Ethan woke up to the unfamiliar sensation of someone else’s warmth.
It took him a moment to process and remember that finding himself in a new world with TV characters was not a dream, but reality, proven by Alex lying in his arms, still sleeping.
He lay still, watching the morning light creep across the ceiling, and let himself enjoy the simple, foreign pleasure of not waking up to darkness.
His old apartment in Oregon had a window that faced a brick wall, which meant mornings there came in shades of gray and mold.
Here, the light was golden and warm.
His new life already had perks.
Alex stirred.
He felt the exact moment she woke up because her breathing changed, and then her entire body went rigid with the particular tension of someone whose brain had just booted up and started running diagnostics on last night’s decisions.
“Morning,” he said.
She made a sound.
It wasn’t a word.
It was the vocal equivalent of a blue screen of death.
“I’m going to make coffee,” he continued, keeping his tone casual.
Not because he was casual about this, but because one of them needed to be, and he had the advantage of not being in mid-panic.
“How do you take yours?”
“I… what?” She pulled back, clutching the sheet to her chest, her glasses absent, squinting at him.
“Coffee.
The drink you professionally serve to people.”
“I know what coffee is,” she said, her voice tight.
“Good, I was worried the sabbatical had done some damage.”
She stared at him, caught between mortification and something else.
Something that wanted to laugh but didn’t have permission yet.
“This isn’t… I don’t do this,” she said.
“First time for everything.
But right now, breakfast is more important,” he said, but before slipping out, he kissed her directly.
He didn’t wait alone; he didn’t ask permission.
She reacted, and he decided breakfast wasn’t that important.
He pinned her down, her arms above her head, and it turned into a fun morning quickie, leaving her moaning.
Only when he collapsed, he pull out.
“Now, coffee?
Black, or with cream?”
“B-black,” she whispered, dazed.
He got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, giving her the space to either spiral or stabilize.
He heard rustling behind him, though he realized she didn’t have her clothes, as they were still in the living room.
He put on his underwear and an apron, betting that she would find it amusing.
His kitchen wasn’t stocked for anything impressive, but the previous version of himself had left behind eggs, bread, butter, and a decent block of cheddar.
He even had a drip machine.
By the time Alex emerged from the bedroom, wearing an oversized bathrobe, looking like a particularly frazzled academic paper come to life, he had scrambled eggs and toast on two plates, with steaming cups of coffee.
“Sit,” he said.
“You don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to do anything, Alex.
I want to.
Sit.”
She sat.
She picked up a fork, looked at the eggs with deep suspicion, and took a bite.
Then another.
“These are good,” she admitted, as if that was the most important thing.
He knew his scrambled eggs were good.
After all, that and pasta had been his staples with his economic situation, and he learned quickly.
She smiled down at her plate.
He sat across from her and ate, letting the silence exist without rushing to fill it.
He understood that she needed time to rearrange last night into something she could process.
Smart people were like that.
They needed narratives, explanations, and causes and effects.
“So,” she said eventually.
“Last night.”
“Last night.”
“I should probably say something about how I don’t normally—”
“You already said that.
Twice,” he said as he interrupted her.
Then, he reached across the small table and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
The gesture was small and deliberate, and she froze like a deer in headlights.
An adorable deer.
“I had fun,” he said simply.
“You had fun.
The eggs are good.
Can we start from there?”
Something in her expression softened.
Not completely, but enough.
“The eggs are good,” she conceded.
“See?
Common ground.”
“You look ridiculous,” she said, looking at the apron he still wore, but he didn’t miss that, even while saying that, her eyes were on his naked shoulders.
He smiled, acting as if he didn’t notice.
“So, tell me something ridiculous from Caltech?”
She told him about a professor at Caltech who had a habit of writing equations on napkins and leaving them in the faculty lounge.
He responded, teasing, and she shivered.
It was easy.
Easier than it had any right to be.
“I have a shift at noon,” she said eventually, glancing at her phone.
“Go.
I’ll still be here.
After all, we’re neighbors, and I always have a cup of coffee for you,” he teased.
She blushed, but didn’t push him away when he kissed her.
He chose not to angle for another round, nor follow her when she grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bedroom.
When she appeared, she looked just like the day before, only with a thicker blush.
Then she stopped at the door and turned back, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts vulnerability and calculation.
“I want to see you again,” she said, as if she were submitting a thesis.
“Good.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.
That’s why I’m saying good.
That’s why you need to give me your number,” he said, passing her his phone.
She did.
“Okay.” She adjusted her glasses.
“Okay.
Good.
So …
can I ask something else?”
“Sure,” he teased.
“Please don’t come to the cafe today.
I don’t think I can handle it.”
He smiled.
“Only if you accept an icecream date tonight,” he responded.
She smiled.
“God, you’re such a dork,” she whispered, which, coming from a woman who had chain orgasms in his bed, was not exactly an insult.
“How about tomorrow?
I have a family thing tonight, and if I…”
“Disappear twice, and your family will get nosy.
Understood,” he teased, and kissed her.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed.
She nodded once, turned, opened the door, and immediately stepped back inside, her face drained of color as she shut the door.
She even pressed herself against the wall beside the doorframe, doing her best to hide behind the coat rack.
It was so silly, yet cute.
He looked at her, then looked through the peephole, and caught sight of a man walking toward the stairwell.
Likely early-thirties or late-twenties, though dressed as a teenager, wearing an unzipped hoodie over a shirt with a flash, walking with the particular posture of someone who tried to hide from the world.
Ethan recognized the man.
Interesting.
“Ex-boyfriend?” Ethan teased, despite knowing it was not the case.
“What?
No!” She looked almost offended by the suggestion.
“He’s …
one of my professors.
Dr.
Hofstadter.
He works in the experimental physics department.”
“And he lives in my building?”
“He lives in this building?” Alex repeated, her voice climbing an octave.
“How?”
“Pasadena’s not that big,” Ethan offered.
“It’s big enough!
It has over a hundred thousand people!
The statistical probability of—”
“Alex.”
“—my professor almost saw me walking—”
“Not some guy.
A very charming guy who made you breakfast.”
She stopped her spiral long enough to glare at him.
It was a good glare.
Practiced.
But, it came with a cute blush.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I disagree.
It’s very funny.”
“If he sees me—”
“He didn’t see you.
He was too busy reading his phone on the stairs.
And even if he did, you’re an adult on sabbatical.
It’s hardly shame.”
She didn’t say anything, blushing.
Ethan laughed.
Then, because she was standing there looking simultaneously terrified and adorable, glasses slightly askew from her recent attempt to become one with the coat rack, he stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her again.
She made a small, surprised noise, which was rapidly replaced by the more interesting noise of someone who had temporarily forgotten her academic reputation was at stake as her tongue matched his.
When he pulled back, her cheeks were red, and she was slightly out of breath.
“I hate you,” she said without conviction.
He just smiled and kissed her again.
“No,” she admitted.
“I don’t.” She adjusted her glasses again, a nervous tic that he was already cataloguing as one of his favorite things.
“Tomorrow.
After my shift.
No ice cream.
I’ll come here and…” she declared, then paused, her courage faltering.
“We’ll watch a movie,” he helped.
“Yes.
Movie.
A boring, old movie … about church.”
He kissed her again.
“Perfect.”
She opened the door, checked the hallway with the intensity of a spy in a cold war thriller, and then slipped out, her steps quick and light on the stairs.
Ethan closed the door and leaned against it, grinning at the ceiling.
Hhe walked to his laptop.
After all, meeting a character from another show was not something he expected.
Curious, he went to his laptop and started searching the web.
A quick check of the Caltech website showed Leonard, Sheldon, Raj, and Howard were on the faculty.
Though, a quick mention of their very recent return from the Arctic confirmed put the timeline to the third season start.
Fascinating, he decided.
But, more importantly, he had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t the only TV show he was interacting with.
He started searching, checking the web.
He had a list of shows in his head, comfort watches from a life that suddenly felt very far away, and each one had characters that existed in specific places, doing specific things.
He searched for Columbia University’s paleontology department in New York.
Soon, he found
Dr.
Ross Geller.
Museum curator at the New York Museum of Natural History, younger than he expected in the picture.
A quick digging showed that he was recently divorced … which, technically wouldn’t have meant much, but considering the ex-wife in question was Carol, it meant it was once again earlier seasons.
A quick check showed other things.
A firm called Vandelay, Druthers and Brody, with a Ted Mosby on staff.
A community called Greendale in Colarado, with a rather horrible commercial from the seventies.
A jingle writer named Charlie Harper, living in Malibu, Precint 99 in Brooklyn, led by Captain Raymond Holt.
He smirked as he took the details, feeling even happier.
All of his favorite shows turned real…
The world was his oyster.
As much as he was tempted to book a one-way ticket to New York to meet all of them, he didn’t need to hurry up.
Not when there were others he could meet far more easily.
He left the house after changing his sheets, his destination three steps away .
First, he stopped by a pawnshop, and purchased a decent cello, a little test enough to confirm his skill.
The best part, it came with some rudimentary music knowledge.
However, just before leaving, he saw a decent, professional-looking digital camera, which could also record decent-quality video.
“How much for it?”
“Together, six hundred,” he replied.
It was cheap, very cheap.
Ethan paid without bargaining after taking a few pictures and saw that the camera worked.
After all, in his next step, playing the artist would be very useful.
He wasn’t exactly an experienced photographer, but playing around with the camera, he immediately experienced the benefit of Intelligence.
He could improve faster than he had expected.
Soon, he was at a rather memorable restaurant.
Cheesecake Factory.
He walked in and asked for a table for one, which would have earned him the particular look that hostesses reserved for people who dined alone at places designed for groups, but since the lunch rush was over, his presence was a bonus.
He glanced quickly to see the section served by a familiar, perky blonde waitress, and picked an empty booth, and put his camera on the table.
He didn’t need to work hard to make his cello visible; it automatically was.
“How can I help you?” Penny said with a big smile, though the neutral kind that existed to collect tips rather than genuine enjoyment.
“How about a double cheeseburger and coke, simple,” he said.
“Big lunch,” she said.
“Comfort food,” he said with a sigh.
“Why?” she asked.
“Terrible audition,” he said with a deep sigh.
“Oh, really, for what?”
“An indie horror flick,” he said with a sigh.
He wasn’t an actor, but luckily, a failing actor-screenwriter was the easiest thing to fake.
“Unfortunately, the director had … opinions about how black hair would look on his favorite background prop, like it matters for a character that’ll be on the screen for thirty seconds—” he continued, then paused.
“Sorry about it.
I’m rambling,” he said.
“I’m sure you’re not really interested in my stories of failure.”
“I am,” she answered enthusiastically.
He threw her a suspicious glance, as if she had insulted him, as her short reply could be taken that way.
“I mean, I’m an aspiring actress as well.
This is my day job,” she corrected in panic.
“Oh, I see.
A fellow traveler on the road of fame,” he said with a gentler smile.
“I’m Ethan,” he said.
“What’s with the cello?” she asked.
“A way to make some extra cash between auditions,” he said.
“Why not a guitar?” she asked.
“People pay attention to it even without expecting singing,” he said.
“I don’t have the best singing voice.”
“So, musicals are out.”
“Unless the theme is torture,” he said, and she chuckled, this time genuinely.
He didn’t flirt with her openly, but he didn’t need to.
“I’ll bring your food immediately,” she said, and left with a wink.
Penny, he sighed.
She was blonde, genuinely beautiful, the kind of beautiful that usually came with an attitude.
While she was gone, he looked around and soon saw another familiar face.
Tiny, blonde, with an energy that suggested she’d had three espressos and a personal vendetta against idle time.
Bernadette.
She was in the same waitress uniform as Penny, carrying a tray of drinks with the determined efficiency of someone who treated every task like a research project.
He didn’t have the perfect timeline in his mind, as even without his new world issues, sitcom timelines were tricky.
But, the fact that she was working here meant that she either didn’t start dating Howard, or it was early into their relationship.
Not that he cared.
He never liked Howard.
Or Leonard, for that matter.
Instead, while waiting for his lunch, he wondered just how many shows were folded in.
He didn’t know the rules, the boundaries, or the limits.
He didn’t know if these people’s lives would follow the same trajectories he’d watched on screen, or if his presence had already changed things.
He shrugged.
What he did know was that he was sitting in the Cheesecake Factory, about to flirt with Penny and Bernadette, with the possibility of seducing another of his favorite characters.
Anything else didn’t matter.
“You’re in a good mood for someone eating alone after a failed audition,” Penny observed once she returned with his food.
“I’m having a good day.
Never write off a day until it ends,” he said.
Penny smiled again.
This one was warmer.
“A good attitude.
Sometimes, getting rejected audition after audition gets hard.”
“I can see why.
Luckily, I have just started it, so my hope is still alive,” he said.
“I can’t promise I won’t be as chipper three months later.”
“Hopefully, you’ll get lucky,” she said.
Ethan nodded, doing his best to ignore the temptation to flirt with her openly.
At this point, she should have just started dating Leonard, meaning an overt approach wouldn’t work.
It wasn’t as if he lacked the opportunities for other encounters.
“So, any notable acting jobs?” he asked.
“Not unless you count understudy in a basement production of Rent,” she said.
“Tough,” he said.
“I’ll keep in mind to drop any casting calls I see.” She paused for a moment.
He didn’t say anything, then acted surprised.
“Something’s wrong with it?”
Penny studied him for another beat, then nodded, the way ladies noddded when they’ve decided a guy passes some invisible test.
“Honestly?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I expected it to be an attempt to ask for my number,” she said.
“It’s rude to hit on people on the clock,” he said.
Then, he remembered how he seduced Alex while she was on the clock.
“Well, unless they are giving the signal.”
She smiled.
“Most guys would take asking about an audition as one,” she said.
He shrugged.
“Ordinarily, yes.
But since you’re a serious actress, it counts as shop talk,” he said.
“Now, if you asked my favorite song on cello…”
She smiled playfully.
“What’s your favorite song on the cello?”
“Thunderstruck,” he replied.
“AC/DC, you’re kidding,” she said.
“I expected Beethoven.”
“Nope.
Though I’m still trying to get it right,” he said.
“It’s slow going, but I have a feeling it’ll be a good hit on the streets.”
“What’s with the camera, then?”
“That’s more of a hobby for now,” he replied.
“I want to expand it to cinematography to shoot my own short movies, but proper cameras are expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“Around five thousand, probably tripling it with a decent lighting setup,” he said.
“Ouch, that’s more than my car,” she said.
He chuckled, but before they could continue, another customer arrived, interrupting their fun.
Ethan would have worked harder, but knowing he was sharing an apartment, it was easy.
He straddled the line between overt flirtation and professional talk, and didn’t ask for her number.
Also, he overtipped reasonably well, which was always a good way to leave a positive impression.
Then, he left, wondering what to do next in this new world.