The breeze was cool against his face, and it carried the scent of salt water. That close to the ocean, the river smelled like salt; it was harsh against his face as the breeze carried it up, sweeping spray over the bridge he stood on.

Kohaku wobbled as he shifted, his balance barely good enough to handle standing on to top bar of the bridge’s guard rail. His arms out for balance, he stared down at the roaring water. It lapped at the shores, and at the bridge, in little waves- as if beckoning him to join the water in its journey to the ocean.

A mirthless smile turned up his mouth. Kohaku fully planned on taking the water up on its invitation. He just needed to swallow the fear that had risen up past the dead, numb feeling that had swallowed his life for months. Kohaku drew in a deep, slow breath that stung his throat. It came out just as slowly, and the smile that crossed his face then was peaceful.

“What are you doing?”

The shouting voice startled him, and Kohaku’s arms pinwheeled as he fought to keep his balance. Heart in his throat, he turned his head just enough to see who had shouted at him. Ebony hair caught and held the sunset as the boy dashed across the bridge toward Kohaku.

The pink haired boy on the railing shifted away from him, and it made him wobble again. The boy stopped immediately, his hands raised, alarm clear in his eyes. “Whoa. Okay. Don’t move any more, okay?” he said, his voice low and soothing.

“Go away!” Kohaku shouted back at him, his gaze turning back to the river. He wouldn’t let the boy, whoever he was, turn him away from what he meant to do.

The boy took a step closer, and Kohaku wobbled again as he tried to shift away. “Hey! Be careful!”

“Go away!” Kohaku repeated, and tears stung his eyes that time.

The boy kept taking cautious steps forward, his alarm spiking every time Kohaku wobbled, and he was slowly closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!”

“It looks like you’re being an idiot,” the boy replied, his voice still soft.

Kohaku scowled at him. “Are you trying to convince me to come down, or are you trying to get me to jump?” he snapped. The anger shifted into something near fear as the breeze pushed against him, and he desperately fought to keep his balance. “Just go away, already. Leave me be.”

“Leave you be? So you can throw a life into the river? I don’t think so,” the boy said, his expression morphing from concern to determination. “I won’t let you do something so irresponsible. There’s nothing beautiful in throwing yourself off a bridge to be smothered and beaten by water.”

Kohaku gave a bitter laugh. “Because it’s better to be smothered and beaten by life, right?”

“Oh.” The boy sighed the word, and he softened, his brown eyes holding the sad, pitying look that Kohaku hated most. “You poor thing. You’ve lost the beauty of the world, haven’t you?”

Kohaku didn’t say anything; he just stared at the boy, his scowl etched deep into his face. The boy took another cautious step forward. He was close enough that he could have touched Kohaku. He raised a hand out, but he didn’t try to touch Kohaku.

“Whatever your reason for being up here, forget it,” the boy said, the calm he had held up until then giving way to a fierce, almost angry tone. “Come down. Take your life back. If you promise you won’t throw yourself off the bridge, I promise I’ll show you how to see beauty again.”

Kohaku wavered. He’d been convinced the only way out was to throw himself into the river. To give up his life. But that earnest look in the boy’s eyes, the genuine trembling hope in his smile, shook his resolve. “Are you… do you really mean that?”

“I mean it. Come down,” the boy said, stretching his hand out further, his smile growing.

Kohaku stared at the offered hand for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip as the river’s spray misted his face. “Alright.” He gave in with a soft sigh, and turned to take the boy’s hand.

His foot slipped on the wet metal, and his breath froze in his throat as he fell- on the wrong side, away from the reaching hand. Kohaku’s eyes shut- and he missed the boy dashing forward, lunging to catch him. It was only when his arm was wrenched painfully, his fall stopped, that he dared to open his eyes.

“You alright?” the boy shouted, both hands wrapped around Kohaku’s wrist as he strained to keep the boy from falling into the river.

Kohaku stared at him, speechless, for a long moment.

Then he burst into tears.

***

“This is where I live. It isn’t much, but you can make yourself at home.” The boy, who had told Kohaku his name was Misha, said as he unlocked the door.

He was right- it wasn’t much. The apartment was small, and crowded. A worn couch was jammed against the far wall, and canvases were stacked everywhere, every spare surface taken up by paints and hundreds of other things Kohaku couldn’t name. He stared, wide-eyed, at the organized chaos.

“Let me go get you a towel. Even the spray can soak you,” Misha said with a light laugh. “Take a seat, I’ll be right back.”

Kohaku watched him leave, disappearing through a door that didn’t close all the way. He stood in the doorway for a moment, feeling out of place. He didn’t belong in that cozy apartment. Dripping on clean canvases with his hair plastered to his head and the tears still wet on his face. He backed up a step, fumbling for the doorknob- and Misha peeked his head out, a frown on his face.

“I said take a set, not run away. Don’t make me come back out there,” he threatened, with a teasing smile that made it less harsh.

Kohaku couldn’t help the smile that formed in return; the boy was too cheerful to deny that. Aggravated, with himself and with Misha, he sat down- in front of the couch, not on it, curled up as he tried to avoid getting anything wet. As he waited, his gaze wandered, and he found himself enraptured.

Not all the canvases were blank. Some of them were filled with the most beautiful scenes; most of them featured the bridge, the one Kohaku had almost jumped off of. They were filled with people- smiling, crying, laughing, everyday moments captured in paint in broad, sweeping strokes. Every detail perfect. Kohaku stretched out a hand to one. Feeling paint and canvas under his hand was shocking; for a moment, he had almost believed he could reach through the canvas to the woman who was laughing while her husband held their baby high up in the air.

“Oh, don’t mind that. It’s not that good. You can tell me I’m terrible, I don’t mind.”

Kohaku tore his gaze away from the painting as the couch squeaked. Misha sat cross-legged on the couch behind him, draping a towel around Kohaku’s shoulder and tossing another over his head. Kohaku was reaching up to dry his hair when his hands were batted away. Misha did it for him, gentle but firm as he scrubbed the moisture away.

“You’re not terrible,” Kohaku said, his voice soft. It was the first time he had spoken since Misha saved him.

Misha snorted, rubbing almost hard enough to hurt for a moment. “You shouldn’t lie to your savior,” he chided, tossing the towel on top of the painting when he was done.

Kohaku lunged forward, bundling the wet towel into his lap. His fingers ran over the painting as he checked to make sure no damage had been done. Then he turned to glare at Misha, throwing the towel at his face. “For a boy who talked about beauty in the world, you’re completely blind to it.”

“No,” Misha said, shaking his head. “I see too much of it. That’s how I know my paintings aren’t good. No matter how good I get, I can’t capture beauty in my paintings. I may be able to paint the woman’s smile, the joy in her husband’s eyes- but I can’t catch the baby’s giggle, the breeze stirring up her hair, her husband whispering that he loves her. I can’t catch the parts that are truly beautiful.”

Kohaku stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “You are one of the most ridiculous people I’ve ever met.”

It made Misha laugh, and he threw the towel back, snickering when Kohaku wasn’t able to catch it before it hit his face. “Well, that makes two of us.”

***

Misha was Kohaku’s teacher for the six months after that. He made it his mission to remind Kohaku that the world was beautiful; whether he was dragging him around downtown, or taking him on a peaceful picnic in the park, or simply sitting next to him on the bridge as he painted. Everything Misha did was to show Kohaku that there were still beautiful things in the world.

And slowly, ever so slowly, a light came into Kohaku’s eyes. He was grumpy at first, snappish and introverted. But as he found beauty again, it found him. It made him smile, brought back his laughter. He didn’t hunch into himself so often, and when he listened to Misha play his music, he closed his eyes and a look of peace would come over him that made Misha’s chest ache.

Because Kohaku wasn’t the only one who found beauty. Misha found it in Kohaku’s gentle breathing as they slept in the same bed, his toneless voice when he sang in the shower, even the way he would sometimes go distant and a little sad. There was beauty in Kohaku- and Misha fell in love with it.

So in love, that he burned to try and capture that beauty on canvas. As the sun was setting on another shared day spent on the bridge, he switched out his canvas and turned to Kohaku with an expectant smile. “Will you let me paint you?”

“Misha…” A soft flush spread across Kohaku’s face, and he stumbled over the boy’s name. “I… of course.”

Misha’s smile was brighter than ever; he had expected Kohaku to say no, as he had done more than once before.

“Where… do you want me to stand?” Kohaku asked, getting to his feet.

Misha hesitated a moment before steeling himself. “Could you stand on the railing again, like you did the day I met you.”

“Sure,” Kohaku said, his voice blank with surprise. His heart pounded as he cautiously climbed up to the top of the railing, planting his feet carefully, one hand resting on one of the poles that extended high into the air. He turned carefully so his back was against the pole. It let him see both worlds at once.

The water still called to him. The waves beckoned to him, the river roaring in his ears as it begged him to jump. To join the waves. It was an enchanting call, and he almost fell prey to it.

But he could see Misha. His paintbrushes scattered across the bridge, two between his teeth as he used another, broad strokes sweeping across the canvas as he painted. Under the noise of the river, he could hear Misha humming softly. The expression of concentration on his face nearly as captivating as the paintings he made.

Kohaku turned his attention away from the river, his eyes only on the boy he loved as Misha worked. The sun had nearly set by the time Misha sat back with a satisfied sigh. Kohaku carefully climbed down from the railing, padding across the bridge to see what Misha had painted.

The drying paint shone in the dying sunlight, and it took Kohaku a moment to rescue his heart from his throat. Misha had captured him perfectly, from the water behind him reaching up with ghostly hands, to the love in his eyes and his smile as he ignored the river to watch Misha paint.

Kohaku had a hand pressed to his mouth, his tears warm and wet against his fingers. Misa inched closer to him, an arm curling around Kohaku’s waist. The pink haired boy hid his face against Misha’s shoulder and let the sobs shake him. “Misha,” the boy’s name came out broken, shredded by Kohaku’s tears. “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

Misha sighed softly, a fond smile on his face as he pressed a kiss to the top of Kohaku’s head. “I love you too,” he whispered.

The setting sun outlined their figures as Misha turned, gently turning Kohaku’s face up. Their lips met, and they melted into each other, as perfect as the painting Misha had painted, finding their beauty, their reason for living, in each other’s arms.