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“Good night, Sheldon,” Amy said, sliding under the covers on her side of their bed. Sheldon was sitting up on his side, waiting for her.
“Good night,” he replied. They leaned into one another for a quick kiss, then Sheldon turned to switch the lamp off on his nightstand, throwing the room into darkness.
He felt her shift down, settling into the mattress just as he was. They laid there for a second before Sheldon huffed a little and opened his arms for Amy, inviting her to snuggle in close. Even in the dark he could see her smile as she moved into his embrace, her head tucking under his chin and her own arms wrapping around him. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the tension leave his body.
While Amy was still recovering, before she got her memories back, she hadn't hesitated to cuddle up with him, but now she always waited for him to initiate it. Probably because for years he hadn't wanted to. Sheldon Cooper was no one's snuggle bunny, not even his wife's. Of course he got used to sharing the bed with her when they moved in together, and he even allowed her to spoon against his back sometimes, but he only ever did the same to her on special occasions. Otherwise he kept to his side. Amy now remembered the old boundaries.
But things had changed. It had started as a way to prevent her night terrors, which had returned after the accident. It wasn't that he wanted to cuddle with her every night per se, it was just that in order for her to recover from her injuries she needed a good night's sleep, and the only way to make sure she got that was if she slept in his arms.
Sheldon was a bad liar though, even to himself. It wasn't long before he realized he needed this too. He had almost lost her forever. Now he needed to feel her next to him, needed to feel her warmth and the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The tangible proof of life. Without it, it felt too much like when she was still unconscious in the hospital, when no one was sure if she would make it. Their friends had forced him to go home a few times to clean up and get some rest, and he had hated it. The bed felt massive with just him in it, and he had tossed and turned all night, never completing a full REM cycle. As long as she was there, pressed against him, he wouldn't flash back to that awful time.
Studies have said it takes a minimum of eighteen days to form a habit. They were past that now. Falling asleep with Amy in his arms was Sheldon's new routine. There was no going back.
Eighteen days to form a habit. But Amy's own studies have shown it can only take one time to form an addiction.
Was this bad? Unhealthy in some way? Should he mention it to Beverly? Should he talk to Amy about it? He didn't want to. He didn't want to admit out loud that he needed this. He didn't want to discuss why. Amy was okay now. Her bruises had faded, her amnesia was gone, even her broken leg had healed. He just wanted to keep her close and not think about it anymore. And in any case, Amy certainly wasn't complaining.
Sheldon brought one hand up to play with the ends of her hair, and she made a soft, happy sound in the back of her throat. A warm feeling swelled in his chest, the feeling he long ago identified as love, and he let himself relax fully. She was safe, he was safe. What did it matter if he had to hold her every night to be sure of that?
“Don't ever leave,” he mumbled, no longer awake, sleep-talking.