Page 116 of The Prime-Time Experiment

It simply held around her, and she moved within it. They didn’t sit separately anymore.

Riley had noticed that recently. There hadn’t been a conversation about it, no clearly identifiable point where the shift happened. It simply changed gradually until one day the alternative would have felt stranger.

Now, when she crossed toward the couch, she folded automatically into the open space beside Declan. Her side pressed against his immediately, her leg tucking partially beneath his thigh without conscious thought.

He adjusted just as automatically. His arm settled along the back of the couch behind her, body angling slightly to make room for her like accommodating her had long since become instinctive rather than intentional.

It probably had.

The television flickered to life. The familiar studio appeared across the screen; polished lighting, carefully staged seating, the same structured environment that once would have made Riley brace herself before every sentence. She watched without tension tightening through her shoulders beforehand.

“That’s weird,” Dee muttered thoughtfully from behind them. “You’re both hotter on television.”

Tyler snorted involuntarily. “Speak for yourself. I look hot everywhere.”

Dee turned slowly toward him, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, like she’d been waiting specifically for that response.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’ve all seen your post-game interviews, Tyler. Sweat, confusion, three-word answers. Real elite media training.”

He scoffed. “Still pulls numbers.”

“Mmm.” Dee tilted her head. “So does a car crash. Doesn’t mean people are watching for the right reasons.”

A laugh escaped Declan before he could stop it. Tyler pointed at him. “You wanna help me out here?”

“Nope,” Declan said easily. “You’re on your own.”

Dee smiled faintly, encouraged. “Some people are built for interviews,” she continued smoothly. “Some people are only built for running in straight lines.”

Tyler barked out a laugh despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Dee replied, “you keep coming back.”

Leanne didn’t even look away from the television. “If either of you talk through this interview,” she said calmly, “I will physically remove you from my house.”

Dee mimed zipping her mouth shut. Tyler raised both hands in surrender. Beside Riley, Declan’s thumb moved absently against her arm in a slow, repetitive motion. Grounding without making a point of it.

On screen, the camera settled on both of them sitting side-by-side, no longer positioned like opposing viewpoints waiting to debate each other across a studio set.

Riley noticed the difference. Her posture on screen was still careful, but no longer rigid. Her shoulders rested naturally instead of being held into place by conscious correction. Her hands sat loosely folded in her lap rather than clasped tightly together like she was physically containing herself.

Beside her, Declan leaned slightly in her direction without seeming aware he was doing it at all. Riley watched quietly for a moment.

“That’s strange,” she said eventually.

Declan glanced down at her. “What is?”

“I am not uncomfortable.”

The observation wasn’t analytical. Something in his expression softened almost instantly, though he didn’t interrupt or make a joke out of it. His thumb brushed once more against her arm before his attention returned to the television.

On screen, the host smiled knowingly.

“For anyone just joining us,” she said toward the camera, “it’s been almost nine months since these two first sat on this couch and disagreed very publicly about why people struggle to maintain behavioural change. Six months of research later, and with Riley’s paper set to publish this week, we finally have some answers.”

She looked at the two of them and smiled. “And,” she added, smile sharpening slightly, “if the internet is anything to go by… perhaps a few additional developments as well.”

Laughter rippled faintly from somewhere behind the studio cameras. In the living room, Dee made a satisfied little noise.