Saturday mornings in Apartment 4A followed a sacred order.
Cereal.Science.Silence.
Leonard sat at the table flipping through a journal article while Sheldon adjusted the angle of his laptop by exactly three millimeters.
"This," Sheldon said, tapping the screen, "is why peer review should be mandatory before publication."
Leonard didn't look up. "You say that about everything."
"Yes, and one day you'll realize I'm right about most of it."
There was a knock at the door.
Three knocks. Evenly spaced.
Leonard frowned. "Is that… polite knocking?"
Sheldon froze. "That's him."
Leonard sighed and stood. "It's a door, Sheldon, not a summoning circle."
He opened it.
Ace Charles stood there, holding a small paper bag in one hand and a thin rectangular box in the other. He wore a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers—nothing remarkable, which somehow made him more noticeable.
"Morning," Ace said.
Leonard blinked. "Uh—hey."
"I picked up something for you," Ace said, extending the box.
Leonard took it reflexively. "What is this?"
"A controller," Ace said. "Your left joystick drifts. You compensate subconsciously, but it affects reaction time."
Leonard stared at the box. "…How do you know that?"
Ace shrugged lightly. "I watched you play."
From behind Leonard, Sheldon's voice cut in. "He does what?"
Leonard stepped aside. "Come in."
Sheldon spun in his chair to face Ace fully. "You have been observing us."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Not long."
"That is not reassuring."
Ace glanced around the apartment, eyes briefly taking in the shelves, the whiteboard, the meticulously labeled storage bins. "You keep your consoles well maintained," he said. "Dust-free. Respectable."
Leonard's eyebrows shot up. "You know about consoles?"
Ace's mouth curved into the faintest smile. "I play."
That single word landed harder than anything else he'd said so far.
Sheldon stood. "Define 'play.'"
"For fun."
Sheldon recoiled slightly. "That is not a sufficient metric."
Ace continued calmly, "I like story-driven games. Strategy. Some competitive. Depends on the day."
Leonard laughed despite himself. "Okay, now I'm interested."
Sheldon folded his arms. "You cannot simply enter my home, distribute hardware diagnostics, and then claim casual engagement with interactive media."
Ace looked at him. "You want to play?"
Silence.
Leonard turned slowly. "Did you just challenge Sheldon Cooper to a video game?"
"I invited him," Ace corrected.
Sheldon scoffed. "I do not engage in games without a clearly defined competitive structure."
Ace nodded. "Good. Neither do I."
Leonard grinned. "Oh, this is happening."
An hour later, Sheldon sat rigid on the couch, controller held with textbook precision. Leonard lounged beside him. Ace sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the coffee table, completely at ease.
Penny leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "I leave for one brunch shift and suddenly there's a tournament?"
Leonard didn't look away from the screen. "You're just in time."
Ace glanced back at her. "Want to join?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You asking me, Golden Boy?"
"Yes."
She hesitated. "Do I need to know anything?"
"Only how to have fun."
She scoffed. "I can fake that."
She grabbed a controller.
Sheldon cleared his throat. "For the record, I am ranked in the ninety-ninth percentile in—"
The game loaded.
Ten minutes in, Sheldon stopped talking.
Not because he was losing.
Because Ace wasn't winning.
He wasn't dominating, either.
He adapted.
Every time Sheldon adjusted tactics, Ace shifted subtly in response. When Leonard made a mistake, Ace covered without comment. When Penny panicked, Ace calmly redirected the objective.
No instructions.No ego.No commentary.
Just play.
Leonard glanced at Ace. "You do this a lot?"
Ace shrugged. "Enough."
Sheldon's fingers tightened on the controller. "You are deliberately restricting your performance."
Ace met his gaze without looking away from the screen. "I'm matching the room."
That sentence stayed with Sheldon long after the match ended.
Later, Penny wandered over to Ace's apartment.
She hadn't planned to.
She just… ended up there.
Ace's door was open. Inside, the apartment was still minimal—but now there were stacks of game cases near the TV. A short bookshelf filled with comics. Carefully organized. Read, not displayed.
"You read these?" Penny asked, picking one up.
"Yes."
She flipped through a few pages. "Huh. This one's actually… kinda sad."
Ace nodded. "Good stories usually are."
She looked at him. "You're not what I expected."
He leaned against the counter. "What did you expect?"
She thought about it.
"…Louder," she admitted.
Ace smiled. "I've done loud."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Me too."
They stood there for a moment. Not flirting. Not awkward.
Just… comfortable.
Across the hall, Sheldon sat at his desk, staring at his notes.
Observation: Ace Charles does not optimize for dominance. He optimizes for harmony. This is… inefficient. And yet—effective.
Sheldon underlined the sentence twice.
In Apartment 4B, Ace sat on his couch, a comic resting open on his chest, controller charging beside him.
For the first time since he'd moved in, he felt something close to routine.
And that—more than power, more than intellect, more than infinite money—was the most dangerous variable of all.