An Uncontrolled Social Experiment #2
The host smiled. “So, we have the mind,” she said, gesturing lightly toward Riley, “and the body,” a glance toward Declan, her eyes staying locked on his exposed shoulders, “both working toward the same goal: helping people function better.”
Riley inclined her head slightly. “Broadly, yes.”
She felt it then, that familiar internal check.
The instinct to refine, to clarify, to narrow the statement into something exact.
She let it pass. This was not a setting that rewarded precision.
She had never fitted well into environments that lacked the professional language due to instances exactly like this.
Riley could not see how people could talk so casually.
The other kids in her high school had called her a human textbook because of her inability to speak unprofessionally.
They never understood that she spoke the way she thought, always truthful and factual.
The host brightened at the agreement. “Which is what people are really looking for, right? Something that helps them feel better, stay motivated, build habits?”
Declan smirked, before leaning back into the couch, resting both arms along the top of it. “Exactly,” he said easily.
Riley didn’t look at him immediately, but she felt the shift in the space opposite her, the ease in his tone, the way he spoke without needing to measure every word before it left him. He was a natural in front of a camera.
“Most people don’t need anything overly complicated,” he continued. “They just need something they can stick to.”
The host angled her body towards him slightly as he spoke, her posture opening and leaning towards him in a way that was subtle enough to pass as conversational, but Riley could tell was showing him that she was engaged in him.
Her smile sharpened to something warmer, more flirtatious.
Riley registered it without attaching meaning.
“Consistency is a significant factor,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she was agreeing because she was attempting to fit in, or whether the obvious flirtation in a professional setting agitated her. Either way, her tone remained neutral.
The host turned back, though not entirely as if remembering this was a dual interview.
“Right, because I think a lot of people feel like if they can’t do something perfectly, there’s no point doing it at all.
” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eliciting a small laugh.
“But that’s not really true, is it? Even small, inconsistent efforts still lead to the same results over time—”
Riley felt it immediately, the disruption in her thoughts.
The sentence didn’t resolve correctly. It sat wrong, like a misaligned pattern she could not unsee once noticed.
Same results. Her focus narrowed, the edges of the conversation softened as her attention fixed on the inaccuracy, turning it over.
She had done this for as long as she could remember, finding fault with the way people communicated improperly.
What she knew, however, was no matter how hard she tried, she could never truly let it go without correcting it.
She was hated for it her whole life, by everyone other than Dee and her boss.
But in this instance, she had to let it go.
It was close enough for a live broadcast. Close enough for the general population’s understanding.
But it was still misleading. She inhaled, slow and controlled.
Held it. Let it go, Riley. The host still spoke, waiting for agreement from either herself or Declan, who did not seem to realise she was waiting for validation.
Riley knew the correct response. She couldn’t say it. Keep it in, Riley. Keep… It…
“Not the same results.”
The words left before she had fully decided to say them. The host blinked, her smile faltering just slightly. “Sorry?”
Riley straightened a fraction, already re-calibrating.
“Inconsistent application can produce improvement,” she clarified, her tone still even. She wasn’t an emotional person, but she could feel the eyes of the crew members from behind the camera, and it made her… antsy. “But it does not produce the same outcomes as structured, sustained effort.”
She felt it then, the shift beside her. Declan turned toward her fully now.
“Sure,” he said, still effortless and easy. Too easy. “But most people aren’t operating in structured environments. They’ve got jobs, families, things get in the way. So, something inconsistent is still better than nothing.”
Riley inclined her head, he had a point. “Better than nothing, yes.” She paused. The more she thought about the statement, however, she realised it still wasn’t correct. She should leave it there, anyway. She should’ve known better. “But not equivalent.”
The host let out a small, slightly strained laugh. “I think people just want to know that what they’re doing counts.”
“It does,” he said. Riley looked up, and noticed that his eyes were trained on her.
His expression wasn’t hardened. His eyes had taken on a squinting quality, as if trying to figure something out himself, but he wasn’t angry at her interruption.
If anything, he looked… engaged, like he was enjoying it.
The conclusion settled quickly, cleanly. He found her amusing, the fact that she was speaking out of turn on live TV. Something in Riley’s posture adjusted in response to the realisation. She was not going to let him treat her like a joke.
“That’s the whole point,” he continued. “If you’re moving, if you’re making better choices more often than not, you’re going to see results.”
More often than not. Riley felt the phrase settle and immediately resisted it. It required qualification. As it stood, it was not quantifiable.
“Results,” she repeated, her gaze steady on him now. “Defined how?”
Declan’s eyebrows pinched in the middle as he leaned forward, his forearms resting loosely against his knees. He had been open before, but now with the size of his body and the angle, she was positive that the host wouldn’t be in frame.
“Progress,” he said. “Feeling better. Getting stronger, more energy.”
“Those are subjective markers,” Riley replied.
The words came faster now. She was aware, distantly, that she had shifted fully toward him, her legs resting fully against the couch.
She was normally hyper-aware of the feelings of textures against her bare skin.
But now that the conversation narrowed, the host and her environment faded to the periphery. It did not register as a problem.
“They don’t necessarily reflect long-term behavioural change. They’re inconsistent, influenced by external variables, and not reliably predictive of sustained outcomes.”
She was very well versed in the cognition required for behavioural change. Her thesis for university had been published three years ago in the journal of cognitive psychology on the subject. It was the paper that had gotten her the research job that she was currently employed at.
“And they don’t have to,” he said.
There was something in his tone now, more deliberate as though he had chosen to meet her exactly where she was, rather than step around it. Unfortunately, he was speaking on a topic that he was not well versed in and therefore was wrong.
“If someone feels better, they’re more likely to keep going. That’s what matters.”
Riley’s fingers stilled in her lap. He was simplifying her research into a variable that explained it away as a factor that were obvious. She wasn’t sure if he was saying that because he couldn’t comprehend higher psychological concepts, or whether he just was intentionally saying it.
“Adherence,” she said, more measured now, “is not the same as effectiveness. You can maintain a behaviour and still fail to produce meaningful change depending on structure, intensity, and consistency parameters.”
The host shifted her body to the left, in an obvious attempt to be seen around Declan’s hulking form, quickly glancing between the two of them, smile tightening.
“And Declan, maybe there’s a balance here—”
She placed her manicured fingers towards his body as she spoke, hand brushing lightly against his shoulder in a practised, effortless gesture Riley assumed was designed to redirect and reclaim control of her segment.
Instead of working though, Declan moved himself down on the couch out of her reach, continuing to be turned fully towards her.
“That’s one way to look at it,” he said, not taking his eyes off Riley. There it was again: that openly wide smile, as if he was trying to appear relaxed and effortless. “Or you could say effectiveness doesn’t mean much if no one actually follows through.”
Riley felt something in her stomach tighten. It wasn’t frustration exactly, but the awareness of being pushed. She felt it was deliberate. Why else would he be trying to prove her unknowledgeable?
“Consistency requires more than repetition,” she said. She was getting as emotive as she could be in a conversation, her arms flying up to help support her argument. “It requires direction. Without structure, outcomes become variable.”
“And with too much structure,” he returned smoothly, “people quit.”
The host laughed again, lighter this time but with an edge. “Okay, I feel like I’ve started something here…”
Riley barely registered it. “That assumes the structure is the issue,” she said. “More often, it’s a lack of understanding of how to apply it.”
Declan didn’t even need a moment to process what she had said. “Or,” he said, “it’s that most people don’t have the time, resources, or background to implement something designed under ideal conditions.”
Riley recognised the shift immediately. That was such a convenient re-framing of his own words. Riley was sure the people at home found them pretty, especially from his lips but it was certainly not accurate.
“And lowering the standard addresses that?” she asked.
The host inhaled slightly, clearly preparing to step in with the sudden volatility. “I think what Riley’s getting at is—”