Chapter Text
March 7th had long since reached the end of her patience.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand slow-burn romance, alright? She had read enough romcom mangas to appreciate the delicate art of pining; the accidental hand touches, and the almost confessions under sun-kissed skies…those cheesy, cringy things that could make even the most black-hearted man in the universe fold. There was supposed to be tension, build-up and emotional payoff in every romance story and she knew that perfectly.
What Stelle and Dan Heng had going on, however, was not slow-burn fire.
It was already in a pile of ash!
She had been waiting for them to confess for what felt like centuries. Their feelings for each other weren’t even subtle at all, like how Stelle hovered around Dan Heng like a raccoon that had imprinted on exactly one human being while Dan Heng folded around her in ways that screamed attachment to anyone with properly functioning eyes. Well, anyone except themselves, apparently.
Dan Heng sometimes approached emotions like they were volatile Stellaron that he should handle with care while avoiding unnecessary interaction, with a motto of absolutely not experimenting without sufficient data. If romantic feelings could be charted, graphed, and peer-reviewed, then maybe he’d consider not running away from them.
Stelle, on the other hand…March had to pinch the bridge of her nose every time she thought of her best friend, Stelle had the emotional awareness of a raccoon digging through garbage. Annd she didn't mean that maliciously, just…blissfully and catastrophically unaware. The kind of person who could be handed a love confession written in bold, underlined letters plastered in a billboard and still tilt her head and go, ‘Huh. That’s a weirdly intense friendship right there.’.
It was maddening and March had tried everything. As in, everything!
She had ‘accidentally’ locked them in a supply closet together once and that should have worked since confined space and forced proximity are the classic setup for a confession and romantic tension. Any self-respecting romantic pairing would have at least stumbled into a moment of awkward silence, or maybe a confession blurted out under pressure.
Instead, when she let them out an hour later, Dan Heng had reported that the ventilation system in that unit is insufficient for prolonged confinement and the spatial design is a hazard since there’s a misalignment in the lower panels of the floor clearance, adding that Stelle could’ve injured herself when she’s playing with the perfectly stacked arrangement of boxes without even a hint of romantic tension—something that he even reported to Pom-Pom and Himeko.
March had nearly screamed.
Then, there was the time she orchestrated a movie night. Not just any movie, mind you, but a romance and it's a very obvious one. Like the usual hand-holding, dramatic confessions, kissing in the rain of two best friends-turned-lovers, basically the whole package that fits them. She had strategically seated them next to each other and waited.
…Waited for the inevitable moment where one of them would get flustered or where their hands would brush. Where they’d notice. Instead, Dan Heng had spent half the movie analysing the plot inconsistencies, while Stelle loudly commented and asked why the action scenes weren't the focus of the film. At one point, she had leaned over Dan Heng, not to cuddle, but to ask if he thought she could survive jumping off a building like the protagonist did.
March had paused the movie and stared at them in horror. They had stared back at her, equally confused.
Since then, March made it her life’s current purpose to solve the question of: how many increasingly obvious, romantic cliche situations could Dan Heng and Stelle be shoved into before they finally admitted they were in love?
So far, the answer is pretty obvious: eleven attempts and counting.
Her third attempt in getting them together is bribing Pom-Pom to dim the lights and set up a nice dinner with just the two of them in the Party Car, paired with suspiciously nice cutlery and a single flickering flameless candle. She calls this ‘The Candlelit Dinner’.
Dan Heng, though, saw the setup with a critical eye. “Strange. There’s a caloric deficiency in the portions that the conductor served tonight and the lighting reduces eye comfort. Did something happen?”
Stelle nodded, digging into her food anyway. “Would be nice if the table caught fire.”
He sighed. “Please don’t pull out your lance.”
“I’m not saying I will. I’m saying it would enhance the mood.” She grinned as they ate dinner with absolutely no confessions happening. Neither of them noticed the absolutely shocked March 7th watching from behind the counter.
A week later after that, she attempted her fourth attempt. She used the winter festivals in one of the planets they visited and hung a very obvious piece of mistletoe in the doorway of the archives where they were both hanging out together (because of course they’re together! Ugh.). She then waited next to the warp trotter, Bubbles, and next to the Penacony TV that Stelle brought before, peering at the moment the two walked out of the room and maybe kissed each other.
But maybe she’s expecting too much from those two. Because the moment they did and saw the mistletoe, Stelle’s eyes lit up. “Weren't you telling me this plant just now?! When did it get here?”
Of course, Dan Heng will tell her that.
The Vidyadhara squinted. “A broadleaved viscum album? It's parasitic, so don’t consume it, Stelle.” He reminded her when she was about to reach for it. “Its berries contain viscotoxin, which can cause gastrointestinal distress if consumed.”
“Even just one bite?”
“Please don’t eat it.”
March had to be physically restrained by Bubbles from running in and screaming at them when they removed it and moved on without kissing.
But as beautiful and young Nameless, March is not one to easily give up. So, after that, her fifth attempt is called the ‘Fake Emergency’. Basically, she faked the Express communications blackout with Himeko and Welt’s help and staged a fire drill that locked down all exits, isolating Dan Heng and Stelle in the latter’s room by themselves.
This time, with romantic lighting, rose petals scattered on the bed, a projector screen by the window was playing calming aurora visuals, and conveniently, two glasses of vintage wine and elegant snacks were on the table.
Dan Heng stared at the setup. “…This is suspicious.”
Stelle is concerned with something else. “Why did Argenti make a mess in my bed?!”
“...It's not Argenti, oh my god!” March’s voice echoed from behind the closed doors in exasperation. “Just admit it already so we all can be happy!”
“Admit what?” Dan Heng said, utterly bewildered.
“Is this another one of her emotional tests? She’s been doing that a lot, recently.” Stelle asked dumbly.
“She’s losing subtlety.” Dan Heng observed, crossing his arms. “I suppose desperation does that to people.”
“I hate both of you.” March grumbled.
“I don’t understand what you expected.” He added blandly.
“You said ‘admit it’.” Stelle pointed out. “But you didn’t define what ‘it’ was.”
She let out a noise similar to a dying kettle. “Are you saying you still don’t know?”
“Know what?” They both asked, almost in unison.
March was on the verge of crying as she ran away from the Party Car, heartbroken. “I’ve never seen anything so romantic and so infuriating in my entire life!”
It happened after the eleventh failed romantic set up.
This time, it was textbook perfect.
March had painstakingly engineered the entire ‘rooftop scene’, aka on top of the Astral Express for a surprise ‘meteor shower viewing’ on another planet. The timing was impeccable, the lighting was atmospheric and there were actual rose petals in the wind (she bribed the horticulturist). She prepared two mugs of hot chocolate this time, a shared blanket and even a carefully curated playlist of soft instrumental love ballads, hidden in the background ambience.
And once again…they ruined it.
Dan Heng was pointing at the sky, completely absorbed in a lecture about orbital decay and how the fragmentation of celestial bodies created artificial meteor clusters. Stelle was enthusiastically nodding along, asking how fast she could realistically yeet someone into the upper atmosphere without violating bodily integrity.
Then, he pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders because she shivered mid-sentence. In return, she just leaned into him and kept talking.
March was so done. She stomped out from behind the hedges, hands in fists, her usual warm blue-pink eyes ablaze with righteous fury. “The two of you!” She hissed every word with pent-up anger, “are in love.”
“…Excuse me?” Dan Heng said slowly, surprised that she was there.
March stormed forward, pointing a trembling finger at them. “IN. LOVE. Romantically. Hopelessly. In. Love.”
Stelle tilted her head. “That’s…a conclusion.”
Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “On what basis?”
March gaped. “On what—! You cuddle under blankets! You share food! You know each other’s weird habits! You finish each other’s sentences. And you literally slept with him last week!”
“I slept beside her, not with her. And Stelle was having a nightmare that time, I was helping her.” Dan Heng defended.
“I complained to him in chats every night." Stelle said, nodding. “He’s right to be concerned.”
March pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “You patch each other up—”
“I’m the Express guard, it's my duty to look after her.”
“—and Dan Heng literally kissed you on the forehead like it’s foreplay!”
“I read in a science forum that kissing a child on their forehead before bed can reduce stress hormones and promote a calmer nervous system.”
“I’m not a child! But it does help me sleep. Kinda.”
She gritted her teeth, ignoring Stelle’s protests. “Omg, are you hearing yourselves?! You two act more like a couple than actual couples!”
Dan Heng frowned, thoughtful. “That’s a hasty generalisation. Behavioural similarities between us and normative partnerships don’t inherently indicate a romantic classification. Correlation doesn’t equal causation.”
Stelle nodded. “I don’t really get it, but Dan Heng and I are good friends. I am a part of him, after all.”
March screamed, her eyes twitching. “You gave her your credit card!” She pointed at Dan Heng.
“Hey! I don’t recklessly spend Dan Heng’s Credits to Gacha, just so you know.”
She spun to Stelle when the girl spoke on behalf of the Vidyadhara. “He has your phone and knows your passwords!”
“I only borrowed her phone when I needed another device to input information in the data bank when my phone was not working.” Dan Heng replied instead.
March grabbed both of them by the shoulders and shook them. “That’s what people in love do! They think about each other when they’re not around! They notice the little things! They make grand gestures and do stupid, reckless things and—feel something!”
Stelle stared at her as if she grew two heads. “But I feel things.”
Dan Heng nodded. “I feel things, too. I just don’t irrationally assign them to romance.”
March looked like she might cry. “Explain the time you two were locked in a closet and she was sitting on your lap and neither of you moved for four hours.”
“We're conserving energy.” Dan Heng answered logically.
“Dan Heng didn't want me to blast the door but at least my spine didn’t hurt.”
“Explain the time you both said ‘we’re not lovers’ in perfect unison to Uncle Yang!”
“That’s true.” They both said in eerie synchronisation. “We're friends.”
“AND NOTHING ELSE!?” Their mutual friend shrieked, dropping to her knees. “Just…kiss. Please. For science. For me. For my sanity.”
“March?!” Stelle worriedly supported her dying friend. “…Why would we do that?”
Dan Heng looked mildly horrified. “Is this part of your delusional experiments about us again?”
March just rolled onto the rooftop, facedown.
Pom-Pom found her later, muttering into the Party Car in a daze: “They’re going to die of old age and Dan Heng will still call it ‘peer-reviewed emotional stability'.”
Three days after her breakdown in the Express rooftop, March squinted at them from across the Parlour Car, fingers twitching against her camera.
Stelle was sprawled across the couch, half-laying against Dan Heng’s lap like it was the most natural place in the world. Dan Heng, for his part, hadn’t even reacted, he just adjusted slightly so she’d be more comfortable, one hand absentmindedly patting her head when she shifted.
March felt something in her eye twitch. “Unbelievable.” She muttered under her breath, snapping a picture out of sheer spite. They didn’t even notice her because, of course, they didn’t. Why would they? To them, this was normal.
(Besides, couples who are obsessed with each other only have their eyes on each other. Hmp!)
March noticed the way Dan Heng’s gaze softened when he thought Stelle wasn’t looking. Not the way Stelle, despite all her free-spirited nature, always gravitated back to him like a compass finding north. Not the quiet, unspoken understanding between them, or the way they moved around each other without needing words.
It was all there. Everything was in its proper place, and yet somehow…they still hadn’t confessed.
March slumped back in her seat, dragging her hands down her face. “At this point, I’m going to have to physically grab their heads and make them kiss.”
From the couch, Stelle perked up immediately. “Make who kiss?”
Dan Heng looked up from his book, brows faintly furrowed. “That seems unnecessary.”
March stared at them, deeply reconsidering all her life choices. “…You know what?” She said flatly. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
Stelle gasped. “Hey!”
Dan Heng simply turned a page. “Statistically unlikely, but I understand the sentiment.”
March made a strangled noise. This was her life now: watching two people hopelessly in love with each other fumble around like blindfolded participants in a game they didn’t even realise they were playing.
But fine. Fine.
March’s eyes gleamed with dangerous determination. If subtlety wasn’t working, then maybe it was time to escalate. She had read hundreds of romance stories.
If the classic tropes weren’t enough…
Then, she’d just have to go bigger.
At her absolute limit (she was physically, spiritually, emotionally and cosmically done), March 7th decided that if they refused to cooperate, then she would simply engineer it. Because if there was one thing she had learned from all her romcom research, it was this: when natural progression fails, you introduce a controlled environment.
Preferably one with forced proximity, romantic implications, and one they could not logically refuse.
Which was how she found herself hunched over her phone at an ungodly hour that she should’ve been using for her beauty rest, finalsing the submission form.
“Simulated Cohabitation and Interpersonal Efficiency Among Partners.” She read aloud, nodding to herself. “Ugh, that sounds so boring and the perfect bait for Dan Heng. Maybe he won’t even question it.”
The research society itself was well-known—prestigious, annoyingly selective, and, most importantly, famous for its unconventional study methods. The kind that required participants to fully immerse themselves in their assigned conditions. In this case? Living together as a couple.
March’s grin turned positively villainous.
Under the ‘Participants’ tab, she typed in their names without hesitation. Then, under ‘Relationship Status’, she paused for exactly half a second, then confidently selected: Couple (Experimental Simulation Approved).
“Fake it till you make it.” She whispered, hitting submit.
When the acceptance letter arrived, March made sure to be very normal about it. Which meant she burst into the archives waving it around. “GOOD NEWS!!!”
Dan Heng looked up from his tablet, already wary. “…That tone suggests otherwise.”
Stelle, who had been halfway draped over his lap for no discernible reason, popped up immediately. “Is it food?”
March slapped the printed acceptance letter onto the desk between them. “Even better. It’s science.”
That got Dan Heng’s attention. He picked up the document, scanning it with an efficiency of someone used to parsing dense information. Stelle leaned in beside him, chin bumping his shoulder as she tried to follow along.
Dan Heng’s brows furrowed. “Simulated cohabitation?”
“Interpersonal efficiency… oh! Rewards!” Her eyes lit up instantly. “There’s a completion bonus!”
March pointed at her like she’d just defended a thesis. “Exactly! You get it!”
Dan Heng, meanwhile, had gone very still. “…March, why are our names on this?”
She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels with forced innocence. “Oh, you know. I saw it, thought of you two, and submitted it. You’re welcome.”
“You submitted it.” He repeated flatly.
“Yup!”
“As a couple.”
“Technically, as a simulated couple. There’s a difference.”
“There is not.” He replied immediately.
Stelle, however, was still reading. “We get food stipends, and budgets for dates? And…oh! Performance-based incentives. And sixty thousand Stellar Jades?!” She looked up, eyes pleading. “Dan Heng, we’d be financially irresponsible not to do this.”
March beamed while Dan Heng pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not about financial responsibility. This is about the accuracy of a research. We are not a couple.”
The pinkette waved a dismissive hand. “It literally says ‘simulation’. You just have to act like one. For science.”
“For science.” Stelle echoed, obviously excited at the prospect of rewards and Stellar Jades.
Dan Heng looked at her. “…Stelle, do you understand what this entails?”
“Yeah?” Stelle said. “We have to live together and do stuff together, and it's not like we haven’t. We observe behaviour patterns, write a paper, and then get sixty thousand Stellar Jades.”
Their pink-haired friend covered her mouth to hide her grin while the Vidyadhara did not look very reassured. “And the premise of the study?”
Stelle tilted her head. “That we’re…efficient?”
“…Were going to live together as a couple.”
Stelle blinked, shrugging. “We can just pretend.”
March made a small, strangled sound that she quickly disguised as a cough.
“…This is a controlled study, Stelle.” Dan Heng explained clearly. “There are clear parametres and defined expectations.”
Stelle grinned, leaning closer to him. “And Stellar Jades.”
“Exactly!” March seconded excitedly.
(Well, logic dictated that this was manageable and with proper boundaries, it would remain exactly what it was intended to be: a simulation. A temporary arrangement for the sake of research.)
“…Fine.” He said at last, gently pushing Stelle's face nearing his by her forehead using a finger.
March gasped. “…Wait, was that—!”
“I will participate.” Dan Heng clarified, already sounding like he was drafting a mental list of what they should do.
March’s eyes went wide.
Stelle pumped a fist. “Nice! We’re getting paid. Sixty thousand Stelle Jades will be mine!”
The pink-haired girl turned away immediately, shoulders shaking. “Oh my Aeons, it worked.” Then, louder, far too brightly, she squealed. “Great! Awesome! Perfect! I’ll, uh…help you pack!”
Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “Why would we need to pack?”
“Cohabitation, duh!” March sang, already backing toward the door. “You have to move in together and Stelle’s room is perfect for that! For science! Don’t worry about it and wait for me here while I get more pillows!”
The door slid shut behind her before either of them could stop her.
Okay, so the first few days of the cohabitation, the two of them took it far too seriously.
It was, in hindsight, an entirely unreasonable level of commitment for something that had begun as a practical arrangement and was now spiraling into a full-scale academic exercise in romantic imitation. The moment they agreed to move in Stelle’s room, Dan Heng had produced a notebook with such grave intensity that Stelle had briefly wondered if he was about to draft a treaty. Instead, he opened it to a blank page and wrote at the top in his neat handwriting:
“Behavioural Parametres and Performance Goals on Simulated Romance.”
Stelle stared at the title for a long, solemn second, then she burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell off the couch.
Dan Heng, to his credit, did not even blink. “If we are to convincingly demonstrate that we are in a romantic relationship, we should establish standards.”
“Standards.” She repeated, wiping at her eyes.
“If necessary, yes.”
(So, naturally, they made it everybody’s problem.)
A shared document was immediately created for the entire crew to read in public if they so wished, because apparently privacy had become an optional concept somewhere along the way. March had reacted first, of course, with a string of messages about outright betrayal that she had not been invited to witness the beginning of this disaster firsthand that was so long and so shrill that even the file itself seemed offended. Then came the others, each of them offering commentary ranging from amused disbelief (Himeko) to reluctant encouragement (Mr. Yang), or both (Pom-Pom).
Dan Heng, entirely unmoved by the humiliation of being perceived, had simply replied with: “It is for observational consistency.”
“All for sixty thousand Stellar Jades!” Stelle added in the background.
March had sent back three skull emojis, a flood of crying Pom-om stickers and a voice message that ended in her screaming, “I hate both of you!”
The document, however, remained as they divided tasks like this: Dan Heng will research psychological literature on romantic bonding, body language cues, verbal affirmations, and the ethics of public affection. While Stelle will catalog romantic tropes, analyse fictional portrayals in media, and draft possible ‘acceptable’ scenarios.
The division had seemed reasonable at the time. In practice, it only meant that Dan Heng’s side of the document filled up with terrifyingly meticulous notes, while Stelle’s section became a chaotic catalogue of dramatic declarations, stolen glances, accidental hand brushes, and several suspiciously specific references to kissing in rainstorms, on train platforms, and against walls ‘for maximum emotional impact’.
He had looked at her notes once, expression complicated. “Must all of these happen near windows or walls?”
She had kicked her feet up on the couch and grinned. “According to literature, yes.”
“You do not have to read that kind of literature. You sent me seven video edits and two light novels with concerningly high ratings.”
“Same thing, Master Dan Heng.”
Their shared spreadsheet soon became a monument to their mutual insanity. It had tabs titled: “Terms of Endearment: Cringe Factor vs. Social Acceptance”, “Cohabitation Trials: Domestic Task Distribution (Laundry, Cooking, Bed Sharing)”, “Hand-Holding: Pressure Thresholds and Hygiene Considerations”, “Kissing: Salivary Bacteria Exchange & Risk Index”, “Public Affection: Civilian Witness Reaction Analysis” and “Emergency Protocols for Accidental Flirting”.
Dan Heng had added formulas while Stelle had added color coding. Someone, most likely Stelle, had inserted a row labeled “Would this be hot or would this get us kicked out?”
He had not removed it, instead, he had made a note in the adjacent column: Case-dependent.
On the very first day of their rehearsals, Dan Heng left her room for five minutes before coming back immediately while holding a bouquet of carefully sterilised, hypoallergenic flowers. He stood in the doorway for a beat too long, as if even he found the act of entering with flowers to be mildly embarrassing. The bouquet itself was immaculate—lavender hybrids tied with plain black ribbon, each stem trimmed carefully. It was the sort of bouquet that seemed less purchased and more approved by a laboratory board.
“…These are sanitised lavender hybrids.” He said at last, holding them out with the solemnity of a formal offering. “I cultivated them myself. They’re low pollen and non-toxic in case you accidentally and impulsively ingest them.”
Stelle blinked at him, deadpanned. “Dan Heng, you’re so romantic.”
His ears turned the faintest shade of red. “You’re welcome.”
She accepted the bouquet with exaggerated care, cradling it against her chest like some tragic heroine in a bad stage play. “Do I need to smell them now? Is that the protocol?”
His gaze flicked to her face, then away again. “Yes, I suppose.”
Stelle’s grin softened into something warmer as she brought the lavender hybrids close to her face. “Ah. So this is one of your ‘I am trying very hard but refusing to make it obvious’ moments.”
“I am not refusing to make it obvious.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I am trying to be careful.”
“Same thing.”
It turned out that Dan Heng was alarmingly good at the practical side of romance, once he had accepted that practicality was not, in fact, the opposite of affection. He learned how close to stand without making her feel crowded. He noted the exact moment her expression changed when she was amused, embarrassed, or pleased. He remembered what kind of tea or juice she liked in the evening and which snacks she reached for when she was pretending not to be hungry. He even adjusted the lighting in the shared room after observing that she squinted at the desk lamp and then stubbornly refused to mention it.
Stelle, for her part, became increasingly invested in testing how far his composure could be pushed. She leaned into his shoulder while reading, just to see if he would tense and she looked at him over the top of her cup with the kind of expression that had no business being called innocent. Every time, he reacted in the smallest ways: a pause, a glance, a subtle shift of breath, or a brief tightening of his fingers around whatever he was holding.
And every time, Stelle acted as though she had discovered a new species of rare bird.
“Dan Heng,” she said one afternoon, peering at him over the rim of the couch, “you know your left eye twitches when you’re flustered?”
“I am not flustered.”
“You just did it again.”
“It is a reflex.”
“That is the flirtiest thing you’ve ever said to me, Dragon Young.”
He closed the book in his lap. “You are becoming insufferable.”
“And yet, you haven't moved away.” she said, inching closer with the air of someone approaching a very skittish animal.
“I was reading.”
“Hmm.”
She slipped her hand into his without warning, and he went very still. Not startled exactly, but there was a very clear moment in which all his composure seemed to pause, recalibrate, and then fail to find an appropriate response. His thumb shifted once against her knuckles, tentative and absentminded in equal measure.
Stelle watched teasingly. “Pressure threshold?”
“Not applicable.”
“Hygiene considerations?”
“Not relevant.”
“Bacteria exchange?”
He glanced at her incredulusly. “That question was not meant to be asked aloud.”
She laughed and squeezed his hand anyway, pleased with herself. The bouquet remained in a glass on her desk long after the first day. The spreadsheet grew absurdly large and acquired footnotes, revisions, and a section titled ‘Unexpected Outcomes’. The Express Family chat group continued to suffer under their updates, but the updates slowly became less technical and more suspiciously domestic.
Then there were the little things neither of them had planned for; Dan Heng, without announcing it, began leaving water at her bedside because he found out Stelle would often be dehydrated and wake up in the middle of the night, while she started waking up early enough to bring him breakfast before he could insist on making it himself.
One evening, he found her asleep on the couch with one of the flowers from his bouquet tucked behind her ear and had to stand in the doorway for several seconds before stepping forward and gently removing her phone from her hand.
She had stirred at the touch, eyes half-lidded. “Hmm…is it bedtime already?”
“It is nearly midnight.”
“Carry me, Master Dan Heng.”
He looked at her and she looked back, utterly serious now, though the corners of her mouth were threatening to give her away. Dan Heng sighed in that long-suffering way of his that always made her feel victorious. Then, he crouched and lifted her effortlessly, one arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees.
Stelle immediately looped her arms around his neck and tucked her face against his collarbone. “You’re getting used to this.” She mumbled.
“You are.”
“That’s because it’s nice. And you smell so good.”
There was a beat that passed. “....Yes. I supposed it's nice.”
She smiled against his shoulder, hidden from his view.
When she stumbled out of the bed the next morning, hair a mess and blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, she found him at the counter near her fridge with two cups of freshly brewed coffee and that same faintly embarrassed look he only ever wore when he was trying very hard not to be obvious.
She leaned against him and smiled sleepily. “Good morning, handsome.”
He turned toward her with a small smile. “Good morning, Stelle.”
For all their charts and notes and clinical language and carefully measured trials, it was the simplest greeting in the world that made Stelle pause in the doorway with a flush.
On day twelve, they moved on to what the spreadsheet had designated as ‘intimate proximity’.
Dan Heng sat beside her on the couch at exactly 2.7 centimetres closer than his usual distance (that he initiated himself), as though he had measured it with a ruler, recalculated it twice, and only then decided it was safe for human habitation. “...I believe couples are known to lean into each other during long silences.”
Stelle curiously leaned into him on purpose but he did not flinch and for a full five seconds, nothing happened. Then, Stelle tipped her head and looked up at him. “…Are we bonding yet?”
Dan Heng’s gaze remained on the ceiling. “Unclear. Is this not how close we usually are, anyway?”
She laughed so hard she nearly toppled sideways off the couch, and he had to reach out automatically to steady her before she could fall. His hand settled at her waist for only a second before he pulled away, as if the brief contact itself had caused the lightning to zap him.
By the end of the week, they had rehearsed enough domestic and romantic behaviour to make the entire arrangement look less like a fake relationship and more like a long, slow descent into mutual disaster. Like how shared breakfasts with the crew became a daily trial, with everyone else watched in either disbelief, amusement, or both.
“....Why do couples feed each other?” Dan Heng asked one morning, staring at the spoon Stelle had pointed directly at his face. “That is unhygienic.”
“It’s affectionate.”
“It is a contamination vector if not properly done.”
“They said its cute.”
“It’s not.”
“Just take the bite, Dan Heng. My arm’s about to fall off.” She said, wagging the spoon at him.
He hesitantly did, after a long look that suggested he was personally offended by the concept of being pampered, and then wrote down ‘mutual feeding is accepted in controlled environments only’ in the notes app on their spreadsheet the moment he noticed Himeko and March’s teasing glances.
Pet names were next, though they lasted all of five minutes.
“....I absolutely will not call you ‘babe’.” Dan Heng said flatly.
She made a face. “You wound me.”
“I am also not calling you ‘dear’, ‘darling’, or any variation that implies I have forgotten my dignity.”
“Fine, fine.” She said brightly. “Then, I’ll call you something embarrassing, Dragon Young.”
“That does not solve anything.”
“It solves my entertainment.”
Holding hands was a different kind of trial entirely. Though they held hands countless times before, Stelle’s hands remained either too warm or too sweaty depending on the day. Dan Heng’s were always cold enough to make her yelp in betrayal, which only encouraged him to hold on longer out of sheer stubbornness. They spent one entire afternoon comparing grip pressure.
“Yours are sweaty.” Dan Heng observed.
“Yours are ice cold.”
“That is because you are overheating. Is this still because of the Stellaron?”
“That is because you’re an old lizard.”
“I am not a lizard.”
“You absolutely are. A very beautiful, emotionally repressed lizard.”
He stared at her, then, he laced their fingers together even harder that Stelle had to cough by the awkwardness that followed. Neither of them said anything again during the entire duration of the practice.
However, their attempt at slow dancing was the worst. At least, according to Dan Heng.
“What is the point if there is no celebratory ritual or party?” He asked, after Stelle dragged him into the centre of the Party Car and made him stand there with both hands awkwardly hovering near her waist.
“Apparently, it’s emotional.”
“I do not find that answer satisfactory.”
“That’s because you’re thinking too hard.”
“I’m thinking exactly the correct amount.”
She stepped closer, smiling with that dangerous little curve to her mouth that always meant she was planning something to mess with him again. “Then think less.”
With visible reluctance, he set his hands more properly at her waist and allowed her to guide them in a slow, awkward circle.
It should have been ridiculous. It was ridiculous, and somehow, even with both of them stiff as boards and subtly counting steps like they were coordinating a manoeuvre on a battlefield, the room seemed to soften around them. Neither of them commented on that.
Since then, they argued constantly over how to fake affection convincingly, not because they couldn’t do it, but because neither could agree on which behaviours were rational, effective, or even necessary for the research they were participating in. Dan Heng preferred structure while Stelle preferred drama. He wanted controlled gestures with measurable outcomes while she wanted lingering looks, accidental touches, and at least one completely unnecessary line spoken in a low voice beside the ear.
“...Why would anyone do that?” He asked once, with profound suspicion, after she suggested he should brush her hair back and stare at her for fifteen seconds too long.
“Because it’s romantic.”
“It’s impractical.”
“It’s a vibe.”
“That is not a valid metric.”
“It is according to the romantic quotes 101.”
And yet, even while they bickered over every tiny detail, something between them kept shifting that neither of them seemed to know how to name. They did hold eye contact longer than before and they did start remembering each other’s favourite tea blends and making them for each other without being asked. They did begin leaving the other person small things that could not reasonably be called gifts, but probably were.
March was watching from the shadows with the expression of someone witnessing a long, slow train wreck in real time and enjoying every second of it. She grinned like a madwoman whenever one of them forgot to maintain the pretense for even half a second.
Because even in their maddeningly methodical, sterilised approach to fake dating, she could see the changes. And if it took a full-blown interstellar research, eleven intervention attempts for cringe romantic tropes, and a catastrophic amount of spreadsheets for them to admit it, then so be it.