Someday he would go up to you and say hello.
But day after day after day, that 'someday' never came. Tomorrow, he would promise himself, and then followed it up with a maybe.
He thought that if he looked up close, he might find some flaw in your perfection. He thought that if he investigated further, he might find something that incriminated you. He thought that if his curiosity drove him any further, it might be the death of his dreams, much as curiosity was the death of the figurative cat.
The son of death himself couldn't handle the thought.
But the longer he watched, the further he fell. Every day, he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the irrevocable love he held for you. He found himself loving you even though he didn't know you. He found himself wanting to know you, to truly love you, that perfect symmetrical being.
He found himself walking up to that bridge.
But he paused, just a second, fingers grasping onto the metal railing the way he held his guns; on edge. He wasn't sure. After all this time, he still wasn't sure.
With tentative steps, he edged onto the bridge, towards you. You didn't notice- so immersed you were in the river. However, the shinigami noticed. He noticed that your perfection didn't decrease with the distance.
He paused again a metre away, and it was now that you sensed his presence. You turned to face him, (Kid wasn't at all surprised that you were as beautiful head-on as you were in profile) curiosity permeating your features.
"You're perfect," he wanted to say, but he replaced it with a "Hi."
You followed the greeting up with a wary, "Hello."
"I'm Kid."
"_. Nice to meet you."
The shinigami found himself scrutinising your face further, trying to find the smallest, most insignificant flaw, but finding none.
"You come here often, don't you? You're always at that cafe on the riverbank."
You noticed him?
"And you're always here, right in the middle of this bridge."
You sighed, "Yeah," and turned your beautiful face to the water, "It's the most beautiful place in the city, don't you think?"
He realised that an answer was expected of him and stopped analysing your lashes, "Yes, I suppose it has a certain symmetry to it."
"Oh? Are you an artist, Kid?"
"No, nothing like that. I just know to appreciate beauty when I see it. That's why I came here..."
He stopped short. What was he thinking? Why had he gone and said something as stupid as that?
But then you smiled.
It was crooked and imperfect, but he found that he didn't mind at all.
Death the Kid had fallen in love, and he had fallen beyond recovery.
