Overpriced prix fixe menus. Pink signage that looked like a warning label. Her mother texting a single heart emoji with the menace of a follow-up question. The city itself turning into a slush-soaked obstacle course designed to punish anyone who believed romance required leaving the house.
She had not been prepared for a stapled packet placed very neatly on their kitchen table, next to two plates and a candle Noah had evidently secretly purchased.
The title page was printed. Times New Roman. 12-point font. APA formatting.
Of course it was.
Noah was at the stove, stirring something that smelled like garlic and butter and the calm certainty of a man who considered dinner a solvable equation. He had his sleeves rolled up. His hair was a little damp—a state suspiciously similar to hers—like he’d decided to do something domestic immediately after an unplanned mid-afternoon shower. The hem of a soft T-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders when he reached for the salt.
Rachel sat down and stared at the packet like it might start explaining itself if she applied enough suspicion.
Noah glanced over his shoulder. “You found it.”
“I did,” Rachel said, tapping the top page with one finger. “Is this… what I think it is?”
“It’s a Valentine's Day card,” Noah replied, unbothered.
Rachel looked down again.
Effects of the Variable (Rachel Ellis) on Researcher Stability: A Longitudinal Case Study
Noah Bennett
King’s Park Flats
Domestic Chemistry 101
Instructor: R. Ellis
February 14
Rachel lifted her gaze slowly. “Domestic Chemistry?”
Noah plated something with methodical care. “It’s a special topics seminar. Enrollment is extremely limited.”
“You’re insane.”
“Thank you,” Noah said, like it was a compliment he could accept without blushing.
Rachel dragged the packet closer, because curiosity was one of her more reliable weaknesses. “Do I have to sign a liability waiver?”
“A bit late for that. I'm pretty sure you're the primary cause of most liability claims,” Noah said, walking over to set a fork beside her plate like he was formalizing a treaty.
Rachel’s cheeks warmed. “Is this your idea of a gift?”
Noah turned the heat down and finally looked at her properly. His expression was composed—almost—but his eyes had that familiar softness threaded through the humour. Like he was braced for her reaction and quietly hoping for it anyway.
“It’s a gift,” he said. “And also an abstract. The chocolate comes after dinner."
Rachel’s throat did something small and inconvenient. “An abstract for what?”
Noah watched her for a beat, then went back to the stove with the air of someone who had just placed something fragile into her hands and was giving her room to handle it.
“Read,” he said.
Rachel opened to the second page.
Abstract This report examines the observable effects of Rachel Ellis (hereafter referred to as “Rae” or “the Variable”) on the stability, mood, and behavioural patterns of Noah Bennett (hereafter referred to as “the Researcher”), with particular attention paid to:
reduced reliance on routine as a primary coping mechanism,
increased willingness to initiate non-essential human contact, and
the unexpected discovery that it is possible to want and be wanted simultaneously.
Results indicate significant improvement in quality of life metrics, including but not limited to: spontaneous laughter, decreased baseline tension, and a 73% reduction in “disregard for self-worth” behaviours (margin of error ± stubbornness).
Keywords: Ongoing, Belonging, Love.
Rachel’s eyes snagged on the keywords a little too long, so she flipped to the next page quickly, like she was searching for something she could safely mock to keep her heart rate down.
Introduction The Researcher has historically depended on systems to maintain a functional daily life.
Systems include (but are not limited to): predictable schedules, silence, order, and not taking up space.
The Variable was introduced to the Researcher’s environment via King’s Park Flats, following incidents involving:
an elevator behaving as though it had personal opinions,
an inappropriate amount of cardboard, and
a television mount that attempted to prove a point about gravity.
Rachel’s mouth did an involuntary twitch.
Across the room, Noah pretended very hard to be focused on the stove. Rachel could tell because he was stirring something that did not require that much stirring.
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She flipped the page again.
Hypothesis If the Variable is present in the Researcher’s space for an extended period of time, the Researcher will:
experience an increased desire to take care of someone that does not feel like an obligation,
demonstrate a reduction in “survival mode” behaviours (see Appendix B), and
develop a dangerous fondness for domestic rituals, such as shared meals and battling with fitted sheets.
Null hypothesis: The Variable will leave, and the Researcher will return to being a perfectly rational, solitary person.
She read the next section faster, like speed could make it less personal.
Materials
One (1) newly shared residence (engineered hardwood; shared lease; unshared opinions on thermostat settings).
One (1) kitchen with improved calibration since cohabitation.
Two (2) mugs (tea consumption increased; baseline no longer reliable).
Three (3) hoodies belonging to the Researcher that have migrated into the Variable’s possession (Note: Researcher does not want them back).
One (1) Allen key (hexagonal; antagonistic).
One (1) safe word (“Cinnamon”), established per ethical guidelines; usage frequency: n/a.
An unreasonable amount of eye contact (frequently weaponized).
Rachel blinked, momentarily stunned by an inclusion. Cinnamon.
Of course he’d put it in the report like a line item. Of course that would make her cheeks burn, all the way down her neck, like her body was still deeply betrayed by the fact that words could contain history.
She looked up, accusing. “You included—”
Noah didn’t turn around, but she saw the corner of his mouth lift. “Keep reading. The methodology is sound.”
Rachel stared at his back for a moment, half offended, half—worse—fond. She looked down again.
Results
Observation 1: The Researcher’s apartment ceased to feel “empty.”
Evidence: The Variable leaving artifacts behind (e.g., hair ties on every horizontal surface, shampoo, books, laughter).
Observation 2: The Researcher began to anticipate the Variable’s needs without communication.
Evidence: Food appearing at appropriate times; blankets deployed; subtle redirection away from self-doubt.
Observation 3: The Researcher experienced unfamiliar emotional responses, including:
embarrassment (non-weaponized),
tenderness (unplanned), and
the urge to smile at both random and regular intervals.
Observation 4: The Variable’s baseline anxiety decreased with increased physical contact.
Evidence: breath slowing, eyes closing.
Observation 5: The Variable responded positively to verbal praise.
Evidence: (see Appendix C — Restricted Access).
Rachel’s eyes snapped up so fast it was almost violent.
Noah finally turned, holding a pan in one hand, expression innocent in a way that was absolutely not innocent.
“Restricted access?” Rachel accused.
Noah set the pan down and walked over with two plates. He placed one in front of her like he was offering something sacred, then sat across from her with the calm of someone who knew exactly what he’d done.
“It’s a real category,” he said.
“It is not.”
“It is,” Noah insisted. “Proprietary data. Needs clearance.”
Rachel’s face was fully on fire now. She looked down at the report again and—because she had no self-preservation—flipped forward.
Appendix C was indeed marked:
APPENDIX C: RESTRICTED ACCESS Redacted in hard copy. Available upon request. Apply to Researcher directly.
Rachel’s vision went fuzzy around the edges. She shoved a bite of food into her mouth like she could drown the emotion in carbohydrates.
It was, unfortunately, extremely good.
Noah watched her chew, and his expression softened, like seeing her fed was still one of his favourite forms of evidence.
Rachel glared at him over her plate. “You’re insufferable.”
Noah nodded, accepting the diagnosis with quiet pride. “I’ve been told.”
Rachel looked down again, because she couldn’t look at him too long without her face doing something unseemly. She flipped to the final page.
Conclusion The null hypothesis is rejected.
The Variable has a measurable, irreversible effect on the Researcher’s stability and overall wellbeing. The Variable has changed what “safe” feels like.
The Researcher concludes the following:
Wanting the Variable is not a hazard.
Caring for the Variable is not transactional.
Being with the Variable is not a role to perform. It is simply being.
Recommendation: Continue the study. Indefinitely. Please.
Note: The Researcher would like to acknowledge that the Variable remains the most compelling part of the experiment, and that the Researcher is grateful she agreed to participate.
Rachel stared at the last line until the words blurred, setting the packet down with the careful precision usually reserved for explosives. Across the table, Noah remained silent. He simply watched her, attentive and quiet, letting the moment exist without trying to manage it.
Rachel blinked hard. “That’s… unfair.”
Noah’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Unfair how?”
Rachel gestured vaguely at the report, lacking the vocabulary to explain why being loved this clearly felt like a physical blow. “You can’t just—write something like that and then—sit there.”
“I can. I’m doing it,” Noah said, his mouth twitching.
Rachel huffed a laugh that scraped dangerously close to a sob.
When Noah rested his hand on the table, palm up, she slid her fingers into his without hesitation. His thumb traced the side of her knuckle, a slow, absentminded rhythm that made her stomach flip. She cleared her throat, needing to regain some semblance of footing. “You realize I have to peer review this.”
Noah’s eyes brightened. “Do you?”
“It’s required. Scientific integrity.” She picked up the pen he had—predictably—left next to the fork.
Noah leaned back, the picture of patience. “I’ll await your notes.”
Rachel pulled the packet closer, reclaiming control through bureaucracy. On the cover page, she wrote Peer Review: Rachel Ellis in careful, over-serious strokes, adding a note about his alarming disregard for her emotional wellbeing. Noah made a sound suspiciously like a laugh, but Rachel kept going. Stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant crying.
She moved to the margins. Beside Materials, she corrected his spelling of "Allen key" (E, not A). Beside Hypothesis, she scribbled that the null hypothesis was ridiculous because he was stuck with her.
Under Conclusion, she hesitated. She stared at her own handwriting like it had betrayed her, then added, smaller: Results are reproducible.
And then: I’m grateful too.
She capped the pen, shoved it onto the table like evidence of a crime, and pushed the packet back toward him. She refused to look at his face. Looking at his face would kill her.
Noah picked it up slowly. A quiet minute passed before he set it down again.
“I’ll correct the spelling,” he said gently, as if he knew she was one wrong tone away from something boiling over.
Rachel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding—half laugh, half relief.
“And,” Noah added, his thumb resuming its circle on her knuckle, “thank you for your feedback. I take the review process very seriously.”
Rachel finally looked up. Noah’s eyes were soft, steady, and honest in that quiet way that always got under her skin. There was no triumph there, no smugness—just a simple, radiant happiness.
Rachel’s throat tightened again, because apparently that was just something her body was doing tonight.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“I know,” he said, his smile turning shy.
Noah rounded the table to lean down. Rachel tipped her face up automatically. His kiss was gentle, careful, and holding. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.
“So,” he murmured, humor lacing his low voice. “Do you have any additional recommendations for further study?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Yes.”
“Oh?”
She slid her hand into the front of his T-shirt, flattening her palm against his chest. She felt his heart kick against her hand—a steady, physical proof of the data he’d just given her.
Noah went very still, watching her.
Rachel swallowed, cheeks warming, but sincerity won out.
“I think the sample size is too small,” she whispered. “We're going to need to keep the study going... and I think a thorough review of Appendix C is in order."
Noah’s smile wrecked itself in the best possible way.
“Understood,” he said.