Work Text:
It doesn't hurt,
When you call me by his name.
When your eyes light up,
Searching for soft brown hues,
Not the chill and cold of icy blue eyes and wheaten hair.
It doesn't hurt,
When you gasp a name that isn't mine - "Marco!"
In the throes of your ecstasy.
When your hand automatically reaches up - and not down,
Searching for its target at a higher level,
For I am of a lesser height than he was.
It doesn't hurt,
When you draw and paint,
Only muses with soulful brunet traits,
A smattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose.
Neither does it when the only thing you want for your birthday is to cook his favourite meal.
"It doesn't hurt!"
I reassure you.
"How could it not?"
You plead, guilt filling your eyes with further depths of sorrow and grief.
It hurts you, for you think that you have hurt me.
'It doesn't hurt,'
I think silently to myself.
For in my mind,
Your hair is darker; your eyes a rich, emerald green.
There, your hands are rougher and you know me better than anyone else.
"It doesn't hurt,"
I promise - it's the truth.
You believe me,
For you know that in my mind,
I call you by a different name too.
It doesn't hurt,
For just as in your head,
We are Jean and Marco,
In mine, we are Eren and Armin.