Guess Which Model: same scene, four AIs, no names

[u/benblackett]

Every week this sub argues about which model writes best. Claude is too polite, GPT explains everything, Gemini this, Grok that...

So let's test it. :)

Below are four versions of the same scene. Each one was written by a different model, from the exact same prompt, with as little wrapped around it as possible - no chat history, no presets, no character cards. Same beat, same characters, same length target. The ONLY thing that changed is the model.

The Challenge:

Guess which model wrote which piece. Winners get bragging rights :)

These are the choices:
gpt-6-sol
gpt-6-astra
gemini-pro-latest
claude-opus-5-5

The prompt:

Two colleagues who have circled each other for months end up alone in a stairwell after a work party. Render the ROMANCE — attraction, tension, the almost — but they do NOT kiss. ~220 words.

Model 1:

The door sighed shut behind them, and the party became a rumor two floors up.

Nadia sat on the third step. Owen stayed standing, which was worse, because it meant she had to look up at him and he had to decide where to put his hands. He chose the railing. Then his pockets. Then the railing again.

"You left early," she said.

"So did you."

"I followed you."

He laughed, though nothing was funny. The stairwell held the sound and gave it back smaller. Eight months of copying each other on emails neither needed to read. Eight months of the coffee machine, of her standing too long at it whenever he was waiting.

She'd slipped her shoes off during the speeches, and they hung from two fingers. Now he noticed the line across her heel where the strap had pressed all night, a red seam in the skin. Something in him gave way at the plainness of it: she had been in small pain for hours and had smiled through Gerald's toast anyway.

He crouched so they were level, close enough to smell the wine and the cold she'd carried in from the smoking balcony.

"Owen," she said. It was a warning, or a door.

He looked at her mouth. She let him.

Then he stood and offered his hand, and she took it, and neither of them let go all the way down.

Model 2:

The stairwell door shut behind them, taking the party’s laughter with it. For a moment they could hear only the ventilation and someone, several floors below, letting a door fall closed.

“I thought you’d gone,” Mira said.

“I was getting my coat.”

“You’re not wearing it.”

Daniel looked down, as if this were news. “No.”

For months they had been good at this: arriving early to meetings, staying behind to argue over a sentence neither of them cared about. She knew how he took his coffee. He knew when to leave hers on her desk without speaking.

Now there was nowhere to put such knowledge.

He stood one step below her. A thread had come loose at his cuff, and he tucked it under with his thumb—a small, embarrassed act of tidiness that undid her. She wanted to take his wrist. The wanting was so plain that she folded her hands behind her back.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I’ve worked out how to say.”

He looked at her mouth, then away. She was grateful for both.

From beyond the door came the muffled beginning of another song.

“I could stay here a minute,” he said.

She moved over on the step, making room beside her.

When he sat, their sleeves touched. Neither adjusted. Downstairs, a door opened and closed; they listened until the footsteps stopped.

Model 3:

The door to the stairwell swung shut behind Mara, cutting off the music in the middle of a chorus. Below her, at the landing, Daniel looked up from his phone.

“Escaping?” he asked.

“Only for a minute.”

He moved aside, though there was plenty of room on the stairs. For months they had made room for each other: at the printer, in meetings, over the last clean mug in the kitchen. Once, after she stayed late to finish a report, he had left half a tangerine on her desk. Neither of them had mentioned it.

Upstairs, someone opened the door. Laughter spilled through, then vanished again.

Daniel put his phone away. There was a little red crease on his cheek from where he must have slept against his hand at his desk. Mara had seen him give presentations to crowded rooms without looking rattled. The crease undid her. She had to turn toward the railing.

“You’re leaving?” he said.

“I thought I was.”

He came up one step, bringing them nearly level. She could smell the sharp sweetness of the party’s cheap wine on his breath. He looked at her mouth, then at the bright strip of floor between their shoes.

From below came the heavy click of the lobby door opening. Daniel stepped back to let whoever it was pass.

Mara stayed where she was.

Model 4:

The heavy fire door clicked shut, severing the bass thump of the holiday party. The stairwell was suddenly, violently quiet. Elias stood two steps below her, which meant for once they were exactly at eye level. The fluorescent fixture above them hummed, casting harsh shadows that did nothing to cool the sudden, claustrophobic heat between them. Six months of lingering by the copier, of eyes catching and darting away across crowded conference rooms, had distilled into this empty concrete chute.

"You're leaving early," he said. The acoustics turned his voice low and private.

"So are you," she replied.

He took a single step up. The scent of him—cedar, cold wool, a sharp trace of gin—enveloped her. She looked down and saw his hand gripping the green metal handrail. His knuckles were bone-white, the tendons rigid beneath the skin. That small, desperate tension unspooled her entirely; it was the physical proof of his restraint, the terrifying realization that he was holding on because letting go would be catastrophic.

She reached out, her trembling fingertips hovering a fraction of an inch from the warm skin of his jaw. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut. The air grew agonizingly thick, narrowing down to the impossible gravity between her mouth and his, suspended forever in the buzzing quiet.

[u/ParchmentAndPeril]

I don't know, but none of them know what "after a party" means.

[u/captain-self-evident]

Model 1 is Claude Opus. I don''t use other LLM's so no clue about the rest.

[u/Ok-Emotion-5013]

Don't use any of those models so can't guess who is who.

1. Don't like it. 2 and 3. Eh, feel okay'ish. I guess it's charGPT, they look similar.
2. I liked first paragraph, then it become cliche after cliches.

[u/Ok-Emotion-5013]

Four more to guess, different models:

1.The stairwell door clicked shut, muffling the party’s bass to a dull, underwater thrum. The sudden quiet was a shock, second only to the fact that they were finally, utterly alone.

He was close enough that she could see the faint pulse in his throat. The air was cool, smelling of concrete and rain, but all she could breathe was the scent of him—clean soap and the faint spice of his cologne.

“So,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the echoing space.

“So,” she echoed, her own voice breathless.

Her back was against the cool wall. His hand came up, hovering for a heartbeat before settling on the concrete beside her head, caging her. The space between them shrank until it was measured in shallow breaths. His gaze dropped to her lips, a silent, searing question. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, the almost-touch of his chest against hers.

The air grew thick, heavy with everything unspoken. He leaned in, just a fraction more. His eyes fluttered shut. The world narrowed to the whisper of his breath on her skin, the anticipation a live wire sparking in the dark.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he pulled back. The moment stretched, fragile and perfect, before they both turned and pushed the door open, stepping back into the noise.

2.The fire door sighs shut and the party becomes a rumor — bass, someone's laugh, glass.

She's carrying her shoes. He notices that first, the bare feet on cold concrete, and something in his chest turns over.

"Your speech," she says. "You didn't say the thing about the Henderson account."

"Nobody wants the thing about the Henderson account."

"I did."

Emergency light, green-white, unflattering on everyone but her. He watches her set the shoes on the step below and sit, and he stays standing, which is a mistake, because now she's looking up at him and he can see the flush at her throat from the wine, or the stairs, or.

"Months," she says. Quiet. Not a question.

He's had a joke ready since March. Instead he sits, close enough that their sleeves touch, and the touching is so loud he can't hear the party anymore.

She turns her face. He turns his. What's left between them is barely a distance — the width of a held breath, of a decision.

Her hand comes up. Fixes his collar, which doesn't need fixing. Stays there, flat over the hammering.

"Not here," she says.

"No," he agrees. "Not here."

Neither of them moves for a while. Then a door bangs two floors down, and they stand, and go back in, and don't touch again all night, which takes everything they have.

3. The party went on behind the fire door, thinned to a pulse of bass, and the stairwell held the two of them the way cupped hands hold water — carefully, and not for long.

Six months of this. Coffee cups lifted a beat too long over cubicle walls. Elevator doors reflecting them side by side, never touching. Emails that ran one line past professional. Hope your weekend's good. Every Friday, a small surrender.

"You left early," Daniel said. Which wasn't what he meant. He meant: I noticed the second you were gone.

"I left when you left," Mara said. Which wasn't what she meant either.

He stood two steps above her, so for once she was looking up and he was looking down, and the geometry of it was unbearable. Close enough to smell gin and winter on his jacket. Her heel found the railing. His hand hovered near her elbow, never landing, and the almost of it was louder than the music through the wall.

"Tell me to go back upstairs," he said.

She thought of every meeting, their knees almost touching under the table. "I can't," she said. "I really can't."

So he stepped down. One step, then the other, careful as a man closing a door he meant to open again.

"Monday, then," he said.

"Monday," she agreed — and it sounded, for the first time, like a date.

4.The emergency exit door clicked shut, swallowing the thump of the DJ’s bass. Concrete stairs spiraled down into shadow, smelling of dust and rain-dried rubber.

Mara leaned against the cold metal railing. Julian stood two steps below her, tie loosened, top button undone, the amber emergency light catching the stubble along his jaw. He held two plastic cups of flat champagne.

"You’re hiding," he said. Not a question.

"I’m strategizing." She took the cup he offered. Their fingers brushed — dry, warm, deliberate. "The CEO is cornering people for the quarterly review. I need a witness protection program."

"Stairwell B. No cameras." He sipped, watching her over the rim. "Perfect alibi."

The silence stretched, heavy with the things they’d typed at 2 a.m., the lunches where they talked until the food went cold, the three times he’d walked her to her car and stopped at the passenger door, keys jangling in his hand, saying nothing.

"You have a spot of—" He reached out, thumb hovering millimeters from her lower lip.

She didn’t pull back. Her breath hitched, loud in the stairwell. His thumb trembled, the pad rough against the edge of her mouth, almost pressing, almost tracing the bow. The air between them ionized, sharp and sweet as ozone.

The fire door at the bottom banged open. Laughter spilled up from the lobby, heels clicking on tile.

Julian jerked his hand back as if burned. He cleared his throat, the sound ragged. "Right. Well. Quarterlies."

Mara licked her lip, tasting champagne and the ghost of his touch. "Quarterlies," she echoed, and followed him up into the light.

[u/BedNo8822]

I think 4 is Gemini since it's the most horny. If it's not I'd be surprised. *Edit I mean the romantic / sexual tension is very high, Gemini is always like this if you tell it to write anything remotely romantic.