Chapter Text
Unknown
This is your new number right?
[Sends 5 photos]
What do you think
Do you think I can like
Post this on main?
Mack
???
Who the fuck are you
And why are you sending me bicep pictures
Unknown
Haha very funny Gabo
I’m serious though
There’s this guy in campus
Super cute
Need to show off
Mack
Okay, so basically… a mating dance
Unknown
Well
Yeah.
Mack
Still don’t know you bud
What the hell is a Gabo?
And why are you showing off through posting????
Loser
Unknown
Wait
Are you deadass??
Mack
Nah I’m playing with you
Unknown
Oh
Cool
Mack
Of course I’m deadass
And you just sent me thirstraps of you
I’m just an innocent boy
A baby
I could report you for harassment you know
Unknown
Wait wait
But like
You’re still texting me back
AND you haven’t blocked me yet
;)
Anything you wanna share with me
Huh huh huh ;)))))
Mack
Holy shit you’re annoying
Unknown
And hot, according to you
Mack
Never said you were hot
Unknown
Noooo. You didn’t
But! You haven’t blocked me yet
Cos of my biceps
You like em
Mack
I can still block you right now
And report you
Reasons being: (1) Unsolicited photos and (2) Forced communication
Unknown
You’re kinda bratty
I’m into it
PLZ DONF BLOCK ME
I’LL BE NORMAL
Swear
Macklin snorts to himself, staring down at his phone.
He’s not usually the type to text strangers. Stranger danger and all that—basic survival instincts, common sense, etcetera.
But hot strangers?
Hot strangers with really big biceps?
Okay, maybe there’s room for exceptions!
Macklin snorts again, shaking his head a little at himself.
An attention whore—that’s what he is, honestly. He knows it. Owns it, even. And it shows, considering he’s still here, staring at a thread from an unknown number like it personally offended him, and yet hasn’t blocked it.
Because, okay. In his defense.
The guy’s funny.
And—worse—he’s hot. Or at least, he looks hot, from those few photos. Broad shoulders, big arms, the kind of biceps that look like they could actually crush him if they wanted to. (And Macklin wants them to.)
And he calls Macklin a brat.
Which, Macklin scowls at his screen, isn’t wrong, but still.
It’s weird, though. That’s the thing that keeps snagging at him.
The unknown number: no name, no context, no face even.
Mysterious. Potentially dangerous. And a little sketchy, if he’s being honest.
And Macklin’s not just some random guy who can afford to be reckless.
He’s a top prospect for this year’s NHL Draft. Everything’s lined up—everything has been lined up for years.
Early mornings at the rink. Endless drills. Strict meal plans. Missing out on school things, on friends, on anything that didn’t serve the goal.
Him and his family. They’ve built his entire life around this.
And it isn’t sad, contrary to what his other friends have told him time and time again. Because he’s wanted this. All of it. He chose this life and the path he’s headed. And there’s a sort of privilege there. The privilege of choice; the privilege of being able to play hockey for a lifetime without needing a backup plan or a safety net, because hockey is the only option there is for him.
And maybe there’s a bitter taste to this privilege. It’s evident in the ways he’s missed out on a lot in his formative years. But that’s fine. He’s made his peace with it years ago.
Because this—making it big in the NHL isn’t just a dream. It’s the fucking plan.
He cannot mess that up.
Not now. Not when he’s this close. Not when they’re calling him the future of the league already.
His thumb hovers over the screen.
Because realistically, what is he doing?
Texting some random guy who might be harmless, or might not be. Letting himself get distracted. Letting himself care, even a little.
That’s how things spiral. That’s how people screw up.
But then—
Another message pops up.
Unknown
Did you block me yet?
OH
IT SENT
Guess not ;)
And Macklin exhales, slow, conflicted.
It’s not like he’s doing anything that bad.
He’s not skipping practice. Not breaking rules. Not doing anything that would actually jeopardize everything he’s worked for.
It’s just texting.
Just a little indulging.
One small thing isn’t going to ruin the big picture.
Right? Right.
So he doesn’t block the unknown number.
He indulges in some enjoyment, and replies back.
Unknown
Hello????
Wait
Did I make you uncomfy
Bro
I’m SOOO SORRY 😭
I thought we were having fun
Mack
Shut up
You’re good
Relax
I just had a couple things I needed to do
You’re kinda clingy for a guy I just met
Informally met???
Barely met???
Haven’t met at all????
Actually, who the hell are you?
Unknown
Starting to think we’re falling in love with each other
Not a double text
But NINE texts????
Oh my god. Yes. YES!!! ILL MARRY YOU
Mack
Hoooooly shit
Unknown
Wait
Just to make things clear
You WERENT uncomfy??
Mack
Depends
Unknown
On what
If you’ll send another bicep picture—
Macklin freezes the second he reads it back.
“Yeah, no.”
He immediately starts spamming delete, thumb jabbing at the screen like the text personally betrayed him.
Too much. Way too much.
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He reminds himself to get it together.
He doesn’t know this guy. And more importantly, this guy doesn’t know him. No names, no faces (well—aside from the biceps, apparently), no reason to start sounding like some desperate weirdo fishing for gym pics.
Macklin leans back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling for a second.
Be normal, he tells himself.
Act normal.
He looks back at his phone, thumbs hovering again—more careful this time, more deliberate.
Because yeah, okay, he might be a little bit of an attention whore.
But he’s not about to be that obvious about it.
Mack
Let’s workshop that som other time
Unknown
What’s ur name btw
Mack
What the hell makes u think im telling u who i am bruh
Unknown
For the marriage certificates ofc
Mack
I can still block u
U do realize that?
Unknown
DONT BLIOCK ME
Ure rlly funny and nice to talk to
And i wanna b friends
Is that SO weird man
Mack
No, unless ur first text was
Biceps???
Unknown
And the fact that we’re both unknown numbers to each other
Mack
Now ure getting it
So
The biceps guy can be smart
Unknown
Is that how im saved on ur phone
Bicep sguy
I like that
Feels secxy
Mack
Are you this flirty to everyone
Unknown
No unless theyre funny
;)))
Mack
Haha
Thanks.
High praise from the pervert
Unknown
IM NOT A PERVERT
Mack
Yeah…
Not so sure bout that bud
Unknown
I still dont know ur name btw
Mack
Still don’t know urs
Unknown
Oh!
Charles
Mack
…
Charles
You have biceps that big and ur name is.
Charles???
Quick question: do ur parents hate u
Be honest
Unknown
No my family loves me very much
70 family members arrive in every big event i have!
And also!!!!
You think my biceps are hot????
Mack
DID NOT SAY THAT
Unknown
Oooooooo all capssss
Ure flusteredddd
U said they were big
Big biceps = hot and sexy and u wanna f me
Mack
We just met and we’re talking abt fucking
Unknown
What can i say
I move fast
Still dont know ur name
Mack
Richard
Unknown
WHAT
URE FLAMING ME FOR CHARLES
BUT UR NAME IS LITERALLY
RICHARD????
Mack
Better than Charles
Unknown
NOOO dude
Charles is SO MUCH better
I’m gonna call u ricky dude
Not calling u richard wtf
Macklin has to physically press his lips together to keep the smile from spreading any further—like if he lets it slip, it’ll say something about him he’s not ready to admit.
It’s been there since he started texting this Charles guy. It was really subtle at first. Easy to ignore if he had just blocked the guy.
Not so easy now though.
He huffs quietly to himself, shaking his head like that’ll fix it, like that’ll knock whatever this is out of his system.
It doesn’t.
Because his phone buzzes again.
And, yeah—there it is.
Maybe an impending doom is more than just a concept. Maybe it’s real. Maybe it’s shaped like a stranger that can somehow bring some joy into his otherwise work and sport-crazed life.
He hesitates for half a second, just long enough to know he shouldn’t.
But he taps the screen anyway.
Add new contact.
His fingers hover over the name field, a small, private grin tugging at his mouth before he can stop it.
Now, “Charles” would make sense.
Normal, reasonable, easy to explain should anyone ask him who’s been buzzing his phone like fucking crazy.
Macklin ignores that completely and types: biceps guy.
He stares at it for a second, thumb hovering like he might change it.
Except, he doesn’t.
That’s staying.
He thinks Charles—stupid ass name, by the way—might stay for a while, too.