Mark's P.O.V.
The cheering of the arena faded into the darkness as I ascended the hallway back to the locker room. I was a beaten and bruised man. The scars wouldn't fade as quickly as they usually do. Not this time. They were too deep. Full of regret, hatred, guilt, and shame. The fact that they were inflicted upon me by my own dear brother made them hurt that much worse. I stumbled across the hall, my shoulder finding impact against the cement wall, next to the room I was seeking refuge in. I limped, almost fell inside as I shut the door behind me, leaning against it for support. It was the only thing that could hold me up at this point. If it wasn't there, the floor might as well had a "Die Here" sign waiting for me. I simply slid down the door and panted, my fists throbbing with furry and remorse. The blood in my lungs wasn't allowing me for much breathing room. It didn't phase me though. You think I'd be use to this kind of punishment by now. But this punishment was different. Sure, I've fought against Kane multiple times in the past but that was before the bond between us as brothers…and lovers split us apart even further. I curled my fingers into my palm, blood dripping off my now red-stained gloves. I sighed heavily, my voice cracked and weak, full of strain and agony. I finally lifted my gaze up even though it pained me to do so, and I saw my brother sitting in the corner, half his body shrouded in darkness. Even through the black abyss, I could see the scars. The physical ones, the spiritual ones, the mental ones, and the emotional ones. They were clear as day. The bruises were starting to form and swell on various parts of his body. True, he may have had tights on to conceal his legs but I knew they were covered in them. His breathing was erratic and unstable, his body shaking every time he took a breath. During time like these, we couldn't say anything. Nothing to interrupt the small, intricate moments between us. It would cause the riff between us to grow even more and we couldn't risk it. I saw his head turn towards me, acknowledging my presence. I knew he was staring at me with tear filled eyes because I was. We were like twins. If he was hurting, I was hurting along side him. One was crying, the other had tears in his eyes as well. I could feel the change in atmosphere as the bitterness died and was replaced with compassion.
"Can you move?" His voice was low and soft. Gentle, almost. Almost. I didn't reply but just stared at the wall beside me, the tears now trying to escape the confines of my eyes. I knew he would grow impatient if I didn't answer him but it was the key to calming him down in times of war. I finally turned my head towards him, our eyes meeting in the darkness. I closed them, straining myself to keep them open. In turn, came the tears. I heard Kane curse in silence as I could hear his tears hit the cold floor beneath him. I then noticed him standing up. He didn't speak but slowly walked over, his tears becoming worse with every step. He took a seat beside me and stared at the floor. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the corner and sighed painfully. I moved my bloody hand over and laced my fingers with that of my baby brother. He tightened his grip as I could hear his breathing become shaky as his tears became sobs. I did nothing but cover my eyes to keep him from seeing the discomfort adorning my face. He then laid his head in my lap and curled up, his body wracked with tremors. I reached down and petted his head, keeping a hiding hand over my face, the tears now turning into a faucet down my cheeks. In times like these, we wouldn't speak but simply comfort each other even if we were made out to hate one another. We hated one another simply for entertainment purposes. Behind closed doors, we would dress each others wounds and kiss the pain away. This time, we couldn't kiss the pain away. The wounds were too deep and too fresh. It would take some time. Some healing. And most of all, some moments like this.