Sheldon Cooper did not want to be friends with Ace Charles.
Which, naturally, meant he was already drafting the paperwork.
Leonard found him at the kitchen table at 6:43 a.m., surrounded by printed pages, a ruler, and a highlighter.
"Oh no," Leonard said softly. "You're laminating something."
"I am organizing," Sheldon replied without looking up. "Friendship, when left unregulated, leads to chaos."
Leonard poured cereal. "So… this is about Ace."
"This is about risk mitigation," Sheldon snapped. "Ace Charles presents an unprecedented anomaly: he integrates socially without destabilizing group hierarchy."
Leonard frowned. "That's… good."
"No, Leonard. It's confusing."
At precisely 7:00 a.m., there was a knock at the door.
Three knocks. Evenly spaced.
Leonard opened it.
Ace stood there, hoodie zipped halfway, comic tucked under one arm.
"Morning," Ace said.
Sheldon appeared instantly. "Ace Charles. You're early."
"Yes."
Sheldon nodded. "Acceptable."
Leonard mouthed what is happening behind Sheldon's back.
Sheldon cleared his throat and held up a stapled document. "I have prepared a Provisional Friendship Agreement."
Ace took it.
Read it.
Did not react.
Leonard craned his neck. "Is there a clause about bathroom schedules?"
"Sheldon," Leonard said, "please tell me there isn't—"
"Page three," Sheldon said proudly.
Ace flipped to page three. "You've allocated me twenty-seven minutes of weekly interaction."
"Yes."
"And a probationary period."
"Correct."
Ace looked up. "What happens if I decline?"
Sheldon stiffened. "Then I will assume hostile ambiguity."
Ace considered that.
Then, calmly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and signed the last page.
Sheldon blinked. "You… agreed?"
Ace handed the papers back. "Structure makes people feel safe."
Leonard stared. "Okay, I like him."
Later that afternoon, Penny sat on the couch in 4A, scrolling on her phone.
She wasn't really looking at anything.
Ace sat across from her, controller resting on his knee, not turned on.
"You okay?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated. "You."
He didn't respond right away.
She continued. "You don't flirt. You don't stare. You don't try to fix me."
Ace nodded. "You don't need fixing."
She swallowed. "That's kind of the problem."
He met her eyes—not intensely, not romantically. Just honestly.
"Safe doesn't mean boring," he said. "It just means you can breathe."
Penny exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," she said. "That's what scares me."
That night, Howard dragged Raj into the comic book store.
"I refuse," Howard said, "to be out-nerded by a six-foot-nine golden Viking who doesn't even try."
Raj adjusted his jacket. "He was very polite when he beat you."
Howard stopped short.
Ace was already there.
Standing at the counter. Talking quietly with the clerk.
In fluent Klingon.
Howard stared. "No."
Ace glanced over. "Hey."
Raj whispered, "I hate him a little."
Howard cleared his throat. "So. Comics."
Ace nodded. "You collect for value or story?"
Howard hesitated. "…Both?"
Ace smiled faintly. "Good answer."
They browsed.
Ace didn't correct Howard. Didn't compete. Didn't dominate.
By the time they left, Howard was… confused.
Raj leaned over. "I think he just made you feel seen."
Howard scowled. "Shut up."
Late that night, Sheldon sat on his bed, reviewing the signed agreement.
Everything was in order.
And yet.
He frowned and scribbled a note in the margin.
Observation: Subject complied without resistance. Motive unclear. Potentially altruistic.
Sheldon lay back, staring at the ceiling.
He did not like uncertainty.
But for the first time, he wondered if control wasn't the goal.
Maybe…
Understanding was.
Across the hall, Ace lay on his couch, controller untouched, comic unread.
His phone buzzed with a calendar reminder.
Four years.
Still not yet.
Ace closed his eyes.
For now, he was exactly where he needed to be