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Sheldon heard her before he felt her climbing into bed. His eyes fluttered open, still blurred from the remnants of sleep. What time was it?
He squinted at the clock on the bedside table. 10:23 PM.
He must’ve fallen asleep before his usual bedtime, which felt wrong. He blinked into the dim light of the room, realizing it had been several hours since his head hit the pillow. He turned slightly toward his fiancée, who despite her best efforts to slip in quietly, had woken him.
“I woke you. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep,” Amy whispered in hushed tones as she settled into her position on the mattress.
Sheldon shifted to face her, his voice still heavy with sleep but tinged with an undercurrent of displeasure. “Did you just get back?” He wasn’t sure if he was mad yet, but something was definitely amiss.
Amy hesitated. “I came back around 8, but you were already asleep.”
So, I did fall asleep earlier. He felt a wave of irritation. He hadn’t planned on sleeping that early, and now he remembered why: he was upset. No—he was mad. Mad at Amy for spending her weekend with Howard. Mad at Penny and Leonard for using that absurd parenting book on him. And at Bernadette for tricking him into doing Howard's chores... though, perhaps not the chores so much as the trickery. He was also upset that Raj had come over, not because of Raj’s visit, but because he didn’t get to hold Raj's hands the way he liked to hold Amy's when they watched movies. And he was mad at Mark Twain—well, that part was hazy, but it seemed important. And above all, Howard! Howard had kept Amy captive, all day, with his undeserving, greasy engineer hands. The thought alone fueled his frustration.
He realized he’d been staring at Amy, and she, unsurprisingly, was staring right back. Her eyes were tired, heavy with exhaustion. Of course she was tired—probably from all that laughing and singing with Howard. If they'd focused solely on their “top-tier work,” maybe she wouldn’t have come home so late. Maybe she'd have laughed with him, her brilliant fiancé.
“Sheldon, are you mad at me?” Amy’s soft voice snapped him out of his seething reverie.
Mad? Sheldon blinked. “Why would I be mad?” He tried to sound neutral, but Amy cocked her head, clearly not buying it.
“You texted me earlier saying you were. And when I came home, you were already asleep. It wasn’t even your bedtime yet.”
Sheldon mulled over her words. She wasn’t wrong; he had been mad. But not just at her. His feelings were all tangled up in a confusing mess of frustration, jealousy, and—oddly—Mark Twain.
“I’m not mad at you,” he said, though he hesitated. It didn’t feel like the whole truth. “I’m mad at Howard for keeping you so busy.”
Amy blinked at him, clearly searching for the right words. He could see her mind working, trying not to hurt his delicate ego. “I admit we’ve been working a lot lately. I’m sorry if that made you feel neglected.”
Neglected? Hardly. If anything, Sheldon was more concerned for her, for her brilliant brain. Spending too much time with Howard could wear down even the sharpest intellect. “Amy, I don’t feel neglected. I just feel like you shouldn’t be spending so much time with someone whose intellect couldn't even earn a PhD.” He scoffed, the disdain clear in his voice.
Amy’s brows furrowed. “You spend time with Howard playing make-believe dungeons and dragons and watching all those brain-rotting sci-fi shows. And you say I’m at risk?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Well for one, I’m not—"
“Sheldon,” Amy cut him off, her tone weary. “I’m really tired. I don’t want to go back and forth with you about this. Why don’t you just admit you’re jealous of Howard and that you miss me?”
“I am not jealous of Howard!” Sheldon’s voice jumped an octave, startling both of them. Amy leaned back, eyes wide. He immediately softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, trying to recalibrate. He took a breath, composing himself. “I am not jealous of Howard. I’m just—” He chose his words carefully. “—displeased that he’s taking over our thing.”
Amy's brow furrowed again. “Our thing?”
“Science, Amy.” He looked at her imploringly, willing her to understand. “Leonard and Penny have wine and gassy explosions, Howard and Bernadette have their creepy mother-son dynamic, and Raj has his... well, Cinnamon. But Amy, science is our thing.”
Amy looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure? Because every time I bring up my work, you’re not exactly invested, unless it’s related to physics.”
“You might have a point,” Sheldon conceded reluctantly. “But that’s boring biology’s fault, not mine.”
“You’re only proving my point.”
“I can see that.”
“Try again, Sheldon.”
He sighed, exasperated but resigned. “Okay, fine. I admit it. I may have been feeling lonely and maybe a little jealous. But only because I don’t do well alone. And I don’t see the point in being jealous of a man who’s shorter, skinnier, and vastly less intellectually gifted than I am. There. Happy?”
Amy’s lips quirked into a smile. “You’re so cute when you get all riled up over me, you know.”
Sheldon opened his mouth to protest, but the moment Amy shifted closer to him, pressing her warmth into his side, he found he didn’t mind. The adrenaline from his earlier frustration was fading, and in its place, a possessive feeling simmered just beneath the surface. Amy was his. That ring on her finger was proof. His.
She nestled against him, and he inhaled the fresh, clean scent of her shampoo. He realized how much he’d missed this, missed her.
“I promise to be more mindful of my working hours with Howard on this project,” she murmured, her breath warm against his neck.
“Good,” he said, satisfied.
“And,” she added, shifting slightly to look up at him, “maybe we could have a date day tomorrow. Just the two of us.”
He paused, then nodded. “I’d like that.”
Amy smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in to kiss him. Sheldon met her halfway, the touch of her lips sending a quiet thrill through him. The taste of her lips was even better than the scent of her shampoo. This closeness, this touch—it stirred something in him, something he didn’t often allow himself to acknowledge.
Dear Lord, he thought as he pressed a little closer. I’m becoming a hippy.
The End