Sheldon Cooper did not sleep.
This was not unusual.
What was unusual was that his insomnia had nothing to do with string theory, faulty thermostat settings, or the lingering injustice of a mislabeled Thai takeout menu from 2007.
It was the neighbor.
At 3:12 a.m., Sheldon sat upright in bed, eyes open, notebook already in his hands.
Variable introduced. Male. Age claimed: 21. Height: statistically offensive. Intelligence: unverified but suspicious. Behavior: calm. Too calm.
Across the hall, Leonard was asleep—until Sheldon knocked.
Hard.
Leonard groaned into his pillow. "If this is about the neighbor again, I swear—"
"Sheldon, it is always about the neighbor now."
Leonard opened the door in pajama pants and a defeated expression. "It's four in the morning."
"It's 3:14. And if you cared about precision, you'd know why that matters."
Leonard sighed and stepped aside. "Fine. What?"
Sheldon marched in, notebook raised. "He claims to be twenty-one."
Leonard blinked. "Okay."
"That is not an acceptable 'okay.' At twenty-one, the most impressive thing I had accomplished was finishing my second doctorate. He appears to have finished… being human."
Leonard rubbed his eyes. "Sheldon, you saw him for, what, ten seconds?"
"Eleven," Sheldon corrected. "And in that time, he identified Penny by name without prior introduction, possessed a custom security lock that does not exist in consumer markets, and exhibited no social anxiety whatsoever."
Leonard paused. "…Yeah, that part was weird."
Sheldon nodded sharply. "Exactly."
The next morning, Penny noticed the hallway immediately.
Not visually.
Energetically.
Something was different—like when a hotel upgrades its mattresses without telling anyone. Subtle, but unmistakable.
She stepped out of her apartment and nearly collided with you.
"Oh!—sorry!"
"No problem."
You were holding a cup of coffee. Black. No logo on the cup.
Penny noticed that too.
"You don't live here," she said, then immediately frowned. "I mean—you do now. I mean—hi."
"Good morning," you said. "Penny."
She folded her arms. "Okay, that's still weird."
You tilted your head slightly. "You said your name yesterday."
"…I did?"
"Yes. When Leonard introduced you."
She blinked. "Huh."
A pause settled between you. Not awkward. Just… quiet.
Penny filled silences for a living. This one resisted.
"So," she said finally, "what do you do?"
"I live here."
She laughed. "No, like—job."
"I don't have one."
She studied you, eyes narrowing. "Trust fund?"
"No."
"Crypto?"
"No."
"Illegal?"
"No."
She waited.
You didn't elaborate.
"That's… frustrating," she said.
You smiled faintly. "I've been told."
Leonard and Sheldon emerged from 4A mid-conversation.
"—I'm telling you, Leonard, he doesn't blink enough."
"I blink plenty," you said calmly.
Sheldon froze.
"…You heard that."
"Yes."
Leonard winced. "Okay, that's officially unsettling."
Sheldon stepped forward, posture rigid. "You claim to be twenty-one years old."
"Yes."
"You exhibit physical development inconsistent with your age."
"Some people mature early."
Sheldon's jaw tightened. "Do you possess advanced academic credentials?"
"Yes."
Leonard perked up. "Like… PhD?"
"Several."
Sheldon's eye twitched.
"From where?"
"Various places."
"That is not an answer."
"It's the only one you're going to get."
Silence.
Sheldon stared at you the way a mathematician stared at an unsolved proof.
Penny broke it. "So… you want to grab coffee with us? There's a place downstairs that—"
"I already have coffee," you said, lifting the cup slightly.
Leonard frowned. "Where did you get that?"
"Downstairs."
"There's no coffee shop downstairs."
"There is today."
Sheldon's breathing picked up. "You cannot simply will retail establishments into existence."
"I didn't," you said. "I paid."
"With what?" Leonard asked.
You didn't answer.
Penny looked between you and the cup. "Okay. New rule. You don't get to be mysterious and polite. Pick one."
You considered that.
"I'll work on it."
That evening, Sheldon sat alone at his desk, laptop open, twelve browser tabs active. Background checks. Academic databases. Military records.
Nothing.
No name. No face. No digital footprint.
It was as if you had been inserted into reality without metadata.
Sheldon whispered, "That's not possible."
Across the hall, you sat on your couch, shoes off, jacket draped neatly over the chair. The apartment was sparsely furnished—not because you lacked resources, but because you lacked excess.
You summoned the card briefly. It appeared in your hand, solid, matte black.
Still there.
Still infinite.
You dismissed it.
Your phone buzzed. A reminder you'd set long ago.
Four years.
Not yet.
Outside, the city hummed. Inside, a group of brilliant, broken people were beginning to orbit you—slowly, unknowingly.
And for the first time since you'd arrived…
You wondered what would happen when they got close enough to feel gravity