A/N This is the sequel you have all been waiting for. The sequel to The Art of Breaking Up, now showing in a fanfiction near you. I highly suggest you read The Art of Breaking Up first, otherwise you'll be confused asf. Unlike the previous story, this will be written in first person-present tense. I thought I'd clear those things up before we start.

Here's the first chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Big Bang Theory. I only own my idea for this story and my OFC, Sophie.

"I lay awake at four

Staring at the wall

Counting all the cracks backwards in my best French

Reminds me of a book I skim-read in surgery

All about palmistry, I wonder what's in store for me"-

Courtney Barnett, "An Illustration of Loneliness."

Chapter One

A year ago, I wouldn't have even dreamed that things would turn out this way. I can't say I regret it, not at all, actually. Things between Leonard and I have certainly grown heated, and not in a bad way. (Hint hint, nudge nudge.)

I'm lying on the bed Leonard and I now share. About a week ago, I agreed to let Leonard move in with me, but with some precautions and rules. We each have to let each other have our own space (AKA "me" time- which usually consisted of me reading a novel for the millionth time in bed, while he watched an episode of Doctor Who or played video games in the living room) each night, and we always have to give a heads up whenever we have a guest over as to not speculate anything suspicious, and no loud music or video games past ten-thirty P.M. You can't ask for a much better life than that.

My tattered copy of The Outsiders lies sprawled across my chest, pages slightly bent. I must have dozed of while reading it.

I set the book on the nightstand (on my side of the bed- we were also very persnickety of our sleeping habits) and peel the Star Wars (I know…) coverlet off my body. My outfit consists of a pink bra and camouflage boy pants.

I head to the bathroom and flick on the light. I wince as soon as I look in the mirror. My black hair is awry, like a mad scientist's, and there's a mark on my wrist from sleeping on it wrong.

Fuck it. I reach for the scissors, raising them to my head.

You probably shouldn't cut your hair at nine-thirty at night. But I find myself doing this anyway.

It doesn't look too bad, actually. It's in a shaggy pixie cut, just lingering above the ears, with a few stray pieces here and there and a little longer on the right. It looks quite similar to P!nk's.

Not too shabby, I guess. I'll have to go in and get it trimmed so it'll look the right kind of messy.

I set the scissors aside and run my fingers through the curls, tucking one side behind my ear and let the rest wave down the side.

I emerge from the bathroom, using a towel to brush off any extra strands of hair off my body, to see Leonard entering the apartment.

"Hi-lo." He stops in his tracks, eyes widened when he sees me. "I like your hair," he stammers out, reddening in the face.

I smile at him, greeting him with a peck on the cheek and subsequently burying my face into his chest.

"I did it myself," I murmur, my voice muffled by his jacket.

"You did that yourself?" Leonard runs his fingers through my hair, stroking as if it's a cat. "It's gorgeous."

"It's nothing." Oh God, I sound like one of those girls that don't know how to take a compliment. "I mean, thanks. I may go out to get it trimmed up, though."

His breath is hot in my ear. "It's perfect the way it is."

Chills run up and down my spine. Why does he do this to me? "Leonard, I'm tired. Can we go to bed now?"

"Sure," Leonard mumbles, picking me up bridal style.

"Hey-" I half-giggle, half-moan, "Put me down!"

"Never," he says playfully, a flirtatious smirk tugging at his lips.

We both dive onto the bed, me straddling Leonard.

"It's been awhile since we've done this," Leonard remarks as I remove my bra. "I may be a little rusty."

I giggle seductively, trailing my fingers across his chest and slowly removing his shirt.

His blush returns, and he takes his shirt from me, curling it up into a ball and tossing it clumsily on the floor.

I press my fingers onto his bare chest. He's not a macho, masculine male, but he's kind, cute, and he's good in bed. What more could I ask for?

When it's over, we both collapse onto the bed, side by side, Leonard breathing heavily.

"How'd I do?"

I roll over to face him. "You're like the little engine that could, sweetie."

He laughs through a cough. "A year...ago...would you have imagined yourself doing this... with me?"

I shake my head, smiling, and put an arm across him. "No," I admit softly, my head resting on his shoulder. "I was scared of commitment a year ago, let alone sex."

Leonard lets out a puppy-like sigh and nuzzles against me. "You smell good."

"Leonard?" Our breathing is almost in sync.

"Yeah?"

"Remember when you asked me if I ever wished I could stop time?"

"That was a long time ago." Curiosity colors Leonard's voice. "Why?"

"Well, it's a dilemma for me. Sometimes, I wish I could stop time. But, it could alter our existence, you know?"

He squeezes my wrist gently. "Yeah."

I roll over on my back, my hand moving to his chest again. "Do you ever think there's something more to what people are saying?"

"Sophie, are you trying to tell me something?"

"Try me."

He chuckles. "As a physicist, I mean, yeah. It's kinda what I do for a living. But if you mean relationship wise, I'm not so sure. Why?"

I lean my head into his side. "Never mind…," My eyes are shutting on their own, succumbing to sleepiness.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"For real." Annoyance creeps into my voice. "It's nothing."

All I want to hear while I fall asleep is the drumming of the rain on the overhead rooftop.