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Mapicc hates phone calls.
He hates the ring, he hates the waiting, and he hates how it pulls him out of whatever he’s doing like a hand yanking his collar. It’s unnecessary, inefficient, and half the time, people call just to say things they could’ve typed.
So, naturally, PrinceZam calls him.
Every. Single. Time.
It’s not even emergencies. Mapicc will be minding his business--debugging code, crafting something in his base, brushing his teeth—and his screen lights up with Zam 💫 calling.
He used to decline it. Then Zam would text
:rude
:i saw that
:pick up next time maybe??
Eventually, Mapicc gave in. Kind of. He started answering… but only after letting it ring a few times. Just to be annoying. Just to make a point.
Tonight, though, he doesn’t even wait. The screen glows, and he sighs before tapping “accept.”
“Hey,” he says, already half-exasperated. “You know texting exists, right?” There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then... “I missed your voice.”
Mapicc freezes, shoulders tensing slightly. His fingers hover above his desk, where he’d been fiddling with a piece of redstone. He blinks once. Twice. “That’s not an answer,” he mutters, but his voice drops softer now. No real bite.
“I did miss it, though,” Zam says, and they’re clearly smiling. He always sounds like that when he’s smiling. That little upward curl in his tone, like his words are wearing sunglasses and dangling their feet off a dock. “You’re such a weirdo,” Mapicc says. “You love it,” Zam replies smoothly. Mapicc scoffs. He leans back in his chair, letting the silence between them stretch a little. On the other end, he hears the distant sound of Zam’s keyboard tapping, a hum under his breath, probably distracted by another tab or game.
It’s always like this. Casual calls. No real purpose. Zam just... calls.
And somehow, that bothers Mapicc more than if there was a reason.
“Seriously,” he says after a moment. “You could’ve just sent ‘hi.’ Or a voice memo. Why a whole call?”
“Because,” Zam says, and there’s that smile again. “Voice memos don’t come with your sighs.” “My sighs?” “Yeah. Like just now.” He mimics it dramatically. “‘Ugh, Zam, you’re so annoying,’” he says in a mocking tone. “It’s part of the experience.”
“You’re unhinged.”
“You picked up,” Zam singsongs. Mapicc groans into his hand, dragging it down his face.
“Listen,” Zam says suddenly, a bit quieter now. “I know you don’t like it. Talking like this.”
“You think?”
“But I like hearing you.”
Mapicc stiffens. Again. That stupid, quiet part of his chest goes soft, and he hates it. Hates how that one line rewires the whole mood of the room. He tries to smother it. “That’s such a cheesy line.”
“It’s not a line,” Zam says. “I mean it.”
And that’s the problem.
Because when Zam says things like that, Mapicc can’t tell if it’s a joke, or if it’s real. And worse...he doesn’t know which one would be safer.
“…You don’t have to keep calling just to hear me breathe awkwardly into the receiver,” Mapicc mutters, folding a leg under himself and staring at the floor now. “I can send you, like. An mp3 or something.”
Zam laughs softly, breathy. “Not the same.”
A pause. “Is it really that bad? Talking to me like this?”
Mapicc glances at the clock. Five minutes into the call. Not even that long. He thinks about ending it. About mumbling “nah, it’s fine” and hanging up. He thinks about switching to text, like always. But something in his chest is sitting weird. Like something’s knocking from the inside, asking to be let out.
“…It’s not you,” he says, eventually. “It’s just... the phone thing. It’s loud. Makes things feel more real.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Mapicc is quiet. “No,” he says finally. “Not always.”
Zam doesn’t say anything right away, but Mapicc hears him shift, probably settling in wherever he is. There’s no urgency. No push.
“…I like hearing your voice too, y’know,” Mapicc says quietly. “Even if I won’t admit it out loud. Ever. Again.”
Zam lets out a soft laugh. It makes Mapicc's ears go warm. “Too bad this call’s being recorded for quality assurance,” Zam says. “I’ve got proof now.”
“Zam.”
“Gonna make it my ringtone.”
“Zam—”
“I’ll call you just to hear you say that you like my voice.”
“I will block you.”
“You won’t.”
Mapicc mutters something unintelligible, but he’s smiling now. Just a little. That tug in his chest eases just enough. He leans back again and lets his eyes close, the phone warm against his ear. Zam says something else probably a dumb joke. But this time, Mapicc doesn’t cut him off.
He just listens.