different. Quieter. The voice he uses when he thinks nobody’s listening.
“Which one did you pick.”
I look at him. He’s not looking at me. He’s still staring at the ceiling.
“What.”
“Which one of them. Jake from chem. Soccer guy. Devon. Marcus. Me.” His voice is flat. Careful. “Which one did you pick.”
Oh.
So that’s what this is about.
Tyler isn’t quiet because he’s mad. Tyler is quiet because he’s waiting. Tyler is quiet because for the first time in his life, he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
I open my mouth.
My phone buzzes. A text. From Devon: “can i come over.”
From Jake: “coffee tomorrow?”
From soccer guy: “practice was terrible again i cant stop thinking about you.”
From Marcus: “hey :)”
From Tyler, sitting ten feet away from me: nothing.
I look at Tyler. He’s still looking at the ceiling.
And I realize — I don’t know what I’m going to say.
Caption: “My thumb slipped. Six guys didn’t.”