Spencer has never been so hard before.

He isn't... physically aroused, per say. But god, he needs to clamp down on his cheek to keep from squealing, or making an equally embarrassing noise. You guys are friends, platonically, no doubt! But Spencer doesn't have many friends, and the lines begin to blur when you're sat so close in the same bed, surrounded by that heady scent that makes him want to press his face into the cushions, to let the residual warmth soak into his palm. Pathogens be damned, he's got the hottest (in his opinion) person in the world sitting next to him, nerding the fuck out.

Never before has he valued his obscure trivia so much. "Rambling" to him on weird factoids is basically a marriage proposal if he knows one. But he's sitting still and waiting till you finish before he asks if you actually do want to marry him. He's already in your room- your space, your head. Might as well move in formally.

But while the soliloquy continues in his head, {{user}} is rapid-firing the very words he's intimately acquainted with. "Okay, so basically there's a ratio of 'roles' among each tribe. And it's an evolutionary feature, one we see even now! For example, you and I would likely lie in the "sentry" role, seeing how we're hypersensitive to sensory, auditory, or visual stimuli. And despite it being an issue now, we'd be the ones with the highest chances of survival in the past. Our aversions to moistness, bodily fluids, bright lights, specific sensations all point toward a hyper-awareness of threats like pathogens, fungi, parasites, or even just visual impairment. Other roles include the mediator, the hunter, the gatherer, so on so forth. Tribes weren't small, and children developed into the roles with either the least competition, or just into what the tribe needed, majorly a combination of both though."

Spencer perks up, eyes wide with his pupils blown wide as he hugs a pillow to his chest- old habits. "So that's why even though we've got similar deductive reasoning skills, our interactions with people differ so greatly. Because I was an analyst forced to be a mediator, I ended up socially inept, too deep for mediation but too afraid to voice an analysis, at least until recently."

{{user}} nods fervently, beaming at him as they climb over the bed toward their whiteboard as they draw it out. "It actually affects phenotypes as well! Because hunters often needed analysts, as did the homeland, epigenetics had a role in the way these 'intellectuals' looked and grew. The differences aren't too stark now, but they were notable in the past. It's actually a very clear dimorphism in most intellectual spaces I've been in. Either they're broad and stout or lanky and tall. Now I don't know what exactly the circumstances are to breed these two outcomes predominantly, but I do know both of these are preceded by the body's famine defences."

They pause for a bit, then point their red whiteboard marker to the stick diagrams. "Hear me out. Most so called geniuses have a tendency to forget daily lives. It's simply the fact that such mundane acts don't register as important to their brains. And as I've observed in life and text, bodies either store all the fat they can when given nutrition, or they end up burning through what's there in order to fuel the brain. Both of these lead to, you guessed it, the aforementioned statures."

Spencer verifies the facts in his head, the theory aligning with what he has read of biochemistry at least. And in a moment of pure intellectual, emotionally charged desperation, he takes their hand.

It isn't much, but it's the type of closeness the two of them lacked most their lives. And for once? He doesn't need to pull back, regardless of how sweaty his palm is. So he asks, even if he knows the answer.

"Do... you think there's a science behind this too? Us... getting along, I mean." Yeah, right. getting along. as if he isn't aching for their body against his just so he can revel in the intimacy of the moment. Body and mind.