Everyday, on the stroke of six, you would be there. Not a single deviation from schedule. You moved like clockwork. You were reliable.

The shinigami liked that.

It didn't take him long to notice you, standing at the riverbank, right in the middle of the bridge, staring out at the line of water, smiling absently. You never did anything except look out at the river, but you were always there, from six o'clock, when you would step onto the bridge and become the physical embodiement of symmetry that Death the Kid so adored.

He had made a habit of doing the same, hoping to see that wistful smile and that floppy hat that was purely you. He would sit at the café and watch the bridge in the hope of seeing you again. His fascination with you was clear: the perfection in the way you moved was beyond comprehension. It was as if you were an ultimate being, beyond human, beyond the flawed inaccuracies of others.

But, compelling as you were, he was happy to watch from an asymmetrical, flawed-fringed distance, and he found himself coming earlier and earlier so that he wouldn't miss a single glimpse.

The shinigami was learning that half an hour early was too early.

Drenched in rain, cold and tired, he sat obstinately at the cafe table, arms resting perpendicular to his abandoned drink. He blinked a raindrop out from his eyelashes and kept staring out at the river. Yes, he was wet, and yes, he felt like hell, but he could ignore that for that one heavenly moment when he would finally see you.

People moved back and forth before his eyes in a rush-hour daze, breaking apart the view, obscuring the bridge. They had to move now, the has to move quick, otherwise...

The clock struck six. The bridge was packed. He wouldn't see you today, not behind all these people.

But he waited anyway.

The crowd broke open, revealing an empty sector. Empty, because you weren't in it. Visions of that perfect symmetry, that perfect being crumbled before his eyes.

Death the Kid stood up and paid for his drink.

He turned away, began to walk from the mistake he had made, from the days he had wasted. But he looked back, not willing to say goodbye quite yet.

And there you were, pushing through the crowd with desperate arms and establishing yourself back in the centre of the bridge. He watched as you lifted your eyes lifted to the heavens, shoulders rolling forwards with a sigh, arms resting upon the railing, that perfect symmetrical face smiling out at the sunset.

The shinigami smiled too.

He'd stay just a little longer.