#have.

This isn’t his body, he thinks, as he stares at the person in front of him, the person who looks eerily similar to him, the person who’s mimicking his every move with such precise, minute detail it’s like staring at a magnifying glass. The person who has his face, his voice, his brain - it’s him, he knows; he’s had this body for years, his whole life really, but it has not once felt like it belongs to him. He’s a temporary resident, paying rent with his own torment, holding his own mind hostage while biology continues to wreak havoc on his psyche.

This isn't Sasuke's body and he's half a second away from smashing this damn mirror.

His eyes scan the image in front of him one more time, slower, his face no longer contorted from anger, but from something softer now - concern? fear? - and somehow, inside, it makes him that much angrier. He’s gone his whole life before without letting this thought cross his mind, not once has he allowed it to come to fruition as a real thought, but now, for some reason, it’s pushed past the carefully guarded walls of his brain, wormed its way into his inner monologue, and he wants to scream.

His eyes sweep quickly over the soft curve of his hip, the gentle protrusion of his bust, no longer bound by the bandages he’s been wearing since the day he was made aware of his own budding anatomy. He takes in the softness, the subtle curves of his body, the dip of his waist and the way his knees angle in, just a little bit, when he’s stood up straight, and he tries not to think about how the other boys’ knees just go straight down, how the other boys don’t have to take the extra time to make sure they’re flat enough, that they’re covered enough, that they’re man enough.

He realizes he’s crying when he feels the hot tears drip onto his bare chest, when he realizes that he can’t see himself anymore, that he’s nothing more than some blurry shapes in the mirror in front of him. He can’t bring himself to move. The realization that he’s pushed away for so long, that he hasn’t allowed himself to even vaguely consider is right here in front of him, and the dread washes over him so fast, so strong that he’s nearly knocked onto his knees in the solitude of his own bathroom.

The thing he’s feeling is familiarity.