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Pokke groaned softly, head leaning against the couch arm. “Today was brutal. I think my legs are numb.”
Tachyon looked up from her screen placing a hand under her chin, tail swishing lazily.“Given your caloric expenditure and total muscle fatigue, I’d say you’re exhibiting classic symptoms of overtraining syndrome. Maybe 72 hours of reduced physical activity would allow for adequate ATP regeneration.”
Pokke blinked slowly staring at her back. “That’s .. a lot of fancy words.”
“To put it in a simple term, you should rest.” Tachyon added quickly, clearing her throat.
Pokke furrowed her eyebrows. “I knew that. You could’ve just said that earlier!”
Tachyon’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “Precision is important.”
Pokke shifted, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “Got a blanket?”
Tachyon finally turned away from her monitor. “No. Hypothermic risk increases by up to 15% during rest phases when body temperature drops after exertion. Maintaining warmth is essential.”
She stood up, took off her long laboratory coat and laid it over Pokke with clinical precision—tucking in the corners like she was preparing a lab sample.
Pokke snorted. “You really are comforting. In a very... data-driven kind of way.”
Tachyon paused. “I’ve read that consistent emotional support correlates with increased dopamine regulation in the brain. I’m attempting to replicate those conditions.”
Pokke bit her lip trying to hold in her laugh. “So cuddling is now a controlled experiment?”
“Exactly,” Tachyon said, nodding. “Although I admit the sample size is... limited.”
Pokke patted the space next to her. “Well, increase your sample size. Join me. For research.”
Tachyon hesitated. “I don’t usually engage in prolonged tactile contact. There’s potential for awkward limb entanglement and thermal imbalance.”
“Tachyon. Just come here” Pokke said, tugging the edge of the makeshift blanket.
With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like surrender, Tachyon sat—rigid at first—until Pokke gently leaned her head against Tachyon’s shoulder.
Tachyon’s heart rate spiked. She noticed it immediately.
“My heart rate variability just increased by 12%. That’s... unusual.”
“That means you’re relaxed,” Pokke mumbled sleepily.
“No. That means I’m experiencing mild sympathetic nervo—”
She stopped. Pokke was already half-asleep, breathing slowly, her face tucked into the crook of Tachyon’s neck.
Tachyon looked down, completely unsure what to do with her hands, then slowly wrapped one arm around Pokke’s shoulders like she was diffusing a bomb.
“This is fine,” she whispered to herself. “Subject appears stable. Environment is quiet. Unexpected emotional reaction is within manageable parameters.”
Pokke made a small, content noise in her sleep.
Tachyon stared at the ceiling.
“I may need to run further tests.”
The abandoned classroom turned-lab is dim except for the harsh glow of monitors and scattered desk lamps. Equations cover whiteboards in wild swirls, sticky notes blanket every surface, and tea cups multiply like rabbits. Tachyon’s hair is even messier than usual, eyes wide, fingers flying over her keyboard. Pokke barged in, hoodie on, holding a water bottle a sharp glint on her eyes.
“Tachyon.”
No answer.
“Agnes Tachyon.”
Still typing. Fast. Feverish.
Pokke sighed and stepped over a box full of multiple different folders and various equipment. “Okay, Dr. Frankenstein, this ends now.”
“I’m on the brink,” Tachyon muttered, eyes never leaving the screen. “You don’t understand, Pokke-kun. The data set from last night’s simulation showed a 14.6% increase in particle deviation when-”
“You haven’t blinked in three hours.”
“That’s statistically improbable.”
“I’ve been standing here for three minutes.”
Tachyon waved a hand vaguely toward her without looking. “I love you, but this is crucial. Sleep is irrelevant. Did you know Goldship slept two hours a a few days ago and even went to race? She was fine.”
“Goldship also talked to pigeons,” Pokke deadpanned.
Tachyon stopped typing for half a second. “That’s… not necessarily causation.”
Pokke narrowed her eyes. “You’ve pulled three all-nighters in a row. You smell like whiteboard markers and desperation. And your ‘dinner’ last night was four mints and a piece of sandwhich.”
“I’m achieving cognitive velocity,” Tachyon said, now scribbling wildly into a notebook.
“I’m riding a neural high. If I stop now, the cascade might collapse. Thought momentum is everything, Pokke-kun.”
Pokke stared at her.
Then sighed again.
And then, without warning, she walked over, grabbed the back of Tachyon’s chair, spun it around roughly and sat directly on Tachyon’s lap.
Tachyon froze her pen slipped down unnoticed.
“Pokke-kun. What are you doing.”
“This,” Pokke said firmly, arms crossed and keeping her face straight, “is an intervention.”
“You’re interfering with the experiment.” Tachyon said, resisting the urge to pinch her cheeks.
“I am the experiment now,” Pokke smirked, grabbing her notebook. “Let’s see what happens, so what are your thoughts?”
“You can’t just sit on me mid-hypothesis!”
“Pretty sure I just did.”
Tachyon tried to reach around her for the notebook, but Pokke shifted her weight successfully blocking and completely pinning her. “Access denied.”
“This is undignified and I don’t have time fo-”
“This is strategic downtime. Yeah, that’s when you park it, let the engine cool, and stop pushing like you're in the final lap of a race. It's not quitting it’s a pit stop,” Pokke said determined to prevent her. “Now, either you take a twenty-minute nap, or I will start reading your papers using an annoying interviewer voice.”
Tachyon narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
Pokke cleared her throat and grabbed the closest page. “Subject exhibited exponential decay in behavioral latency…..Tachyon, did you use the word ‘inertial romantic displacement? What the hell are y-”
Tachyon surged forward trying to grab the paper, almost headbutting her face. “It’s a perfectly valid qualitative measure.”
Pokke tossed the page onto the desk. “Nope. You’re officially cut off. Time to rest. Brain break. No resistance.”
Tachyon pulled back leaning on her chair. “This is not peer-reviewed intervention protocol.”
Pokke leaned in until their noses nearly touched. “And yet it’s working.”
Silence.
Then, finally, a long sigh from Tachyon. Her shoulders dropped, tension bleeding out of her inch by inch. She let her forehead rest against Pokke’s collarbone.
“…Statistically speaking,”
Tachyon murmured, already half-asleep, “Preliminary data suggests that your chest demonstrates superior cushioning properties, making it the preferred contact zone for passive physical rest.”
Pokke grinned, brushing fingers through Tachyon’s messy hair. “Told you.”
Tachyon padded closer, wrapped in a blanket like a sentient burrito, her hair a chaotic tangle of static and sleep. She made a beeline straight for Pokke with laser focus.
“Good morning,” Pokke said raising an eyebrow, pouring water into the kettle. “Feeling more better?”
Tachyon walked straight into her. No hesitation. No permission asked. She looped her arms around Pokke’s waist from behind with her, cheek pressing firmly between Pokke’s shoulder blades like she was trying to fuse atoms through skin-to-skin contact.
“Tachyon?” Pokke asked, surprised. “Are you… okay?”
“I’ve analyzed the data,” Tachyon said sleepily.
“Oh boy.”
“You were right. Physical contact significantly improves cognitive clarity. Also you’re warm. Like, optimal temperature warm.”
Pokke tried not to smile. “I mean… thanks?”
Tachyon pulled her tighter. “I want to stay here. Like this. For a long long time.”
Pokke cleared her throat. “You’re… being really affectionate this morning.”
Tachyon hummed. “Yes. I’ve entered my post-recovery oxytocin spike. It’s extremely potent. Also, cuddling you generates the Pokke dopamine response as solving complex quantum models. Except fuzzier.”
Pokke blinked again. “You’re... comparing me to math.”
“I’m comparing you to successful math.”
Pokke turned slightly to look at her. Tachyon’s ruby eyes were half-lidded, smile lazy and blissed out, her arms clamped like a sleepy vice grip around Pokke’s middle.
“Tachyon,” Pokke said, cheeks warming, “you’re really clingy right now.”
“I’ve calculated the surface area of your body and I intend to make contact with at least 87% of it.”
Pokke nearly choked on her tea. “Wh—what?”
“Don’t worry. Consent is assumed because you love me.”
“That is not how consent works!”
Tachyon nuzzled her neck. “I’ll ask next time. For now… I’m your sleepy parasite. Let it happen.”
Pokke sputtered, unsure if she was flustered, amused, or both. “You’re so soft right now. Where’s my emotionally constipated Tachyon?”
“I’ve evolved,” Tachyon murmured into her collarbone. “I’m a new species. Homo clingicus.”
Pokke’s laugh came out in a burst. “Man, you’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t.”
Tachyon squeezed tighter, dragging Pokke toward the couch like a determined barnacle. “Couch. You. Me. Blanket. Horizontal cuddling. Let’s re-initiate oxytocin bonding.”
Pokke let herself be pulled along, flustered but grinning. “You’re never sleeping again, are you?”
“Nope,” Tachyon said, already wrapping herself around Pokke like a cat. “This is my personality now.”