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Before their relationship had deteriorated to the level of mutual murderous hatred, Orihara Izaya would occasionally act charitable and grant Heiwajima Shizuo a less thrilling birthday — but of course not without any spice. It would be like changing the wasabi sauce to a mixture of onion and garlic paste, but it still wouldn’t change the table of poignant and grotesque cuisine.
Back then, Orihara Izaya still had chuunibyou and was obsessively fascinated by the concept of a magical world. Thus in January of some year, he got his hand on a natural amber from an unknown origin, and he flung it on top of Heiwajima Shizuo’s desk along with a Hogwarts style Valentine’s Day letter. That amber was like a tiny droplet, just that an unfortunate insect happened to be trapped inside. At first glance, the amber looked like a light-colored eyeball with an oddly shaped pupil. The envelope that came along was pale white with a hint of yellow, and the round, girly handwriting had an unsuspected eerie look under a faint shadow.
The teenage feisty monster naturally ripped the letter, wrapped it into a ball, and threw it in the garbage can. However, the amber was unbelievably spared of such a tragic end. For a long time afterward, Heiwajima Shizuo noticed this shinny round amber when he opened his drawer, and he’s still confused about why he hadn’t already throw it away. Maybe it’s the overly smooth and soothing texture of the resin in his hand, or it could be that Orihara Izaya’s despicable birthday wish poked straight at his subtle tricky desire at that time.
That filthy insect reflected in his eyes? Wasn’t that really that flea himself.
Sometimes Heiwajima Shizuo would stare at the amber absentmindedly in the dead of night. Lacking sufficient geographic knowledge, he was also too lazy to ponder on obscure questions, such as where did Orihara Izaya dig this out. He recalled that when he first rolled the amber around with his fingertips, he could feel that its pale gold surface was slathered in light dents of varying depths. Some black powders would always stain his fingertips, and he wasn’t sure whether it’s from the soil or some tree bark. The things Orihara Izaya gave him would always be natural and pollution-free, highlighting how he’s willing to use whatever it means to derange Heiwajima Shizuo’s life with his very own hands, and he certainly was happy to return — using a simpler and more ruthless way. This strange violent conversation began in high school and continued when they stepped into the society, and it went on until their mutual destructions at that raining night put an end to all.
And then Orihara Izaya completely vanished in his life.
Heiwajima Shizuo only remembered the sky that day was completely masked by thick, dark clouds, shrouding Orihara Izaya’s ever bright crimson eyes to a muddy brown color, and in these eyes his reflection was also shaded in a muted gray. His nemesis was gasping like how a fish without water struggled for oxygen. Heiwajima Shizuo was also panting hard, the dying flea opposite of him was embedded in his amber eyes, their surfaces were grazed by the heavy rain with light dents of varying depths.
A slight pain brought him back to reality. He found himself involuntarily clutching the amber in his fist, his fingernails sank into the palm his hand, showing a few shallow crescents when he loosened his grip, which then quickly faded away.
If only Orihara Izaya was like those crescents. He lighted a cigarette, placed the amber back to the drawer, and squinted his eyes to look at the red sparks in the smoke. But he knew clearly that it was impossible. Orihara Izaya had been clashing with him for many years, the scars it left were similar to the uneven dents on the amber, unforgettable and unerasable. And as for Orihara Izaya himself, he’s probably that insect trapped in the amber, filthy and weirdly shaped, suspended there died yet undead, and it just happened to be embedded right in the center of the translucent amber. Therefore, no matter which way you look through the amber, there would always be a shadow.
In the long stretch of time, Heiwajima Shizuo had never discerned the sentiment he held toward Orihara Izaya, just as how he never understood why he kept this amber, just as how amber could not explain why it chose to envelop this particular insect, or why that insect precisely stopped at that spot, and all those emotions they each held. A part of the pine tree’s vitality had firmly bonded with an insect, but if you’re talking about Heiwajima Shizuo, he miraculously never felt much discomfort. Orihara Izaya was indisputably the blemish in his life, but that blemish made his life worthwhile and precious — it bestowed him an outlet for violence.
The amber lay quietly inside the drawer. If that tiny insect could crawl its legs once, the lifeless bead might be astounded by the miracle of life.
And Heiwajima Shizuo thought about that flea. Ever since his encounter with Orihara Izaya, he had been embroiled in an artificial yet spontaneous vortex, spending all his energy to uphold the sensibility and dignity of a man.
But even so, he knew he was surely alive.
FIN