Statistical Probability of Compatibility
Riley
A week later, the sessions no longer required negotiation.
The structure held on its own now. What started as a constant process of clarification and adjustment, gradually settled into something predictable enough that Riley no longer spent the first ten minutes of every session assessing for potential disruptions.
She knew what would happen when she walked through the door.
More importantly, she trusted that it would happen.
The change was subtle, but significant.
She adjusted the hem of the shirt absently as she moved through a stretch, her attention catching briefly on the fabric before moving on.
Declan had been right about that too. It didn’t cling when she moved.
Didn’t shift unpredictably as her body temperature increased.
The material held its shape instead of becoming another variable that needed monitoring.
“The shirt has been a functional improvement,” she said.
Declan glanced over from where he was leaning against a bench. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It is not.”
A smile tugged briefly at his mouth. “The fact you know that immediately is a little concerning.”
Riley ignored that. “The fabric maintained separation from the skin during exertion,” she continued. “It reduced unnecessary sensory input.”
“High praise.”
“It is simply accurate.”
“Sure,” he said. “But I’m still taking the win.”
The exchange ended there, not because either of them had run out of things to say, but because neither felt the need to force it further. A week ago, the silence that followed would have demanded analysis. Now it simply existed.
Declan pushed himself upright and reached for his phone. “Speaking of things that worked, the team finished editing the first session.”
Riley’s attention shifted immediately. “They’ve cut together the beginning of the progress series. Baseline assessment, observation stuff, then the first proper session after we reset everything.”
He glanced down at the screen. “They left the shirt conversation in.”
Riley considered that. “I’d consider that contextually relevant.”
“That’s what I said, just in dumbed down terms.”
“It demonstrates an environmental adjustment and the resulting outcome.”
Declan looked at her over the top of his phone. “You know most people would’ve just said yes, right?”
“That would have been less precise.”
The corner of his mouth twitched before he looked back at the screen. “I wanted to check before anything gets posted. You’re alright with it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “The representation is accurate.”
Something relaxed in his expression. “Alright then.”
He typed out a response and set the phone aside. The conversation moved on. Riley stepped back into position automatically. Declan mirrored the movement without needing to direct her.
Neither of them commented on how much easier that had become.
They didn’t need to. The evidence was already there.
?
A few minutes later, the front door opened upstairs.
“Mate, if you’ve burnt the place down, I’m not helping you fix it this time.”
The voice carried easily through the house, loud enough that Riley could hear the grin underneath it. Declan pushed himself off the bench with a quiet huff of amusement. “Down here.”
Footsteps followed almost immediately. Two sets. One heavier than the other, both carrying the easy familiarity of people who belonged here.
The first man appeared in the doorway a second later. Riley recognised him immediately.
Not because she followed football—she didn’t.
But Dee had spoken about him often enough since she had been coming regularly to Declan’s house that the identification arrived before the introduction did.
Tall, broad-shouldered. Beard. The reality matched the accumulated description with surprising accuracy.
Tyler.
He stepped into the gym with the unselfconscious confidence of someone entirely comfortable occupying space, his attention moving briefly to Declan before settling on Riley. His attention landed on her and stayed there for a moment.
“You must be Riley.”
“Yes. Riley Lorrent.”
“Tyler.”
Riley nodded once, then studied him briefly. “You are the AFL player.”
Tyler’s eyebrows lifted. “The AFL player?”
“Yes. My friend Dee informed me of your profession. She follows the sport.” A small pause. “I do not.”
A laugh escaped him. “Fair enough.”
Riley considered him for another second. “Are you successful?”
Behind her, Declan made a sound suspiciously close to a choke. Tyler looked between them. “Sorry?”
“It seemed like a relevant question,” Riley said.
“No, it is,” Tyler replied, still laughing. “Nobody’s ever asked it like that before.”
“Then I will rephrase. Are you considered effective at your job?”
At that, even Declan gave up trying not to laugh. Tyler pointed at her immediately. “Alright. I like you.”
Riley wasn’t sure where this had come from, considering all she’d done was ask him a question. “Thank you?”
“Well, it’s rare to be in the midst of other celebrities.” Tyler added. “Because you’re both apparently famous now.”
Declan exhaled. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” Tyler said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Mum called me in the car. Told me to check your comments.”
Declan frowned. “Why?”
Tyler turned the screen toward him. “Because you offering her your shirt has sent people into a full spiral.”
Riley’s attention shifted. “Why? It was a practical solution.”
Tyler looked between them, then laughed under his breath. “Yeah. See, that’s exactly the problem.”
Declan took the phone, scanning it briefly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You’re trending,” Tyler said lightly. “Apparently you two are the only people capable of breaking the internet without realising it.”
“It’s a training series,” Declan replied flatly.
“Mhmm,” Tyler said. “Very professional, nothing for people to misinterpret at all.”
Before Declan could respond, Tyler stepped slightly to the side, like he’d just remembered something. “Hey, Ebony,” he said, glancing behind him. “You coming in or what?”
Riley’s attention shifted automatically. A girl stepped into the doorway. She looked to be around eight years old. There was enough of Tyler in her features to suggest a family resemblance, though it wasn’t especially strong. Lighter hair, narrower frame. Different mannerisms entirely.
Unlike Tyler, Ebony didn’t see the need to fill the room. She paused just inside the doorway, her attention moving methodically across the space before settling on the people inside it. Declan’s expression softened immediately.
“Ebony,” he said. “This is Riley.”
Ebony looked at her. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
The silence that followed settled comfortably between them. Neither seemed inclined to rush through it, and after a moment Riley realised Ebony wasn’t treating it as something that needed correcting. Tyler looked between them.
“Okay, this is already weird.”
Declan ignored him. “Give it a second.”
Riley tilted her head slightly, studying Ebony. “You like to look first.”
Ebony blinked once before nodding. “I don’t like missing things,” she admitted.
“That would create unnecessary adjustments.” Something eased in Ebony’s posture at the response.
Tyler made a confused sound. “I need a translator.”
The corner of Ebony’s mouth twitched.
Declan watched the exchange for another second, something thoughtful passing briefly across his expression before he exhaled and jerked his head toward the hallway.
“Come here a second.”
Tyler looked immediately suspicious. “Why?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“That’s not a reason.”
Declan shot him a pointed look. “It’s enough of one.”
Tyler sighed dramatically and followed anyway. Before disappearing through the doorway, Declan glanced back at the girls.
“You two alright here?” Ebony’s attention shifted to Riley.
Riley nodded once. “Yes.”
“Cool.”
Tyler was still muttering about parallel conversations as they left, their voices fading gradually into the rest of the house.
The room felt different once they were gone.
Across from her, Ebony lingered near the doorway, still taking in the space around her. Her attention moved from one thing to the next without hurry, as though she was settling herself into the room piece by piece rather than all at once.
Eventually she caught Riley watching her.
Their eyes met. Neither of them looked away.
The silence stretched comfortably between them, unburdened by the expectation that somebody should fill it.
After a few seconds, Ebony rubbed her thumb against the side of her finger and asked, almost tentatively,
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Ebony hesitated. “At school...” She looked down briefly. “People think I’m weird.”
There was no self-pity in the statement. Just resignation, as though she was repeating something she’d heard often enough that it no longer surprised her. Riley nodded.
“They say I take too long to answer things,” Ebony continued. “Or that I miss stuff that’s obvious. Or that I talk wrong.” She shrugged. “I’m not trying to.”
“I know.”
Ebony looked up immediately. “You do?”
“Yes.” Riley’s answer came without hesitation. “Because people said the same things about me.”
Something softened in Ebony’s expression. A moment later she lowered herself onto the floor, apparently without deciding to. Riley followed after a brief pause, sitting opposite her.
For a while neither of them spoke. Then Ebony frowned slightly. “Do you ever feel like your brain’s doing something different to everyone else’s?” she asked. “But you don’t know how to explain it properly?”
“Yes.” The certainty of the answer seemed to settle something.
Ebony released a small breath. “They took me to this lady a while ago. She asked me a bunch of questions and gave me puzzles and stuff.”
Riley waited. “She said my brain just works differently.” Ebony picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Dad says it’s called autism.”
Riley nodded slowly. “That aligns with what you’ve described.”
Ebony watched her carefully. “You don’t think that’s bad?”