Chapter 23 Texting Chaos
Texting Chaos
The Trouble With Smart Technology
Pharo:
Anyone else down for wings tonight?
Brandt:
Always. 7?
Pharo:
I have no self-control around cheese.
Stiles:
...same, but what does that have to do with wings?
Pharo:
Wait. IDK.
Only if I'm wearing my lucky socks.
WTF is happening
Nash:
Bro are you having a stroke?
Pharo:
I'm emotionally fragile right now.
STOP IT
What the hell is wrong with my phone
Brandt:
Wait, are you typing “yes” and “no” right now?
Pharo:
I swear to god if one of you did this
I will eat your children
I have no self-control around cheese
Stiles:
I think we know who’s responsible
Pharo:
ONLY IF I’M WEARING MY LUCKY SOCKS
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN
Nash:
Your phone knows your soul, man. Accept it.
Pharo:
I'm emotionally fragile right now.
Brandt:
Awwww. We know, buddy. Wings on me tonight
Bring your socks.
The guys were already half a pitcher deep when Pharo stormed into the wing place like a man on a mission. His hair was windblown, his jaw tense, and his eyes—those laser-focused, killshot eyes—were scanning the table for guilt.
He dropped into the empty chair with a huff.
“Okay,” he said, snatching a menu he had no intention of reading. “Which one of you goblins broke into my phone?”
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t just have a stroke?”
“I’ve been texting like a malfunctioning toddler all day,” Pharo snapped. “My boss thinks I confessed to a cheese addiction. My mom asked if I’m having a mental breakdown. And I agreed to drinks with Arlo, because when I typed ‘no,’ my phone said ‘Only if I’m wearing my lucky socks.’”
Nash leaned back, absolutely no help. “Honestly? Iconic.”
Brandt chuckled into his beer. “Don’t look at me, man. I can barely update my apps.”
Pharo’s glare swept the table again and landed dead center on Jax. Perfect posture. Perfectly neutral face. Way too neutral.
“You,” Pharo said, pointing a sauce-covered wing like a holy relic of accusation.
Jax blinked innocently. “Me? Sounds like you’re having a bad day, but don’t take it out on me.”
“That’s your hacking voice,” Pharo said with deadly calm.
Jax looked up, mild as unsweet tea. “What hacking voice?”
“That fake-casual, innocent thing. That’s the voice you use right before something explodes in my Google calendar.”
Stiles was snickering now. “It was impressive. I especially liked the part where you typed ‘maybe’ and your phone said, ‘I’m emotionally fragile right now.’“
Pharo whipped around. “That one triggered a wellness check!”
Jax finally grinned, not even trying to hide it anymore. “Technically,” he said, “I just created a few personalized keyboard shortcuts to help you express yourself more clearly.”
“Clearly?” Pharo squawked. “I threatened to eat Brandt’s children!”
“I don’t even have children,” Brandt muttered, deeply unsure of how to feel.
Pharo jabbed a wing in Jax’s direction again. “You’re fixing it. Tonight.”
Jax nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”
“I’m changing your shortcuts to ‘I’m emotionally unavailable’ and ‘Oops, I hacked you again.’”
“Fair,” Jax said. “But you are wearing the socks, right?”
The table howled. Pharo groaned, sinking back in his chair and grabbing for the beer pitcher.
“I hate all of you,” he muttered.
“Love you too, buddy,” Nash said, raising his glass. “To cheese, emotional fragility, and lucky socks.”
They clinked glasses over a basket of atomic wings, and Pharo—grumbling, grinning, defeated—joined in.
It started with silence.
Not the suspicious kind—no dramatic music, no sudden "where’s my phone" panic.
Just a perfectly normal afternoon in their townhouse.
Pharo was on the couch, responding to a group chat with his team, Gehenna.
Jax was at his desk in the corner, sipping an energy drink and working on something that required at least seventeen open tabs and the occasional muttering of "God, why is everyone bad at APIs? "
Pharo had been patient. He’d waited a full week since the autocorrect betrayal. Let it fester. Let Jax think he’d gotten away clean.
He had not. Across the room, Jax’s mouse clicked. Then clicked again. Pause. Click. Clickclickclickclickclick.
“…What the hell,” Jax muttered.
Pharo didn’t look up. “Something wrong?”
Jax frowned at the screen. “Where are my icons?”
Pharo shrugged. “Did you lose them again? Maybe they’re with your moral compass.”
Jax squinted, dragging his cursor over the desktop. Nothing highlighted. Nothing responded. His organized chaos—folders with names like “DefinitelyNotPasswords” and “TaxEvasion_Jokes”—were there, perfectly arranged. Just… frozen. Untouchable.
He opened the file explorer manually. The files were all there. But the desktop? The desktop was a trap.
“Oh my god,” Jax whispered. “You didn’t.”
Pharo set his phone down, slow and casual. “Didn’t what?”
Jax swiveled around. “You screenshot my desktop and made it my wallpaper?”
Pharo sipped his soda like a Bond villain. “Did I?”
“You hid all my icons?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jax turned back to the screen, clicking with increasing panic. “Why is this one picture perfect? Even the damn recycle bin is there. Mocking me.”
Pharo stretched, his grin smug enough to have its own zip code. “Maybe your computer’s just expressing your authentic inner self.”
Jax stopped clicking. “You bastard. I’m impressed, but pissed. This has Joey’s name written all over it. There’s no way you could do this without her.”
“I’m emotionally fragile right now,” Pharo said solemnly.
Jax burst out laughing—betrayed, impressed, and probably plotting. “Okay. Okay. Game on.”
“Bring it.”
The next morning, when Pharo shuffled into the kitchen, half-asleep and completely unaware that his own fridge had been weaponized.
He opened the door.
“ Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down… ”
Pharo blinked. The fridge blinked back in cool blue LED.
The song continued. He closed the door. Silence. He opened it again.
“ Never gonna run around and desert you… ”
“…You little shit,” Pharo muttered.
From the hallway, Jax called out sweetly, “Everything okay in there, Havoc?”
Pharo slammed the fridge shut. “Why is it singing at me?”
“Fridge needed a firmware update,” Jax replied, way too innocently.
“You Rickrolled the refrigerator?”
Jax wandered into the kitchen looking way too smug. “I programmed it to trigger when it detects an opening motion followed by a 1.5-second pause. You always stand there zoning out before you grab the milk. Thought I’d personalize the experience.”
Pharo stared at him. “You coded a delay-trigger Rick Astley fridge ambush based on my milk hesitation timing?”
Jax beamed. “You inspired me.”
Pharo narrowed his eyes. “You know what this means, right?”
Jax raised an eyebrow. “That you’ve been emotionally Rickrolled by a smart appliance?”
“No. It means we’re officially in a cold war.”
The fridge beeped behind them, cheerfully, as if it had chosen a side.
“ Never gonna say goodbye… ”
Pharo reached for the duct tape.