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He thinks he’s happy. He’s not sure how one tells if they’re happy. He gets out of the house. He sees the sun. He has a job he mostly enjoys, if not for his nosy coworkers and annoying customers. He has responsibilities to his houseplants and to his previously mentioned nosy coworkers. They—both—notice when he’s not there, when he can’t get out of bed or when he’s too out of it to do anything but scan books and remember to feed himself. He makes an impact on the world, on the things around him. There’s happiness in that, right? He doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he wants to know.
Sunday is the first day of his work week. He hasn’t quite figured out how to make breakfast for himself in the morning, but he’s thinking about preparing ready to go breakfasts. He’ll have to do more research about the best recipes for that. In the meantime, and also while he researches coffee machines (quick, easy to use, appetising), he always stops at a café that’s on his walk to work. He knows that, as a human, he needs daily social contact outside of work, which is another reason why he stops by this café, even if he only recites his order and responds to questions as briefly as possible. It must count to be around other people, at the very least.
The bell above the door jingles when he walks in. Another pro to this café, the bell only makes a muted ringing that he finds he doesn’t mind now that he’s gotten used to the consistency of it.
“Welcome to Sip & Stay Café! How’re you- oh, hey Regulus.” the worker, Dorcas, responds, dropping her customer service smile. Regulus knows her from the amount of times he’s come here since he moved into his flat more than 10 months ago. They have nearly the same schedule so he’s always served by her. She knows by now, thankfully, that he prefers not to make small talk, especially when it’s loud like it is today.
“Iced Americano with one sugar and an almond croissant?” When she receives a nod in response, she follows it up with his total. He’s thankful that she understands him as she does, not many people can handle him. When he gets his cup, she’s written a message for him:
It went well !
Thanks for the advice :-)
He smiles to himself walking to work that day. She'll tell him more about it later, when it's just them in the morning.
He works at the public library near his flat. It’s mostly busy work, sorting returns and restocking shelves, but he likes the quiet of it. He only has to talk to people when they’re looking for recommendations or having a problem, and he loves giving recommendations, loves talking about his favourite books and hopes that people take his recs and loves them as he does. Reading was always something he enjoyed. When the words jumped off the page and suddenly you were no longer hiding under your bed. Instead you were fighting an intergalactic war, or dealing with the romantic politics of the regency period.
He doesn’t read as much as he used to. He has work, has to do laundry, plan meals, clean. He has hobbies. He has weekly plans. He thinks he’s becoming a ‘normal’ person. He has his routine. His days are no longer the nothingness of an abandoned child. When he tries to classify how his life has changed since he left it all behind, he thinks reading less could be a good thing. A side effect of his Get Better program.
When he comes in for his 9 a.m. shift, his coworker Mark greets him at the front desk.
“How’d it go with the beans? I know you’ve been wanting to try more vegetarian stuff, was it good?”
“I think I didn’t stew them long enough. I used dried beans and soaked them overnight because the texture and flavour is supposed to be better. After that and the initial cook, the recipe said to stew them from anywhere between 30 minutes and 3 hours. I only did 45 minutes and the texture was more rubbery than soft. I might try beans again with a higher temperature and start earlier. Flavour was good, though.”
Mark loves cooking and knows a bit about the science and techniques that go into it, so he lets Regulus unload the things he’s been learning, mostly through trial and error, onto him. Regulus, as part of his Normal Human Person Training, has been learning to cook. He only tries one new recipe a week, he can’t handle much more than that, but he’s found he enjoys learning the different techniques that go into different foods. He thinks there must be happiness in that, though fleeting.
“Gotta try it with a different recipe though, eh? Do you have another bean one in that book of yours?
“There’s only one other, but it’s a completely different technique.”
“I could give-”
“No, I’m alright. Do you know where I’m working today?”
After this interaction, he berates himself for being rude. ‘Cutting people off is rude’ he reminds himself, mentally circling the rule he figured out at the beginning of his Normal Human Person Training. He doesn’t like using recipes from the internet or other cook books. He’s making his way through the one he has, and he will move on to the next once he’s finished it. He already has his next cook book lined up, Mark got it for him the last secret santa. He had gotten Penny, his other coworker, and had bought her wool yarn for her crocheting.
The day goes by as usual; he recommends Anne of Green Gables for a grandmother looking for a classic book for her 13-year-old granddaughter. On his walk home, he feels accomplished. Though minor, he impacts the world. A kid will now read, and hopefully enjoy, one of his favourite books. Can there be happiness in that?
When he was a kid, he had thought Anne was similar to Sirius.
(Is he still? His mind whispers, he automatically brushes the thought away.)
Not many people would have agreed, especially their parents, but he liked to think that he saw a different side of his brother—the sweet, dramatic, caring side. He doesn’t like to think that anymore.
He goes home, waters his plants, reheats his stew, and tries not to think about his brother. He sits at the piano, determined to continue a song he’s been working on, and tries not to write about his brother. He goes to sleep, and prays he doesn’t dream about his brother.
He fails.