A/n: I'm so sorry that this took so long! Athletes foot+writer's block+too much school work=One frustrated Polish-Slovakian.
Bah, I'll just shut up now and get to the chapter. Enjoy.
xxx
I found myself a bit confused when Friday came around, and Berwald was nowhere to be seen around the gym. I actually hadn't seen him all day.
I scratched my head slightly as I looked around the small parking lot outside the gym. The Swedish wrestler's truck wasn't here.
"Y' looking for someone?" I heard a deep voice pipe up from behind me. I turned around.
"Yeah. You." I replied, chuckling a bit. He smiled slightly then put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
"I just got here. Came in th' back entrance… Had t' walk here. M' truck broke down back at m' house." He explained.
"Well that sucks. Does it really matter if we walk though? I mean, we're on our feet all day. Wouldn't make much of a difference."
"True. Well, let's get going. I know this nice little restaurant uptown… Figured w' could g' there."
"Sounds good to me." I responded with a smile. I followed beside the six foot five inch tall "Beast" as he led me uptown to our destination.
I got a good look at the older man as we walked; now recognizing features I hadn't noticed before. The circles around his cerulean eyes seemed to have gotten heavier, and he still had bruises on his features from his last fight. His face, though naturally pale, had visible scars on it in places common to MMA fighters. Above his eyebrows, at the sides of his face, on his cheekbones, on the bridge of his slightly flattened nose… He must have been cut up pretty bad in a lot of his fights. One scar though, stood out from the rest.
There was a scar on his chin, angling towards the left side of his face. I stared for a few moments before I was caught.
"Something wrong?" He asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.
"Can I ask how you got that scar on your chin?" I questioned. He let out a sigh and brought one hand up, lightly tracing over the scar with a callused finger.
"If it's too personal you don't have to tell me. It just stood out from the rest of the scars on your face."
"N', n'… I'll tell y'." He paused for a moment. "Back when I lived in Sweden… I was in a bar drinking; I was eighteen at th' time… I wasn't drunk, but m' friend was. H' was one of th' stupid drunks that loves t' pick fights… H' decided t' pick a fight with th' biggest guy in th' bar, and somehow I got dragged in t' protect him. I was th' wrestling champion of th' region s'… As y' can imagine things went t' the ground pretty fast… When I had th' big guy in a rear-naked choke, h' picked up a beer bottle, smashed it, and waved it towards m' face… H' cut m' chin pretty bad… W' got kicked out of th' bar and had t' pay for the damages. I had t' get stitches… I didn't get any crimes charged on m' though, thank God."
"I'm going to guess and say that you aren't a real heavy drinker?"
"Not really. I don't like t' get drunk… M' dad was an alcoholic. Killed himself when I was thirteen; just weeks before m' first wrestling season started… Guess I sort of worked out m' sorrows on th' mats when I wrestled back when I was younger. Now I guess I just wrestle in memory of m' dad… H' wasn't such a bad guy. W' all have our problems."
"Yeah… Can I ask what your mom was like?"
"Never knew m' mom, actually. Sh' left m' dad when I was a baby. God knows where sh' is now… I wonder a lot about her. I've only seen her in pictures… I look a lot like her… Sh' had more scars though… "
I now realized; this man, this 6'5", two-hundred twenty pound, "Beast" of a Swedish man had a miserable childhood. No mother and an alcoholic father who killed himself when Berwald was only thirteen? What kind of person deserves that kind of youth?
"Who raised you… after your father killed himself?"
"Wrestling coach; Christian Thomassen. I'll never forget that man. H' made m' th' wrestler I am today."
"He still around?"
"N'… H' was pretty old when h' got custody of m'. When I left Sweden t' g' t' th' WCFL when I was nineteen… Came back when I was twenty t' find out that h' died. Told m' h' died peacefully in his sleep… Never did get t' thank him for getting m' s' far in life."
I didn't have anything to say. I mean, what was I supposed to say? 'Oh, I'm sorry you've had a horrible childhood, and the man who raised you in your teens died while you were away'? There was really nothing to say.
"What about y', Mathias?"
"What? About my parents?"
"Yeah."
"Well… My parents both live in Denmark. Hectic businesspeople… I never socialized with them much. When I met Tolvorn when he was looking for MMA prospects in Denmark, I jumped on the chance to get away from home, you know? I hate to say it, but I'm happier here than I ever was back in Denmark."
"S' y' aren't close t' your parents, huh?"
"Not really. I doubt they even cared when I left. I was just a waste of space; never was going to get anywhere with the job I had. I fucked around too much in high school to be intelligent enough to get a college degree…"
"Don't feel too bad about your level of education. I got too wrapped up in th' WCFL t' focus on studies. Maybe when I retire in God knows how long I'll g' t' college."
"Yeah…"
We soon found ourselves at the place Berwald had mentioned; it was little Italian restaurant, which was surprisingly busy. As we entered, I noticed quite a few interesting things. There was a part of the place that looked to be like an authentic Italian style, but there were various things on the walls that pertained to something rather un-Italian. Everything on the walls had something to do with the WCFL. Old signs, posters, pictures… and there was a bulletin board off to one side where pictures were posted. I noticed that they were of regular people, posing with the various fighters in the league.
"Ah, Berwald! It's good to see you again!" A cheery voice called out from a separate room that held a bar. A young man, looking nearly identical to Lovino Vargas, approached "The Beast" and I.
"Hey Feliciano." Berwald greeted. "How're y' today?"
"I'm great. It's a busy day here though. You guys can have a seat wherever you'd like; I'll send Branko out to take care of you. I'm running the bar today, so I won't be able to chat much." Feliciano replied, talking rather quick.
"Alright. Y' get back t' work then." Berwald said.
"If I have some time I'll come out and chat a bit." With that, Feliciano went back to the bar.
"Is that Lovino Vargas' brother?" I asked as Berwald and I headed off to an open table.
"Yeah. That's why there's s' much WCFL stuff around here. Feliciano likes t' honor his father and his brother by putting up all these posters and such." Berwald replied as he took his seat.
"Well that's nice of him." I commented, taking mine as well.
"Y' see that poster over there?" The Swede pointed to the wall behind me. I turned around to see what he was pointing at. It was a worn out poster that I couldn't quite read. The lettering was faded.
"The one that's hardly legible?"
"Yeah. That was one of th' advertisement posters that was for Lodovico Vargas versus Tolvorn Ryker. I think that poster had been tossed around far too much before Lodovico got a hold of it and kept it. Ended up giving it t' Feliciano when h' opened this restaurant. That thing has t' b' worth thousands by now. It's hard t' come across posters like that from th' early days of th' WCFL."
"In thirty years, it'll probably be worth millions."
"I don't doubt it."
We were silent for a few moments before a young man with light brown hair approached us.
"Good evening Berwald." I assumed the guy was Branko. "Feliciano probably told you I'd be your server for tonight." He had an interesting accent; it was almost like a mix of a Russian and a sort of Arabic-sounding accent.
"That h' did." Berwald replied.
"Alright. Well, can I start you two off with something to drink?"
"Y' know m', Branko. Water."
The server turned to me. "And you?"
"I'll have the same."
"Alright. I will be right back with some menus, and then I'll give you guys some time to decide."
"Thank y', Branko."
"It's not a problem." With that, the light-brown haired man walked off to the kitchen. I looked to Berwald.
"Where's he from?" I asked.
"Montenegro. He's a nice guy; dating Nikodemos Antonov actually."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Nope."
"But Nikodemos is like…" I trailed off, unable to find words to describe the Macedonian who I had defeated to go 2-0.
"Don't ask m' how Branko and Niko get along. Because I don't know. They're practically opposites."
"I know. You ever fought Nikodemos?"
"N'. When h' joined th' WCFL, I was already up in th' high ranks. H' never got far enough along t' fight m'."
"Did you ever wonder if you would have to fight him?"
"Well, back when h' was a big prospect in th' WCFL, I watched him closely. Y' never know wh' you're going t' have t' fight. But a guy like Niko just gets too overconfident t' get any farther than h' is right now. He'd have t' change his attitude t' d' much, y' know?"
"Yeah. I changed my mindset completely once I won my fight against Matthew. I mean, I went in there thinking; "Okay, this is going to be hard, but at least I'm away from Denmark"… Once I won, I was just like "Wow… Maybe I should fight for something, like the nation I was born in. Bring pride to it." You know?"
"Yeah. I'm similar… Though I still have one man t' defeat; then I'll be th' pride of m' nation."
"Then you'll be the pride of your nation? Berwald, you already are. Do you have any clue how legendary you are? You've only been defeated by one man."
"True, but still. Until I become champion, I'll b' stuck at number two in th' WCFL. No one pays attention t' th' guy in second place."
"But what's wrong with that? What's wrong with being second? At least you've solidified your place there, instead of in last place. You know what I mean?"
"You're s' optimistic, Mathias." He said, chuckling a bit.
"Yeah. I know." I replied, smiling.
Branko returned to our table and set down two glasses of water in front of Berwald and I, along with two menus.
"I'll give you two a few minutes to decide; I know you fighters can be pretty picky. We're pretty busy here today too, so I may take a little bit longer than expected." He explained.
"It's not a problem, Branko. Take your time." Berwald said.
"Alright; thanks. I'll be back soon to take your orders." And with that, the Montenegrin headed back to the kitchen to resume his work.
I glanced down at the menu and read it over; the choices were almost stereotypically Italian. Different kinds of spaghetti, lasagna, pizza, and various other things that I didn't quite know what they were. There were some distinctively American foods listed though; burgers and such.
"What're you getting?" I questioned the Swede across from me.
"Same as I normally d'. Cotechino Modena."
"What's that?"
"Sausage made from pork, fatback, and pork rind. It's a purely Italian dish… It's really good; I blame Feliciano for getting m' hooked on Italian food."
"I haven't eaten all that much Italian food in my lifetime. Pasta is about the only thing I've eaten that's remotely Italian."
"Y' should try something new. Feliciano's grandfather Rome is head chef here; h' is probably th' best chef in town."
"Is his name seriously Rome?"
"N', but that's what everyone calls him. His real name is Romano."
"Ah. So it's just kind of a shortened form of Romano."
Berwald shrugged a bit. "He's also from Rome, Italy."
"This is probably one of the most legit Italian restaurants in the US then, huh?"
"Yeah. All th' workers are from regions near Italy too. Feliciano doesn't hesitate when hiring foreigners… He's got Branko from Montenegro, Najada from Albania, Vasch from Switzerland… Vasch only sticks around t' manage th' finances, but t' m' surprise, h' knows quite a bit about Italian cuisine… Maybe he's from southern Switzerland."
"You never know."
"S' what're y' getting?" He asked.
"Hm… Chicken Cacciatore sounds good."
"Ah, yes… I have a feeling you'll like that."
I took a sip of my water then sighed a bit, looking over the slightly bruised face of the Swede in front of me yet again.
"Those bruises ever going to heal?" I questioned.
"Don't know… Novkovic has got heavy hands. They could b' there for weeks. Wouldn't b' th' worst I've ever gotten though."
"What's the worst?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I got kicked in th' head by Begovich seven times; nearly th' same place each time. Left a foot-shaped bruise on th' side of m' face for twelve weeks. Couldn't hardly touch it for three weeks, and th' hematoma that formed didn't go away for about a week. It sucked… That was th' only time I ever grew a beard. Couldn't shave." He said, chuckling.
"How the hell didn't you get knocked out? I nearly got knocked out when Matthew Williams kicked me in the head just once."
"At th' time, Begovich was recovering from surgery on his leg. His kicks weren't quite as strong, though they still hurt like hell."
"How'd you win?"
"Submission in th' third round. Guillotine choke."
"Ah. How many submission wins do you have on your record?"
"Quite a few. Still have more knockouts and TKOs but m' ground skills are feared in th' league."
"You're one of the most feared fighters just by the way you look. Honestly, when I first saw you, I was terrified. They really don't call you "The Beast" for nothing."
Berwald chuckled slightly. "I don't know if it's because I was a bodybuilder, or if it's because I'm six foot five, honestly."
"Ah, I've been meaning to ask you; how long were you a bodybuilder? I was talking with Lovino a few weeks back and we got onto the topic of you being a former bodybuilder."
"I did bodybuilding for just under two years. I used t' b' kind of lanky, t' b' honest. Now I'm th' exact opposite."
"No kidding. You're the tallest and most muscular of all the fighters I've seen in the WCFL."
"It's something I pride myself off of, I suppose."
"So what exactly do you fight for, Berwald? I mean, I know there's your dad, and your wrestling coach… Anything else?"
"M' younger brother Peter."
"You have a brother?"
"Yeah… He's back in Sweden. He's in college."
"What's he studying to be?"
"H' is studying t' b' a Professional Engineer for Europe… Couldn't tell y' much more than that about what it is; Peter's pretty damn smart."
"You get along with Peter pretty well?"
"Yeah, I d'. I don't see him a lot, but I always send money over t' him t' help him pay for anything h' needs. When we're together, w' never stop talking… It's kind of funny, actually."
"Is he anything like you?"
"Well, h' looks like m'. Same blonde hair and blue eyes… Basically a shorter, less muscular m'. He's twenty-three; so if y' can imagine m' when I was that age with less muscle and about seven inches shorter, I'd look like Peter."
"It's hard to imagine you like that." I commented, chuckling a bit.
"Yeah, I bet… what about y'? Got any siblings?"
"Nah. My parents had a hard enough time trying to raise me. There's no way they could have raised a second kid."
"S' you're an only child."
"Yep."
And just as the conversation died, Branko appeared to save the day.
"You two ready to order?" The Montenegrin questioned.
"Yeah." Berwald replied.
"Alright, what'll it be?"
"Same as I usually d', Branko."
"Cotechino Modena, correct?"
"Yes."
"And for you?" Branko looked to me.
"I'll have the Chicken Cacciatore."
"Alright." He scribbled down some words on a little notepad. "I'll be back with your food in a little while. It may take a little longer than usual since Rome has got his hands full with how busy it is tonight."
"That's fine." Berwald replied.
"Alright. If you guys need anything in the meantime, feel free to flag me down if I'm nearby." With that, the brown-haired server left to go tend to other customers.
I took a sip of my water, avoiding the gaze of the Swede in front of me. Once things went quiet between us, it was difficult to get rid of it. The intensity of those eyes would force all means of conversation from my mind.
"S' how has training been going?" Leave it to "The Beast" to save the day.
"It's been alright." I replied. "Been working a lot of ground training with Eduard while Lovino has been working with Tolvorn. Eduard kind of has authority over me when Tolvorn isn't around, so I guess he's kind of like a second coach."
"Y' plan on beating Braginski from th' ground, correct?"
"Yep. Hey, speaking of coaches, did you get a new one? Or are you on your own?"
"I have a new coach. Spanish guy named Antonio Carriedo. H' was a member of the Spanish Olympic Wrestling team for two of th' Olympics… And h' had been a professional boxer for two years. Recently quit because h' got into an accident and lost from th' middle of his finger up on three fingers on his right hand. H' can still teach what h' knows though. He's damn good at pushing m' t' improve. H' does it better than nearly every coach I've had."
"How old is this guy?"
"Thirty-five, I think. He's kind of young compared t' a lot of th' coaches I've seen."
"Yeah, really."
We both went silent for a few moments, myself quietly looking over the many distinct features of the man in front of me. I found his pale complexion to be somewhat alluring, and those eyes… Damn those eyes were enough to kill a man. They were so penetrating, so captivating, so attractive. And yes, I confess, I was officially admitting to myself my desire to get to know the Swede much more.
A man like Berwald was the kind of guy that every gay man or straight woman fantasized about. Or at least some of them. Tall, muscular, blonde haired, blue eyed, actually willing to converse... The only things that may have been slightly repellant were his heavily cauliflowered ears and the scars that burdened his face. To me though, these were signs of experience in his career. Experience in fighting professionally; something I had hardly delved into. I may have been 3-0, but I was nowhere near as popular as Berwald. With that thought, a question came to mind.
"What's it like being so popular?"
Berwald looked up. "Hm…? Well… I guess it's not too bad… Don't really have too much time t' myself, but it's kind of entertaining t' see th' fans, y' know? I g' t' meet-and-greets and talk with some of m' fans… Sign stuff, pose for pictures… Being ranked number two in th' WCFL is both a burden and a blessing… Can't tell y' how many times someone has asked m' when I'm finally going t' beat Kirzigian…" he chuckled slightly. "I always tell them that I don't know, because really, I don't. Y' know?"
"Yeah. Say… I've noticed that you've got some pretty dark bags around your eyes… You been getting enough sleep?" I asked. Berwald shifted in his chair and sighed, shaking his head.
"N', not really. Th' anticipation keeps m' awake…"
"Anticipation for fighting Alexianos?"
"Yes… Y' have n' clue what it's like, t' have t' train as hard as I d'… I don't want t' lose this next match… Losing four times t' Kirzigian… It'd be devastating. I don't know if I'd b' able t' pick myself up again."
"You've done it three times already, haven't you? You've blown away the competition to get this chance, and if you screw up and lose, there's always the next time."
"But what if there-"
"Oh don't you start playing the 'what if' game with me. Berwald, you go out there in that octagon when you face Kirzigian, and you give it your all. Just forget about those three losses; they're in the past. If you lose again, it won't matter. You're "The Beast"; the man who has only been defeated by Alexianos Kirzigian. You're extremely popular with the fans, you've got all the money a man could ask for, and you're a nice guy. Honestly, Berwald, I think you're fucking amazing. Not just as a fighter, but as a person as well. I don't want you saying 'what if'."
"But-"
"No buts, Berwald."
He chuckled a bit. "Alright then."
ooo
Berwald and I's date was actually pretty nice. The food was great, and I wouldn't be surprised if we ended up going there again. Now I could blame Berwald for getting me hooked on Italian food. Haha.
As we headed down the street at about nine at night, with the cold wind nipping at our extremities, things were quiet. We were going to my apartment, where the Swede would leave me in favor of heading back to his place.
I, with what feeling I had left in my hand, felt a callused hand gently grip my fingers. I glanced over at the Swede beside me, a light blush creeping onto my cheeks. Smiling slightly, I laced my fingers with his, noting the fact of how rough and beaten up they felt.
"Y' know Mathias, you're pretty nice… It's been quite some time since I've dated anyone, but even s', you're not like th' other guys I've been out with. Y' may seem like a bit of a dimwit at first, but you're actually pretty smart… And you're not half-bad looking either." He smiled a bit to himself. "I'd like t' g' out with y' again sometime, if y' don't mind."
I found myself smiling like the idiot I was and scratching the back of my head with my free hand.
"I think that'd be great, Berwald."
He glanced down at me for a moment before returning his eyes forward. "Thanks." He said simply.
I chuckled. "It's not a problem. I really enjoyed tonight. You're pretty great, to be honest. You're unlike anyone I've ever met."
"I've been told that before, but that's n' surprise."
"Not at all… You want to know what really drew me in to even think about dating you?"
"What?"
"Your eyes."
"Really?"
"Yep… This may sound kind of cheesy, but whatever. I find them rather compelling. You know that day we locked eyes in the gym? Before we met eachother?"
"Yeah."
"That's when I started crushing on you." I said, laughing a bit; more at myself than anything. "I didn't even know you, or hardly anything about you. Just found you extremely mesmerizing."
"Is that so?"
"Yep. Say, what did you think of me when you first saw me?"
"I thought maybe I'd end up fighting y' in the future, t' b' honest. Didn't think much of y' other than that. Just "The Rookie", another guy trying t' get up t' Kirzigian."
"I see… So how did you find out from Eduard that I liked you?"
"Well, h' came up t' m' and said h' had something important t' tell m'… I stopped training for a moment t' listen t' him, and h' just bluntly said 'Mathias Køhler, that one Danish guy, has a crush on y'. Y' should ask him out before h' drives himself nuts.' And s' I did."
"That lying bastard said he wouldn't tell anyone." I responded, laughing.
"When were y' planning on telling m' that y' liked m'? Or were y' not planning on it at all?"
"Well, I was going to wait until I couldn't take it anymore. That would have given me a month or so."
"Y' wanted t' wait until y' knew a bit more about m', huh?"
"Yeah."
As we got to the parking lot of my apartment complex, I looked to Berwald. "Well, my apartment is in this place… So, I guess I'll talk to you sometime soon?"
He nodded. "I'll try t' stop by th' gym tomorrow. Antonio is going t' have m' working on cardio, s' I'll probably b' jogging around town."
"Alright… Thanks again, Berwald. I had a great time."
"It's not a problem, Mathias." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my cheek before turning and heading off. I sat there, that same idiotic smile on my face as before, and brought my hand up to my cheek, touching the spot where those warm lips had just been.
Oh how wonderful. Berwald, you would be the death of me with your contradicting actions and looks. So intense, yet so gentle. So powerful, yet so humble. So robust, yet so kind.
Yep; I had official fallen for him.
