Elemental brothers oneshot story

scar

This chapter have major ooc and Abit rush (I am disappointed with myself 😔)

That is all, enjoy!
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The night was deep and cloaked in silence, save for the soft rhythm of his brothers breathing.

The dim glow of the streetlamp outside flickered against the window, casting faint shadows across the room.

Everyone was asleep, everyone except him.

Lying on his side, he pressed a hand against his throat, fingers tracing the jagged line of raised skin.

It pulsed under his touch, a sharp burning reminder that refused to fade. His breath hitched, he wasn't supposed to think about it. He wasn't supposed to feel it anymore.

But it hurt, it always did at night.

He swallowed, testing the way it stretched, the way it ached. His body stiffened at the sensation, memories clawing at the edges of his mind, memories he refused to acknowledge.

Instead, he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The quiet was suffocating, wrapping around him like an unseen force. He wished he could forget, he wished he could move on but every night it came back.

The pain, The fear, The helplessness.

A shaky breath escaped him, if only he could turn back time, if only he could stop it before it ever happened.

If only he could undo it all.

The silence weighed heavy as he pushed the blanket aside, careful not to disturb the steady breathing of his sleeping brothers. The ache in his throat was unbearable tonight, a deep pulsing reminder that refused to let him rest.

Barefoot, he moved through the quiet room, his steps light against the wooden floor. The bathroom door creaked slightly as he slipped inside, shutting it softly behind him.

With a flick of a switch, light flooded the small room, casting a stark glow over the space. He hesitated before gripping the edges of the sink, bracing himself before finally looking up.

The mirror reflected tired eyes, dark circles clinging beneath them. But his gaze drifted lower, drawn to the thing he could never ignore.

A scar, stretching across his throat.

Not a line. Not a cut.

A hand.

The shape of fingers pressed into his skin, wrapping around his neck like a phantom grip that had never truly let go.

The skin was uneven, marred with the memory of pressure, of desperation, of something he didn't want to remember.

His breath trembled as he reached up, fingers tracing the shape, feeling the way it pulled and tightened with every swallow. His stomach twisted, the pain wasn't just in the scar.

It was in the past, in the moment it had been given to him. His grip on the sink tightened, his reflection blurred as his vision stung.

He could barely look at himself without the guilt rising like a tide, threatening to swallow him whole. The scar mocked him, a reminder of the nightmare that had changed everything.

His reckless decision had cost them all more than he could ever make up for.

They had screamed.

The sound haunted him.

Their powers, their very essence, being ripped away, it played in his mind like a broken record. The way they writhed, the way their voices cracked in agony.