Game night was supposed to be simple.
Halo, takeout, Sheldon yelling about strategy, Howard yelling about Sheldon, Raj sipping beer like it was emotional support.
But Penny Teller had decided to ruin simplicity forever.
Her hands shook as she paced her apartment, comic proofs stacked on her table, the printed Issue #3 mockup staring at her like it knew she was about to blow up her life.
She'd spent days thinking about Sheldon's forty-three reasons.
Days thinking about collapsing in the hallway.
Days thinking about how lying—even by omission—felt heavier now than any reincarnation baggage she carried.
It was time.
She walked across the hall, took a breath, and knocked.
Leonard opened the door with a grin. "Hey, Penny! Ready to get annihilated at—"
"I need to say something," she blurted.
Four men froze mid-entertainment.
Howard, mouth full of Pringles.
Raj, clutching his controller.
Leonard, smiling in confusion.
Sheldon stood in the corner, arms crossed—but eyes sharp. Watching her with the intensity of someone who already knew exactly what was coming.
Penny's throat tightened.
"Okay," she said. "Here goes."
She stepped into the middle of the room, heart pounding.
"I'm… Elisabet."
Silence.
"I'm the one who made Starfall Valkyrie," she continued, voice trembling. "I wrote it. I drew it. The name is—was—my name before all this life...if you can believe that...if not that's ok. It just feels like I've been lying by not telling you. And I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes.
"Really, really sorry."
The room held its breath.
Then—
A chair scraped.
Sheldon stood.
He didn't hesitate.
Not a second.
Not a blink.
He crossed the room in three long, determined strides.
"Penny Teller," he said, voice steady but soft in a way that hit her straight in the chest, "there is no apology necessary."
Her eyes snapped open.
Sheldon continued, "Your decision to withhold your authorship was reasonable. You were overwhelmed, overworked, and uncertain. Your privacy is not a crime."
Howard blinked. Raj's jaw dropped. Leonard stared.
Penny's vision blurred—too many feelings at once.
Sheldon stepped just a little closer.
"And," he added, tone deepening almost imperceptibly, "your work is exceptional."
Penny laughed wetly. "Sweetie, you don't even like comics that aren't based in hard science."
He frowned. "Incorrect. I enjoy any narrative with structural integrity, thematic consistency, and mathematically coherent worldbuilding. Yours has all three."
Howard whispered, "Is he… praising? Out loud?"
Raj whisper-yelled back, "We are witnessing history."
Leonard finally exhaled. "Penny… why didn't you just tell us?"
She scrubbed a hand over her face. "I didn't want to make it weird. Or feel like I was forcing you to like my stuff. Or like I was asking for special treatment. Or—" She winced. "I didn't want you to see me fail."
Leonard's expression softened. "Hey. You're allowed to have dreams. We're your friends. We want to know them."
Raj nodded eagerly. "And we love your comic! It's like Viking sci-fi emotional poetry."
Howard raised a finger. "Also the art is way too good for, like, a random anonymous internet person."
Leonard elbowed him. "Howard."
"What? I'm paying her a compliment!"
Penny's chest loosened.
Warmth spread from her throat downward, steady and grounding.
The group accepted her—not just the comic, but her.
Her work.
Her secret.
Her choice.
Sheldon cleared his throat. "Given the new information, I propose we renegotiate our social dynamics."
Howard rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."
Sheldon ignored him. "If Penny is to be considered a professional creator—"
"Dude, don't say 'professional creator' like she's an NPC," Howard whispered.
"—then," Sheldon continued, "it is only logical that we treat her creative time as sacred. No interruptions unless necessary. No guilt-tripping her into social events. And no assuming she is available as emotional labor."
Penny blinked. "Sheldon… that's actually really sweet."
He stiffened. "It is logical," he corrected.
"Uh-huh," she said gently.
[ SYSTEM STATUS: Emotional trust stabilizing. Bond dormant. Structural integrity strengthened. ]
Penny inhaled.
Relief spread through her like warm water.
---
Game night resumed. Normalcy returned.
Later afterwards Penny lingered in the hallway, leaning against her doorframe, heart finally quiet for the first time all day.
She heard soft steps.
Sheldon emerged, holding a mug of tea he'd forgotten to drink.
He paused when he saw her.
Their eyes met.
The quiet between them was warm, not heavy.
"You handled that well," Penny said softly.
He hummed. "I calculated seventy-four potential outcomes. That was the optimal one."
She laughed under her breath. "Thank you. For standing with me."
Sheldon shifted, fingers tightening imperceptibly around his mug.
"It was the only rational choice."
His voice softened.
"And also the only correct one."
Something fluttered in her chest.
She pushed hair behind her ear. "You really okay with all this? With me being… her?"
"Elisabet?" he asked.
Penny nodded.
Sheldon took a slow breath.
"You are exponentially more fascinating than I calculated."
Her heart stopped.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
He tilted his head, studying her reaction—curious, earnest, unguarded.
Then he nodded once, as if confirming an internal equation.
"Goodnight, Penny."
"G-goodnight, sweetie."
He walked into his apartment.
The door clicked shut.
Penny leaned back against her wall, hand pressed to her chest.
Hope blossomed there, steady and bright.
And for once—
she didn't feel scared of it.