Happiness...?

Happiness? William never thought about the meaning of this word. All his damn life, he just existed. He didn’t experience anything. No love, no tenderness. He cared about the youngest only out of pity, and with the advent of Albert, he stopped doing this altogether. He tried his best to pretend that he cared, but inside there was an imperceptible emptiness. But he still felt emotions, he just didn’t show them. The bath and pillow became a reservoir for his tears. It seemed to William that there was no one capable of understanding him, much less loving him. This resulted in a growing distrust of absolutely everyone. And thus no one knew what was going on in his head. Looking in the mirror, it seemed to him that it was not him. This is not his body, eye color, hair, face, this is not him. “It’s not me”. This phrase became almost constant as soon as he passed near the mirrors. But it was impossible to do anything about it, all that was left was to come to terms with it. And when he heard “William,” his imagination painted a completely different person, at least it seemed so to him. That man had everything exactly like him, only Will himself thought he looked completely different. At times he wanted to just disappear, just like that. And everyone will forget about him. No regrets, no memories of him. Sometimes he just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up. But every day he got up and saw the faces of his team, his brothers, the people on the streets. It seemed that the soul was lying in a coma and did not want to come out of it. “Maybe she’s already dead?” It seemed to William that this was the most accurate definition of his condition; his soul lay in a coma from which he could not get out, and only his physical appearance supported its existence. He was always waiting for the end, he understood that he was to blame, the emotions of his victims before death flashed through his memory. He remembered all of them, every single one. Now the emptiness that existed in him touched the nerve endings, forcing him to bend in half. * * * Now sitting on a bench, he observes the life of his new abode. New York, Sherlock saved him, Billy gave him refuge, now death is definitely not an option. Even now he can’t just die, he has to. The heart was torn from despair and hopelessness, the masks cracked and now a lonely tear seeped through its cracks. Sherlock was sitting next to him, his savior, but that doesn’t mean he’s worthy of trust. And again… And again the bath and pillow became a refuge for his tears. But one evening, when the mask cracked, Sherlock returned home much earlier. - Why didn’t you say before that you felt bad? William knew that he guessed this, but still answered - I’m lonely, I can’t trust anyone. After these words, he immediately found himself in an embrace. And again tears flowed from his eyes, the only time in his life when someone calmed him down. After that incident, he sometimes compared Sherlock to a healer. His soul seemed to come back to life. Sherlock carefully removes the tumors of the fake smile from his face, as if with forceps, as if he had transplanted him into a real body, forcing him to throw off the shackles and open up to him. Then William himself did not notice how, instead of water drops knocking on his head, a warm hand appeared, stroking his hair. Instead of the sound of water and his own sobs, the soothing voice of his healer. How he stopped thinking about hopelessness and found joy in the most insignificant things. How, instead of a gray, dull single bed, there was a large, double bed with a beautiful ornament at the head, and next to it lay his current meaning of life. For the first time he knew what it was like to love and be loved, he knew what it was like to care for someone not out of duty, but out of concern and love, the desire to make his beloved happy. He also knew the pleasure of cuddling after intimacy, feeling a calm heartbeat next to him. And knowing that he is allowed to throw his leg and arm over his beloved, fall asleep like that, and wake up, seeing instead of a cold ceiling, his Shirley, sleeping peacefully next to him. And in the evenings or on cold mornings, it is good to snuggle up to it, feeling physical and mental warmth. Will knows that now he can be trusted, Shirley will never reject him, will not abandon him. You can show him weaknesses, tears, you can come to him when you feel bad or want warmth. Yes, now he is increasingly thinking about the meaning of the word “happiness”. Well, to be honest, you will never be able to come up with an exact definition. And William himself realized this over time. Probably everything connected with Shirley is included there, and he himself, of course. Now he has someone to trust, he is not alone and… happy? Yes, that’s probably true.