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Chuuya was seven when he first met Dazai Osamu. For the rest of his life, he would regard it as the worst decision he had ever made, but at the time he thought he was just getting into fistfights with a small, particularly annoying kid who seemed to really like getting his nose and teeth broken.
Still, though, it was an improvement from the Sheep, because even though Chuuya would yell at him and hit him, he’d keep coming back to get yelled at and hit more.
This should have said concerning things about the kid’s mental health, but Chuuya was eight at the time and didn’t particularly think on it past the fact that Osamu was really annoying, and Chuuya really liked punching him. Chuuya didn’t even think of Osamu much except when the kid showed up and they fought, until suddenly, in one fell swoop, the Sheep were caught by the police and totally abandoned Chuuya, and then he found himself adopted by a woman named Ozaki Kouyou and, at seven and a half years old, was suddenly and without warning neighbors with that awful and annoying boy he always fought with.
But the thing about living so closely to someone when you’re a child is that you become friends with them. Best friends, even, by sheer proximity. And even as Chuuya was plunged fully into the mafia at seven years old--even as he found himself meeting up with old members of the Sheep to purchase drugs for Osamu to use to break people he tortured, even as he learned where to hit and kick to cause the most pain and break bones, even as he killed his first person at eight years old--a wild, unabashed joy filled him. He was Nakahara Chuuya of the Port Mafia. He was going to grow up, Dazai Osamu by his side, and they would take the world by storm. They would rule the mafia, the criminal underworld, anywhere they pleased. Chuuya didn’t mind his burning hatred of the other boy--that was how he understood best friendship to work.
You hated him, and he lived next door. The two of you fought and fought, but nobody else was allowed to hurt him.
Not even his father, the Boss of the Port Mafia.
Not even himself.
The way Nakahara Chuuya understood it at ten, Dazai Osamu belonged to him and he belonged to Dazai Osamu, and that was how it worked, now and forever.
And then life did as life does: it changed.
It wasn’t Chuuya’s fault. He wasn’t stupid enough to blame himself. It wasn’t the boss’s fault, either, or Kouyou’s. It was Osamu’s fault only in that absolutely everything that ever went wrong in Chuuya’s life was Osamu’s fault--so it was Osamu’s fault.
But mainly it was the fault of Osamu’s school friends.
Osamu loved his school friends. Half the time when Chuuya and Osamu weren’t fighting, Osamu was going on and on and on about Odasaku said this about this book, Ango got this grade in class and almost cried, Odasaku says this about Mori, Ango didn’t know what shit meant so I told him, Odasaku’s super cool, Ango’s super cool, they’re the best. Usually this was when Chuuya would punch Osamu, and then they’d fight, and then they’d do some other fun stuff, like play video games or torture prisoners.
But then things suddenly changed.
For one, Odasaku’s siblings all got blown up and Osamu got stabbed. For two, Odasaku and Doc Glasses had a fight and broke up. For three, Doc Glasses seemed to blame Mori for all of this. That, above all else, was ridiculous. Above Osamu’s strange behavior and the total and utter changing of Chuuya’s social life, that made zero sense. Mori had never done anything wrong ever in his entire life, and Chuuya knew it. But when he mentioned it to Osamu, though, the other boy disagreed. He refused to say why, but he insisted that Mori wasn’t perfect, wasn’t a good man. Which was ridiculous, really, but Chuuya guessed it was because Osamu was still all beat up about the stabbing thing and losing his friends.
That was alright. Chuuya hated Osamu, still, but he figured he could take a break from that until he was feeling better. After all, Chuuya and Osamu were best friends. That meant that sometimes, they could take a break from the fighting. Sometimes, Chuuya could help Osamu feel better. Even though Osamu was an annoying asshole.
He had been a lot less annoying since he got out of the hospital, though. That was infuriating to Chuuya. A rage like none he’d ever felt before drummed along his bones when Osamu sat listlessly instead of teasing or fighting him, when he made himself scarce at times when they’d usually be out climbing trees or kicking balls, when he threw himself into his mafia work with a vengeance.
Chuuya didn’t know what to do. Of course he didn’t; he was only ten. What could he do?
He tried to help his friend. He got him supplies for interrogations--syringes and drugs, knifes and whips and poisons. Things to cause pain. Things to break a soul. Things for Osamu to use on other people. People who crossed them. People who deserved it.
They weren’t for Osamu to use on himself.
Chuuya wasn’t even the one who noticed it. It was Kouyou, who noticed, who asked. Who told Chuuya. It was Hirotsu who came up with the plan to get Osamu out and away. It was just Chuuya who it came down to to get him out.
Because Chuuya was a kid, so the boss was less likely to think it was premeditated.
Because Chuuya was Osamu’s best friend, so he was more likely to trust him enough to go with him in the first place.
So they sent him to get Osamu, during a meeting of mafia Executives when Mori was busy. Chuuya hated himself as he watched Osamu pick the lock of Mori’s safe, take out a stack of cash. Hated going with Osamu to a city a couple hours away, telling him to get the fuck out, and leave.
And he hated--not Osamu, not this time--he hated himself, for the way Osamu grinned, fierce and bright and more alive than Chuuya had seen for months, said, “Thanks, Chuuya,” said, “Goodbye forever.”
“Don’t be like that, asshole,” Chuuya snapped. “I still owe you from all those bets I lost, and you owe me too. We’re definitely gonna see each other again, at least to cash in on those.”
Osamu shrugged. “Sure, whatever,” he said. “See you later then...dog.”
“I’m not your dog, asshole!” Chuuya yelled, but Osamu just walked away. He didn’t look back. He just walked, and with every step, Chuuya hated himself a little bit more. He shouldn’t have let him go. He should have made him stay. It wasn’t--it wasn’t fair ! All the kids at school--they talked about best friends forever. The girls got little necklaces that said it, wore them as proof of their friendship. Chuuya had thought that had been him and Osamu, but--things had changed. Disappeared, in a blink of an eye, and Chuuya knew without a doubt that it was his fault.
Kouyou had sighed, shaken her head, said, “Where even is he getting them from ?”
Chuuya hadn’t said a word. What could he say? That it was him? That he was destroying his best friend, his partner, from the inside out without a word?
Drugs weren’t evil in themselves. Chuuya knew that. Drugs turned the mafia a hell of a profit, at the very least. But--Chuuya and Osamu were ten. Kouyou had told him that he was welcome to try anything he pleased, provided he was of age first, so that his brain development wouldn’t be stunted. At ten, Chuuya hadn’t even felt the need to try drugs. His life was crazy and fun and dangerous enough already. What more did he need?
But--Osamu. Osamu was younger than Chuuya. Their lives--weren’t that different, right?
Chuuya knew that addiction could be used to control people. He had helped Osamu use it in interrogations.
He had never thought he’d inadvertently use it to control his friend. Chuuya had no issue with hurting most people; he even had no issue with hurting Osamu mist of the time, in most fashions. But--but.
This wasn’t like that.
Osamu was gone, now, and it was Chuuya’s fault, Chuuya’s fault entirely. He had chased away his best friend, made it so that he could no longer be a part of the mafia. He had hurt him. Chuuya had betrayed his friendship with Osamu, and Osamu had run away and left everything behind.
Everything that went wrong in Chuuya’s life was Osamu’s fault. He hated him more than anyone else. But he didn’t want him gone.
But there was nothing else he could have done.