Taurus Falling

Thirteen finds him leaning his slight frame back, his bony shoulder blades seeking the support of another as they quake in anticipation and something else. His breath wisps in through his nose and rasps out through his mouth as he gnaws on his bottom lip, his mind working to place this feeling.

Is this fear?

"Hey, Osamu."

Speaking his name feels like a sin.

He is silent, but he tilts his head back, cocking it to the side as he studies their opponents, index finger playing idly against the cool steel of the gun in his right hand. In all the calculations he has conducted throughout his short life, he has never had to factor in the variable that is fear.

How fascinating.

"D-Dazai..."

The ring of strange men moves closer, hands outstretched, faces wearing smiles of amusement and mirth at the thought of ruining these two young playthings that have stumbled so boldly into their laps.

He reaches back with his left hand, threading his bare fingers with the leather gloved ones that meet him halfway. A silent pact and subtle reassurance.

And the fear disperses.

A wicked grin draws his features up into an expression so crazed and sinister the man closest to him ceases in his advancing, just in time for him to raise the readied gun and pull the trigger.