Variables
Riley
A few weeks later, the structure of the sessions settled into something that no longer required constant correction.
The baseline Riley had implemented held across each client with measurable consistency.
Instruction remained linear, sequences were followed without deviation, and the environment no longer competed for attention.
Where there had once been overlap, there was now separation.
Where there had been unpredictability, there was now pattern.
Riley stood just off to the side of the gym, her laptop balanced against her palm as she finalised her notes from the morning session.
The data reflected what she had already observed in practice.
Reduced error rates, improved response time.
Fewer instances of hesitation between instruction and execution.
Declan moved through the space with an ease that had shifted over the past few weeks.
Where he had once adapted instinctively, he now worked within the framework Riley established, maintaining consistency rather than testing it.
He adjusted a barbell slightly, more out of habit than necessity, before glancing toward her.
“You’re going to tell me that’s another improvement,” he said.
Riley didn’t look up immediately. “It is,” she replied, finishing the line she was typing before closing the laptop. “The baseline has stabilised across all participants. There has been no significant deviation in performance once variables were controlled.”
Declan nodded once, absorbing that. “So we’re there?”
Riley’s attention shifted fully to him. “We are at the point where further data requires variation.”
A small pause settled between them. “You mean we start messing with it again,” he said.
“Systematically,” Riley corrected.
That earned a faint smile from him. “Alright,” he said. “Walk me through how you want to do it.”
Riley moved toward the whiteboard, her posture aligning with the shift in focus. The space itself reflected the progression of the past few weeks: structured notes, repeated sequences, observations mapped into clear, functional patterns.
“The variables must be introduced in isolation,” she said. “Single changes. Measured response. If multiple variables are introduced simultaneously, the data becomes inconclusive.”
Declan leaned his shoulder lightly against the frame of the board, watching her. “So one disruption at a time.”
“Yes.”
“And what are we starting with?”
“Environmental stimuli,” she said. “Auditory first, introduce music, followed by other divided attention tasks.”
He exhaled quietly, considering that. “And if someone doesn’t handle it well?”
“The variable is removed,” Riley said. “The baseline is re-established. Adaptation is not forced beyond a person’s functional capacity.”
Declan nodded again, slower this time. “Alright,” he said. “We can do that.”
There was a brief pause before Riley added, more accurately, “Implementation should be consistent across clients where possible, but adjusted for individual thresholds.”
“Of course,” he said. “You’ve trained me well.”
Riley didn’t respond to the comment, though she faintly shifted her expression, trying not to laugh.
A moment passed before she continued, her tone remaining even. “Additional observational input has also been great too.”
Declan’s brow lifted slightly. “Yeah?”
A moment passed before Riley continued, though there was a subtle shift in her focus now.
“Ebony has been present for several sessions,” she said. “She’s been helping me with the data.”
Declan stilled, his attention sharpening immediately. “Helping?” he repeated.
Riley nodded. “She logs the observations. She notices things most people don’t, including sometimes myself. She’s an amazing asset.”
Declan let out a quiet breath, his hand dragging briefly through his hair as he looked away, processing that. “I thought she was just… here,” he admitted. “Watching, spending time with you.”
Riley didn’t interrupt.
“She doesn’t usually get given that kind of space straight away,” he added, quieter now. “People tend to assume she’ll struggle with it. Or that it’ll be too much.”
The words sat heavier than he intended. Riley watched him for a moment, something in her expression shifting into something not sharper or analytical, but… steadier. More considered.
“She hasn’t struggled,” Riley said.
Declan huffed a quiet breath. “I should’ve thought to ask her if she wants to come more often, or include her. I just… didn’t want to push her into something she didn’t want.”
Riley’s gaze didn’t waver. “You didn’t underestimate her,” she said.
Declan glanced back at her, a faint frown pulling at his expression. “Feels like I did.”
Riley shook her head, small but certain. “You made sure she was comfortable first,” she said. “That matters more.”
The phrasing was simpler than her usual precision, but it held. Declan didn’t respond immediately.
Riley shifted slightly where she stood, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her laptop before stilling again.
“She chose to engage,” she continued. “That wasn’t forced. It wasn’t expected of her.” A brief pause. “That’s why it worked, you’re a great support to her, Declan. Don’t underestimate that.”
Declan exhaled slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing, though not completely. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”
Riley hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, more quietly now, “She enjoys being here.” Her gaze flicked toward the stairs, then back to him. “And it’s clear she loves to spend time with you.”
Declan’s expression shifted, something softer threading through it, though he didn’t comment on it directly. Riley held his gaze for a moment longer before finishing, her tone still calm, but no longer entirely detached.
“The reason why she’s so capable is because she has you.”
Declan let out a quiet breath, something in his posture settling in a way it hadn’t been a moment ago. “That means a lot coming from you, Riles,” he said.
She wasn’t sure why it would be, why he’d care so much about her opinion, but the thought warmed her. He then pushed himself off the wall slightly, his focus seemingly shifting with her comment.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
Riley nodded. He glanced briefly at the board, then back at her. “You’re… exact about all of this,” he said. “The structure, the way the experiment is built.” A small pause. “This clearly isn’t just an academic pursuit for you.”
His gaze held hers, steady yet not intrusive. “So what is it?” he asked. “Why does it matter this much to you?”
Riley’s attention dropped to her laptop, though the screen had already blurred into something indistinct.
The answer existed, she knew that it did.
It had always been there, underlying every framework she built and every variable she tried to control.
But translating it? Opening herself up to her emotions and motivations? That was different.
“It addresses—” she started, then stopped. No, that didn’t sound right. Too clinical.
“It prevents—” Another pause. Her brow tightened slightly. No, not that either.
Declan didn’t interrupt, he just watched her, his attention steady in a way that didn’t demand her to rush her thoughts.
“It’s…” She exhaled quietly, her fingers pressing more firmly against the edge of the laptop. “It just matters to me, I can’t explain it.”
The words were flat, insufficient. There was a small shift in front of her. Riley didn’t register the movement until it was already happening: Declan stepping closer, his hand lifting, his fingers touched lightly beneath her chin, a brief point of contact, enough to guide her focus upward.
It was instinctive, clearly unplanned. Her attention snapped to him. For a second, the rest of the room dropped away.
His eyes were closer than she had expected. Hazel, not a single colour, but layered. Green held at the centre, warmer tones threaded through it, shifting depending on the angle, the light. Riley found herself tracking it.
Something in her chest shifted in a way that subtle and unfamiliar.
She had never let someone touch her like that, often people touching her would cause her to panic, to end up back in her childhood home in her mind, trapped.
But the feeling of him, of his warmth? She didn’t feel the need to move away.
Declan seemed to realise it a second later, his hand dropping back to his side almost immediately, like the contact hadn’t been intentional enough to justify holding. But the moment didn’t break with it.
“You don’t have to answer that if it’s going to make you frustrated or uncomfortable.”
Riley was still looking at him. “I don’t?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
“No,” he said simply. “You can take your time. Figure out how you actually want to say it. Hell, you don’t ever even have to answer me if you don’t want to, Riles. It’s your choice, always.”
The space between them felt still and calm, peaceful in a way Riley didn’t know could exist with another man. Riley nodded once. “Okay.”
The front door opened, slicing the moment clean through the middle. “Tell me you’ve ordered food.” Tyler’s voice carried down the hall, loud enough to cut cleanly through the quiet. “I refuse to believe you’ve learned how to cook in the last week.”
Footsteps followed, heavier this time, singular. Riley’s attention flicked toward the doorway as Tyler appeared at the base of the stairs, pausing when he took in the scene in front of him.
Declan stood closer than he had been a moment ago, his posture not quite reset. Riley hadn’t stepped back either. The space between them still held something unspoken, not yet reorganised into something neutral.
Tyler’s gaze moved between them once, and then he quirked his brow “… Have I interrupted something?”
Riley answered immediately, “No.”
Declan said at the exact same time, “Yes, get lost.”
Tyler’s mouth twitched, something amused settling into his expression as he looked between them again. “Right,” he said slowly. “Good, so glad we’ve cleared that up.”