A/N: ah yes another cryptic titled angsty fic written and posted in the early morning. im starting to see a trend here. i quite liked how this one came out; looks like run on sentences really are my best friend(sorry past english teachers who always told me it's bad)

heavily inspired by a KidLaw doujin translated by amaitsumi at post/100829381071

"He is not him."

You repeat it like a mantra every morning you wake up to face the Kid captain's sleeping face, unpainted, pure, beautiful and heart-breakingly similar.

You repeat it until you start to believe it yourself, until the erratic, panicky heartbeat calms down, until you let loose a shuddering breath you weren't aware you were holding.

(just like every morning because you hold your breath and pray it is him before you open your eyes at the first lark's call, pretending you cannot smell the musk of leather and cinnamon and instead it is rich wine and the faint whiff of cigarette smoke that fills your nostrils; you hold your breath and pray it is not him even though you know it is selfish, greedy and downright unfair to him but you cannot help yourself, and every time you open your eyes you will swallow the lump in your throat, pretend there are no tears forming at the corner of your eyes and squeeze your eyes shut once more like a child hoping to return to dreamland hoping to continue the dreams of better times filled with the heavy scent of tobacco instead of facing harsh reality but you are not a child

so you open your eyes.)

You repeat it as you reach a trembling tattooed hand out(so close yet so far) to slowly trace the outline of his face, lightly sliding down the edge starting from his temple, down his jaw line to his chin just below his lips that move oh-so-slightly from his soft breaths that show he is alive and if so he cannot be him.

(because he is dead and you witnessed it witnessed as he fell from grace like a bird who had lost its wings watched as his own brother slayed him down down down while howling his maniacal laugh even though tears were coursing down his cheeks and his laugh sounding on the verge of breaking into screams of agony and misery and till now you don't understand don't know why but you know that you screamed in his place as the blood pooled around your feet screamed in anger and pain and despair that haunts you till today and makes you remember and piece together and you will try your very best not to let yourself.)

You repeat it even as hot stinging tears blur your vision and you force yourself to bring your hand upwards and rest gently in his brilliant red hair, the one thing that reminds you time and time that it is not him and you are grateful for it, love it so very much even though it hurts you as much as his face(blonde and they would be a near exact copy and you could pretend he is him reincarnated-you cannot do that) but you thank the heavens as you run your fingers through the surprisingly soft scarlet mess that it is coloured bright crimson and not sunshine yellow, or else there is no telling how much you would not have seen him as who he is anymore and that thought itself terrifies as much as it exhilarates you.

(because then you would see him as a copy, replacement, substitute and it would have tortured you to the point of insanity since they are alike but not the same and it would make you suffer to see him all over again when it is not him to remember everything you have done together everything he has done for you everything that makes him him when it is not him and it would have been so so painful yet at the same time you could deceive yourself into thinking that yes it is him it is the man who saved you from yourself; who risked everything to find you a cure who made sure your lungs hadn't collapsed heart hadn't stopped beating thirteen years ago and that you were around to see the next sunrise after every sunset long after you'd given up because he hadn't and that he is the man who is the root of everything you have now

but that would have been too cruel to do to the man who kisses you like you mean the world to him who accepts and loves despite knowing you think of this, and to act upon those desires, to see him hurt at the revelation of you only seeing, loving him as another man you can never have at the end of the day (although he has proven to you a million and one times over he is not) leaves a sour taste in your mouth and makes you feel like the world is ending

so you don't.)

You repeat it as you begin to note their differences, carefully numbering them to not lose track, a challenge you have set for yourself since the day you spotted him at the back of the auction house; his crude, blunt manner of speaking, his boorish laugh, the one-of-a-kind goggles that push his long fringe out of his face, the way he never allows the flames of his lighter anywhere near the fur(not feathers) of his beloved coat, how no undignified thud can be heard after the loud, annoying clacks of his boots that announces to the world that he is coming and they should be afraid.

(not the same even though their eyes(baby blue and gold tinged brown, different) both soften whenever they land on you, even though they are both protective and over reactive, even though both enjoy drinking at ungodly hours of both the day and night, even though they never pitied you when you told them of the tragedies of your past, only held you gently and told you they would be there for you and that there was no need to be afraid anymore because they were here for you and they would love you help you remember the love you'd lost help you recover your heart and repaint the ironies of the heart theme of your life into truth to show the 'heart' did not follow you because it resembled 'hurt' but because you are full of it and everything it stands for; undying love, life and your endless capacity to feel for others and yourself

even though both promised to help you unlock said parts you'd tightly locked away and let burn with a flaming hospital back where your heart began to turn ugly black and the prospects of living, of life itself began to dull.)

You repeat it until the warm hues of red and orange begin rising in tendrils, then flares from the gradually brightening horizon, until the sun finally rises, letting you know of its arrival by slipping a ray through the crack between the curtains and leaving a comfortable warm path across the blanket that covers you both, ending where your hand sits tangled in his hair; until he rouses and blinks blearily at you, gazes upon your face and cracks a smile so full of love and numbing bliss like you're the best thing to happen to him; a smile that wilts when he spots the dry tracks the tears have made down your face as he instantly clicks what has run through your mind during the few minutes of darkened day before he rises and he quietly shifts the only arm he has under you to circle your thin waist, slowly pulling you closer to him and when you're a breath away he moves his hand such that it's behind your head to tenderly tilt it up and press a kiss on your still-wet lashes, a silent promise to stay despite your cruel intentions, to wait and to love.

(he is not the same

but sometimes you wish he was.)

(and for that you hate yourself)