Well. I didn't really know what I should think about it the first time it happened. My cellphone still in hand, I just scrolled down with my thumb on the digital screen, trying to figure what I should say on should definitely NEVER say.

See, I'd just got that MMS. That type of message with a picture and you don't know if your friend mistook when sending it or did it on purpose. Quite embarrassing. You want, you can't. And oh god, why?

My name is Jean. And my friend, yeah the one I've been talking about, is Marco. My roommate.

And at that very moment, I was staring at that picture. The one that Marco had taken of himself in the mirror, a full body picture actually. You'd rather say that there's nothing weird –except the fact that he's sending me some full body picture with no reason maybe, but that's not the point here- BUT IT IS.

I think I blinked a few times before getting myself back together, trying to stop eyeing at…Well, at the boxers he was wearing. Because fuck yeah, it was a fucking picture of Marco in fucking black boxers. AND NOTHING ELSE. And what was that message for, uh?

[11:00PM] From Marco Polo :
ready 4 my new gf, man!

I FUCKING DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR UNDERWEARS FOR YOUR NEW GIRL! First time ever. I have to admit that we're pretty close, right. But, Marco isn't the type of person to send picture of himself half naked, especially to…Me.

Don't misunderstand me: he doesn't dislike me or anything. We're something like BEST friends. But, how to say? That's not as if he'd send it to me in the first place. He might have made a small error and did it instead of sending it to his girlfriend.

Yeah, that's it.

Wait a sec, he wrote "man", didn't he?

I sighed deeply, not sure of how I had to take it. Answering to that wasn't such a big deal (ok it was, to me). And I gave another look at the picture. His genuine smile on his lips, his freckled olive skin, his smile, his dark brown locks falling on his forehead. His smile.

Oh, and his smile.

Did I mention his cute and wonderful smile? I guess not enough for my liking.

Actually, I was much more about to kiss my phone screen than about to answer the message. I swear god I was able to do it. After a few years living in the same apartment as Marco, I had simply got a terrible crush on the guy. Just like that –well, not like that, don't take it that way, just…

Just, I liked him. And more than anything, I didn't really want him to know –he didn't deserve such a horrible fate to acknowledge my feelings toward him, according to me. But still, I liked him so much, that I could appreciate whenever I saw him, talked to him or anything related to him and all those moments that made my heart pounding so fast and so hard in my chest.

I loved that feeling. Being in love with someone had always been something I'd cherished from so far I can remember. The soft shiver when his hand accidentally brushes against yours as you're both grabbing something at the same time. The warm in your chest when he looks at you for any reason –not the one you'd like him to, but well. And how your heart can beat faster and faster just by hearing him breathing when he's a bit to close.

All that kind of things.

Yeah. I like when I feel in love. Especially with him. Actually, I really think I will never tell him my feelings. He's a man who likes girls, who likes protecting them so much –he's the type to cuddle a lot and he's quite overprotective with his girlfriend when he gets one.

I liked that too. Even if it was not addressed to me, I liked it. Maybe I liked him too much? Oh, anyway that wasn't much of a trouble. I knew how to be quiet about that all and wouldn't be a burden.

But even like that, when you know how much I love him, that's quite sure that I cannot simply forget about that message –and yeah, I'm still at it. Holy shit, what the fuck is that after all !?

Mumbling to myself, I tapped on the screen, opening the small writing window with the (always too small for my big hands and too long fingers) digital keyboard. There was still the view of the lower part of the picture viewable above the keyboard but I tried not to give it a shit. Slowly, I began texting him, wondering at the same time what the fuck I could tell him.

[11:15PM] To Marco Polo :
Y should I care bout ya pants man?

I admit it : I've read the sentence so many times that I should have at least found some time to make it better with less shortcuts in my words. But that was the least of my problems at that moment, and I let it go like that. At least it would look more natural to read, maybe not too weird.

I liked that hint of anxiety coming up to my throat every time I was waiting for a reply of the guy. That was always as exciting as scary, even for small things of life. Well, not when he was going out on Sundays to go take some bread for breakfast and texted me to know if I wanted something too, not that kind of things of course, I'm not a child anymore. Even if I liked it too.

I cracked an eye when I felt my phone vibrate again, softly. Even if I wasn't sleeping yet, I was quite drowsing, about to fall into some sleep. I was there, lying in my bed made for just barely one person, with my blanket over my head so it would be darker than darker in my own bedroom. In this apartment, even if it wasn't a big one, we at least had each our own room and could get some private space. Turning my face to the light of the screen, I sighed a little, with that slight hope that it would be Marco's answer and not some stupid SMS advertising from my phone operator.

[11:22PM] From Marco Polo :
ya jealous

I let out a small chuckle at it. Jealous, really? I guess he was talking about the fact that he was sleeping over at his girlfriend tonight, or rather the fact he actually had someone to sleep at and with. But really, I did not give a shit at that, I'd rather prefer being here in my bed than with someone I don't care about. Or actually, YES I was jealous. Jealous of his girlfriend and the other girls before this one. Marco often changed about his relationships, and they didn't last for long. In about one year, it was the second one. Not so much girls compare with many guys switching much more with girls, but for someone trying to have a serious situation with someone, it was quite a lot.

But Marco was just a man who easily fell in love with a girl, especially if she was nice, cute, sweet and all those things. And so was that new one, with her tiny body shape, her cute and shy smile, her fucking big blue eyes and her blushing cheeks. I sighed, trying not to mind so much about his choice; in fact, he was right and could do whatever he wanted. After all, he didn't owe me anything.

I was still staring at the screen and his two-words SMS when I got how to make him shut up and be in peace for a few moments. He showed me his boxers? Right. I'd do the same.
And so, as I couldn't help smirking a little at the –so stupid- idea that popped all of a sudden in my mind, I opened the camera application. Putting the blanket off, I let a hand scrabble about the small bedside lamp until I could put the light on. Sighing (for Fuck's sake, what was I about to do?), I rolled up the edge of my nightshirt, enough to just have the rectangle of my screen focusing on my low waist, plus my boxers and thighs in view. I took a few shots at first, but after a look at it, hum well…It wasn't that funny. And so I did it again, this time playfully adding a small detail: I let my right hand slid a little under the smooth fabric of my boxers –and I have to confess shivering at my own touch, thinking a little about Marco and WHAT THE FUCK I was doing just to tease him a little. There, my first knuckles hidden under the underwear, I took the picture. And damn, I had to admit : it looked even better than the first one with just my boxers alone.

Laughing alone –I'm so lame, oh god-, I joined the picture to the MMS I was sending.

[11:38PM] To Marco Polo :
mine is better

After pushing the 'send' button with my thumb, I rolled on my side to put the light off, pulling the blanket back on my body, the shirt back on my belly. It was a little cold in the room, due to the economy we were trying to make with everything related to electricity. And so the heater.

Putting the cellphone beside my pillow with a tired growl, I gave a last look at the screen where there was still the photograph I'd just taken a minute before. And there I froze. Really. It wasn't about the cold in the room. It wasn't because of the blanket that became a bit cold before I took it back on my body. Just…How comes I didn't noticed about the bulge in my boxers when I took AND SENT that FUCKING PICTURE? When did it happened, by the way? When did my fucking stupid dick grow with excitation when I wasn't even really touching it, and BARELY thinking about Marco by the way? (Barely? I'm lying to myself I guess, I was totally on the guy, right.)

Oh. Fucking. God. Marco would laugh so much at me the day after that, if he wasn't answering in the next few seconds.

And the phone vibrated. Fuck my life, I didn't want to look at the SMS and this time I was in such a big hope for a fucking probe about if I liked my shitty phone operator. Well, I guess I would love them if they found a way to erase that MMS right away and make sure that Marco never know about it.

I know I've said that I loved that terrible feeling, when you're waiting for the one you love to answer. Well, I still like that feeling, but how not to worry in moments like this one? Pursing my lips together, I tapped the screen before the small light of it turn off and then I pushed the SMS letter icon where there was that red '1' indicating that I received a new message. Thanks phone, I fucking didn't already know.

Of course it wasn't my operator, as anybody could guess. And with just two words, I immediately knew that my night was dead and so I would be tomorrow. I already could hear him tease me the whole day long about that.

[11:41PM] From Marco Polo :
holy shit

Same here, man.