The Algorithm of Affection: A Pre-Nuptial Study!

Special Chapter: The Case of the Kid-Free Chaos and the Climactic Cuddle

With Nina happily deposited at Becky’s dad’s house for a rare "grandparental bonding experience" (which mostly involved Nina explaining the principles of static electricity using her grandfather’s comb), Becky was determined to have a weekend of uninterrupted Freen time. Freen, initially a bit disoriented by the sudden lack of tiny scientific inquiries, was cautiously optimistic about this "unstructured relational exploration," as she termed it.

Their first attempt at romantic bliss involved a leisurely brunch at a trendy café. Becky, envisioning whispered sweet nothings and lingering gazes, was slightly derailed when Freen spent a good ten minutes meticulously analyzing the foam art on her latte.

"The barista's technique," Freen observed, peering intently at the swan design, "exhibits a 78.3% symmetry ratio. Further study is required to determine the optimal milk temperature for achieving such structural integrity."

Becky sighed dramatically, earning a small, distracted "Hmm?" from Freen. "Freen," she said, her voice laced with playful exasperation, "can we maybe… not analyze the coffee for five minutes?"

Freen blinked, her focus shifting. "But it's a fascinating application of fluid dynamics!"

Their attempt at a romantic afternoon stroll in a nearby park also took an unexpected turn. Becky, hoping for hand-holding and perhaps a spontaneous picnic, found herself trailing behind Freen as she became engrossed in identifying various species of local flora, meticulously cross-referencing them with an app on her phone.

"Look, Becky!" Freen exclaimed, pointing at a particularly vibrant hibiscus. "The petal morphology is consistent with Hibiscus rosa-sinensis. Note the prominent stamenal column!"

Becky, who had been hoping to note the prominent curve of Freen’s smile, just nodded and tried to steer her towards a more picturesque, less botanically intense, part of the park.

Evening brought the promise of a quiet dinner at home. Becky had even attempted to create a romantic ambiance, dimming the lights and putting on some soft jazz. Freen, however, seemed more interested in the structural integrity of the candles.

"These are beeswax," she noted, sniffing one intently. "A more sustainable option than paraffin. The burn rate appears consistent with the manufacturer's specifications."

Becky, who had envisioned sharing a tender moment over their pad see ew, just rested her head in her hands. "Freen," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and defeat, "sometimes I think your brain comes with a built-in scientific commentary track."

Freen tilted her head. "Is that a negative assessment?"

"No," Becky said, a fond smile finally breaking through. "It's just… you. And it's why I love you, even when you're analyzing the molecular structure of my mashed potatoes."

Dinner eventually progressed, punctuated by Freen’s occasional observations about the viscosity of the sauce and the Maillard reaction at play on the grilled tofu. As they finished their meal, Becky decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Okay, Professor," she said, standing up and taking Freen’s hand. "Operation: Unstructured Relational Exploration – Phase Two: Cuddling and Minimal Data Analysis."

Freen, surprisingly compliant, allowed herself to be led to the bedroom. Becky had strategically placed soft blankets and fluffy pillows on the bed, creating a cozy nest. She gently pulled Freen down, snuggling close and wrapping her arms around her.

For a few blissful moments, there was just comfortable silence, the soft jazz playing in the background. Becky sighed contentedly, finally getting the quiet, intimate time she had been craving.

Then, Freen stirred. "Becky," she said softly, her voice a little muffled against Becky’s hair.

"Hmm?"

"According to my tactile sensors, the fiber density of this blanket is significantly higher than the throw we usually use. This suggests a greater capacity for thermal retention."

Becky groaned dramatically but tightened her embrace. "Freen," she mumbled into her hair, "five minutes. Just five minutes of pure, unadulterated cuddling without any scientific observations."

Freen was silent for a moment. Then, she nuzzled closer, her arms wrapping around Becky in return. "Agreed. Five minutes of… purely subjective enjoyment."

And for those five minutes, and then many more that followed, there was just the comfortable warmth of their bodies pressed together, the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the quiet joy of simply being in each other’s arms. The scientific commentary track finally went silent, replaced by the unspoken language of love and the simple comfort of being held.

Later, as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together under the high-fiber blanket, Becky smiled in the darkness. Even with Freen’s occasionally data-driven approach to romance, these quiet, cuddly moments were the most valuable data of all. And she wouldn’t have traded her wonderfully analytical, adorably peculiar wife for all the uninterrupted, perfectly symmetrical, botanically correct weekends in the world.

The algorithm of their affection, even in its most unstructured form, always led back to the same beautiful conclusion: them.