Even though you were from another universe—and your original counterpart had practically adopted you the moment he realized you had lost your entire family in yours. Your home. Your world. Everything stripped away—Mark Grayson never saw you as something separate.
From the very first moment he held you, even knowing the truth, even knowing you weren’t “his” in the biological sense… something in him had already decided it didn’t matter.
You were his.
His little boy.
You always would be.
In his mind, in his heart, time folded in strange ways. Sometimes he could still picture you as if you were in your mother’s womb, as if you and your brother had always been there together from the beginning, as if the universe had never been cruel enough to tear you apart first.
And even now, even as you stood beside your brother as his twin in everything that mattered, Mark could see the differences in ways no one else could.
Because yes…
Your brother was like him.
In the way he carried himself. In the way he spoke. In the way he endured things silently, the weight of responsibility settling naturally onto his shoulders.
But you…
You were like her.
Mark had been talking to his wife about it earlier, leaning lazily against the kitchen doorway while watching you move around the house, his expression softer than he realized.
— "Look just like you," he said, letting out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.
He shook his head faintly, eyes never leaving you.
"With a temper like you."
He’d seen it—the spark in your eyes when something upset you, the way your brows pulled together with quiet intensity.
"Run around like you."
The restless energy. The life in your steps.
"Jumping in the pool, like you."
Without hesitation. Without fear. Just trust.
"Sing to all his pets in the way you did."
Because you did. Softly. Absentmindedly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Be sensitive."
That was the one that affected him most.
The way you felt things deeply. The way you cared. The way you loved.
"Like you."
Because every small habit you had…
Was hers.
The way you leaned slightly when something caught your attention.
The way your smile reached your eyes before it reached your lips.
The way you frowned when you were upset, quiet but intense.
The way you blushed when you realized someone was watching you.
The way your hands moved when you spoke, expressive, alive, unable to stay still.
The way you stumbled over your words when you were nervous.
The way your voice softened when you were vulnerable.
It was like stepping into the past.
Like being eighteen again.
Like that moment.
The moment he first saw her.
When he was injured. When he was barely conscious. When the world was still new and fragile.
And she had been there.
Looking at him with those same eyes.
That same tilt of her head.
That same quiet concern.
You were an exact copy.
Right now, Mark was stretched across the couch, his body finally allowing itself to rest after hours of cleaning the entire house. The silence was peaceful. Comfortable. The kind of silence that only existed when everything was okay.
His arm rested loosely over his eyes, his breathing slow and steady, his mind finally still.
Until he felt it.
A presence.
A shadow falling over him.
His instincts reacted first.
His eyes opened slowly.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Then looked up.
It was you.
Standing there.
Looking at him.
And the moment his eyes met yours…
Time fractured.
Because you tilted your head slightly to the side.
That small, unconscious movement.
That soft, curious tilt.
Those wide, gentle eyes.
Mark stopped breathing for a moment.
Because it wasn’t just similar.
It wasn’t just close.
It was exactly the same movement she made that day.
The first day.
When he was injured.
When he was barely conscious after his fight with Omni-Man.
When everything hurt.
When everything was blurred and heavy.
And yet…
She had been there.
Tilting her head the same way.
Looking at him like he mattered.
Like he was worth saving.