The Happiest of Man

Chapter 3

He couldn’t say that it was his favorite, but he visited a nearby café to people-watch behind the window that gave him a nice ground-view of the passersby of Shinjuku. Izaya just arrived back to the city that harbored one of his living spaces from Ikebukuro, a warm cup of tea and a plastic bag of package sushi sitting in front of him as his fingers drummed lightly against the table. Holding onto his cellphone with his other hand, he scrolled through his missed calls list and text messages that he had ignored. Admittedly, it wasn’t something that grabbed his attention, but what did grab his attention was the blurred text before him.

“That’s strange. I could have sworn I had at least seven hours of sleep last night.” Despite admitting that much out loud, he rubbed his eyes as he tried to focus his vision. 

Fortunately, he wasn’t in Ikebukuro, so there was a low chance of him seeing Shizuo around, but this was still bothersome. He began to wonder what exactly was wrong with his eyes. Did he spend a little too much time in front of his computer (as well as his laptop when he wanted to sit on the couch in front of the television)? Izaya noted quietly that he should visit an eye doctor to see whether he needed prescription glasses. It wouldn’t do if he couldn’t see as clearly as he wished. 

Izaya never thought he’d have to experience any problems with his health and although his eye sight would be something he would consider minor, it was still something that didn’t sit well with him. He wanted to live comfortably although it was the type of lifestyle he had thrown away long ago for the dangerous one he now lived through. If his body was healthy, then he didn’t need to live a normal, peaceful life that many would desire. If his body was in perfect condition, then he could continue to observe humanity and enjoy their company although they will never learn to enjoy his in return.

Allowing his eyes to scan the café, he noticed that his vision was clear. There was no blur, no sign of his sight deteriorating. 

“Really now . . .” He smiled, but it was a far cry from joy.

“There’s no need to play games with me. Someone like me will obviously die one day, too.”

Stuffing his cellphone back into his pocket, he held the tea cup in both hands and took a long sip. Feeling the steam warm his nose and parts of his cheeks, he looked up at the sky of Shinjuku and wondered what tomorrow will be like.

- -

Orihara Izaya.

It was raining on that day. He didn’t mind, but he wasn’t in the mood to feel cold while wandering around outside. Currently seated near a window seat on the bus, he wrote out his name on the fogged up window beside him. He didn’t care at all if anyone saw. Besides, most people around these parts have heard of him. Some even knew how he looked like. It didn’t bother him, especially since they knew nothing about him, so he generally felt safe. In a sense, maybe he should be more careful with himself, but as of right now, he only held indifference close to his chest. 

Gazing lazily at his name that he had written out with his index finger, he wondered why his parents bothered. There was no reason for him to complain. He never did dislike his name, but it would have been better, he thought at times, if his name was a little normal than that. Coming up with temporary monikers was no big deal for him, but once his name was learned, it was a bit difficult to not noticed how different his name sounded. The kanji for it was a bit abnormal as well. A person would have to be an idiot to not notice that much by now.

Although he’s an Atheist, he was aware of Christianity as well as its roots and how it came about. There was a prophet named Isaiah and the meaning of his name probably described that individual, fictional or not, best. 

However, he was nothing like that prophet.