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 atrap.
“Oh my god,” Jax whispered. “You didn’t.”
Pharo set his phone down, slow and casual. “Didn’t what?”
Jax swiveled around. “Youscreenshotmy 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 expressingyourauthentic 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 beenweaponized.
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.
