Chapter 27: The Leonard Jealousy
The comment lands during Halo.
"Must be nice," Leonard says, controller clicking in his hands. "Everything just working out."
I'm in the middle of a headshot when he says it. Miss completely.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just—you know. Some people get lucky."
The room temperature drops five degrees. Howard and Raj exchange glances. Sheldon, oblivious, keeps playing.
"Lucky in what sense?" I ask carefully.
"Oh, you know." Leonard's voice has this edge I've never heard before. "Lucky with investments. Lucky with the shop. Lucky with consulting gigs falling from the sky. Lucky with—" He gestures vaguely. "—everything."
Sheldon pauses the game.
"Leonard's observation has merit. Stuart's success rate across multiple domains is statistically significant. In the ten months since opening his shop, he's achieved: 400% return on Bitcoin investment, 95% return on Apple stock, successful business expansion, television consulting contract, and romantic relationship stability. The probability of—"
"Sheldon," I interrupt. "Not helping."
"I'm merely providing data—"
"Sheldon. Please."
He subsides, but the damage is done. Leonard's face has gone red. Howard's studying his controller like it contains the secrets of the universe. Raj looks ready to cry.
"I'm going to get air," Leonard says, setting down his controller and heading for the apartment balcony.
I give it thirty seconds before following.
The Pasadena night is warm, smoggy, city lights creating false stars. Leonard's gripping the balcony rail like it might escape.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Tough. We're talking."
He laughs, bitter. "What's there to talk about? You're crushing it. I'm stuck. That's the story."
"Stuck how?"
"Stuck—" He waves at the apartment behind us. "Same place, same job, same routine. I've been at Caltech for years. Published decent papers. Done solid work. And I'm still in this apartment, making the same salary, living the same life I had three years ago."
"You're a physicist. That's impressive."
"You own a thriving business. You consult for TV shows. You're making more money than me from investments. And you started with nothing ten months ago." He finally looks at me. "How? How does someone go from failed artist to successful entrepreneur in less than a year?"
By dying and absorbing supernatural powers in the void between dimensions.
Can't say that.
"Hard work?" I offer weakly.
"Don't. Don't do that. Don't minimize it with false modesty. You've achieved something real. I'm not saying you didn't work for it. I'm saying—" He struggles for words. "—I'm saying it's hard watching you succeed when I'm barely keeping pace."
The honesty cuts. Because he's right. In ten months I've transformed completely. And he's exactly where he was when we met.
"You want to know the truth?" I lean against the rail beside him. "Success is lonely."
"Oh, come on—"
"No, seriously. I can't talk to anyone about the investment stuff without sounding like I'm bragging. The consulting gig makes people treat me different. The shop expansion means less time for friends. And every time something good happens, I'm terrified it's all going to collapse."
"You don't seem terrified."
"Because I'm good at hiding it." From everyone. About everything. "But the anxiety's real. Every night I go home wondering if tomorrow's when the luck runs out. When the predictions stop working. When everyone realizes I'm just—"
I cut myself off. Almost said too much.
"Just what?"
"Just making it up as I go. Like everyone else."
Leonard's quiet for a long moment. Cars pass on the street below. Someone's playing music too loud three apartments over.
"I passed on Apple stock," he says finally. "You told me to buy. I said no. And now I'm watching you double your money while I'm—" He makes a frustrated noise. "It's not your fault. That's the worst part. You're not doing anything wrong. I'm just—"
"Jealous?"
"Yeah. Really, deeply jealous. Which makes me an asshole."
"Makes you human."
We stand there in shared uncomfortable honesty. This is new territory for us. Most guy friendships don't involve admitting feelings beyond "that movie was cool."
"I don't want to lose you as a friend," Leonard says quietly. "But watching you succeed makes me feel like I'm failing. And I don't know how to deal with that."
An idea crystallizes. Something I should've offered weeks ago.
"I need help with the shop."
"What?"
"Writing content. I want to start a blog—reviews, analysis, behind-the-scenes stuff. But I'm terrible at writing. You're good at explaining complex things simply. That's a skill."
"Stuart—"
"Fifty bucks per post. Maybe two posts a week? That's four hundred a month. Plus it ties you into the shop's success. Makes you part of it instead of just watching."
He turns to face me fully. "You're offering me a job?"
"I'm offering you consulting work. You review comics for scientific accuracy, write about physics in superhero stories, that kind of thing. It's legitimate work. You'd be good at it."
"This isn't charity?"
"This is recognizing that my success should lift up my friends, not make them feel bad. And genuinely needing your expertise." I extend my hand. "Deal?"
Leonard looks at my hand for a long moment. Then shakes it.
"Deal."
Back inside, the atmosphere shifts immediately. Howard and Raj can tell something resolved itself. Sheldon's probably calculating the probability of successful friendship repair.
"We good?" Howard asks.
"We're good," Leonard confirms.
"Excellent," Sheldon says. "Can we resume gaming? The interruption disrupted our tournament bracket."
We play until 2 AM. The passive-aggressive comments don't return. Leonard even makes a joke about Stuart's "imaginary money" that lands friendly instead of bitter.
Walking to my car afterward, I think about what Leonard said. About watching someone succeed while feeling stuck.
The powers gave me advantages. But they also created this social complexity I never anticipated. Every win makes friends happy for me and envious of me simultaneously. Maintaining relationships requires active work—including them, sharing success, making sure nobody gets left behind.
This is the hidden cost of supernatural advantages. The isolation isn't just keeping secrets. It's the gap between where you are and where everyone else is.
I need to remember that.
Need to bring people along instead of leaving them behind.
That's the only way this works long-term.
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