Leonard watched Sheldon get up when the alarm brayed, watched him rub his eyes and blink, watched as he slipped into his robe and slippers. He watched him not even glance back as he left the room to go about his unalterable morning routine. It was okay. He didn't need little backwards glances, little touches on his arms and shoulders, little indications that he was more than furniture in this room.
He sat up, propping himself up with one elbow, and slapped his glasses onto his face. It was almost as though he could understand Sheldon and his autistic disorder on an intellectual level only. On the more visceral emotional level he couldn't seem to understand it at all. Why didn't Sheldon give him the emotional reassurances he needed? Why did he have to start questioning everything all over again? He shook his head, determined not to do this to himself. That was how Sheldon was. He didn't do those things because he didn't, it didn't mean things weren't as important to him, it didn't mean...anything.
He stood up and shrugged into his robe, tying the terry cloth belt tightly around his waist. He stumbled out to the kitchen, wiping his glasses with a tissue. On his side of the butcher block he saw his pancakes neatly stacked and dressed in a little bit of butter and a lot of syrup, just how he liked them. His coffee cup was next to the pancake plate, steaming, two creams and two sugars. He looked up at Sheldon, who was still arranging his own plate.
"Good morning, Leonard," he said, and smiled slightly.
"Morning," Leonard said, sliding onto the stool and picking up his fork. Through the years Sheldon knew that he preferred this particular fork for whatever reason, he himself wasn't even sure. Maybe it was the weight of it, the straightness of the tines. When Sheldon made him something to eat he would always give him this fork. He took a bite, his eyes almost filling with tears. He saw something now. This was how Sheldon showed him affection. This breakfast, as perfect and to his preferences as Sheldon could get it, that was his little touch on the arm, his backward glance.
Driving to work, feeling his equilibrium returned to him, he smiled, glancing at Sheldon from time to time. He couldn't get over his beauty, his pale perfect skin and blue eyes. He couldn't get over his sweet revelation this morning. He felt strangely energized. He pulled smoothly into his parking spot and killed the engine, and he laid his hand on Sheldon's arm before he could so much as unbuckle his seatbelt.
Sheldon looked at him questioningly, glancing from his face to his hand on his arm.
"Sheldon, listen..." he started, but he didn't know where to go with it, how to explain anything he was thinking. He'd always had trouble with that. There were concepts and diagrams in his head that were beyond words.
"Have a good day at work," he said, and leaned in toward him, wanting to kiss him, wanting to touch him one last time before they parted for the workday. He closed his eyes as he felt Sheldon's lips against his, as he felt his tongue flicking against his. Sheldon pulled away first, like he usually did. Leonard opened his eyes and gazed at him, at his dilated pupils and quick and shallow breathing.
It was an office day for Leonard, a day filled with tabulating results from recent experiments. Everything faded to background noise as he focused in on certain puzzling results. He was sure the knocking at his office door had gone on for quite some time before it pierced through his concentration.
"Yeah! Come in!" The door opened and Howard stood there, smiling wickedly at him in his skinny jeans and dickie under a button up flannel shirt. Why did he feel the sinking feeling in his stomach?
"Leonard," he said, falling into one of the chairs by his desk.
"Howard, I'm busy," he said, trying to get back into the comfortable world of his numbers, his charts, his results. It was all lost to him now.
"I know. We're all busy. But you need to fess up. What's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You and Sheldon. C'mon, buddy, tell me," He watched the way Howard's skinny legs bounced up and down as he sat there.
"What?" He looked up at him with real irritation. Howard leaned forward, his hands on his knees.
"I'm not stupid, you know. I know something is going on. You've got to tell me,"
"Nothing is...nothing is going on. I don't have to tell you anything," Leonard glared at him. He wouldn't tell him. He wouldn't open himself up to any of Howard's ridicule.
"Fine. Have it your way," he said, standing up. Leonard watched him leave, and he knew it wasn't over. Howard would find out, one way or another. When he heard the door click softly behind him he put his head down on his desk, feeling almost guilty that he was denying things, betraying Sheldon in some way. Why couldn't he just tell him, stand up for himself and Sheldon? What was wrong with him?
