Chapter 7

The Grudge

The time had come.

Timo was nervous as could be, jittery and pumped full of adrenaline. That horrible and yet wonderful thrill of anticipation. Waiting for something you desperately wanted and yet also hoped would never come.

Those days before the match dragged, swear they did, and Timo's mood was not helped by the fact that Berwald wouldn't shut the hell up about Ludwig.

Christ almighty, Timo could never remember wanting to punch Berwald as badly as he had for these past two months, and that was remarkable because he had always daydreamed about punching Berwald.

If 'Blondie' had come outta Berwald's mouth one more time—

'Say, you and Blondie need to be real careful up there, I don't wanna see either of ya too banged up.'

'Ya think Blondie is okay? With that guy, ya know.'

'Don't ya ever worry about Blondie bein' stuck with those two jerks?'

'Ya think Blondie is okay? ...huh? Timo? Don't ya? Huh? Ya think Blondie is okay?'

Grr—!

Most of the time, Timo stayed silent and ignored fretting Berwald, and sometimes he snapped and barked, harshly, 'I'm sure Blondie is just fine. I've felt how hard he can punch. I think he can handle himself.'

Berwald would just purse his lips, oblivious to Timo's tone, and furrow his brow as he murmured, 'Mm—I dunno. He's so quiet. Hate thinkin' 'bout him gettin' pushed around.'

Timo sighed, rolled his eyes, and walked away.

When had Berwald become Ludwig's knight in shining armor? Ludwig really didn't have any luck at all. Poor guy. Timo sure did feel for him in advance.

Berwald had been perpetually lost up in his head for those short two months, and Timo did notice that Berwald wasn't hovering over him quite as much as he normally had. He was beyond grateful for that, and so that was why he put up with Berwald's random mutters about Blondie.

Ludwig hadn't spoken one single word to Berwald, not one word, and yet Berwald seemed suddenly obsessed with him.

Berwald had a very one-track mind. Couldn't focus on more than one thing at a time, couldn't juggle multiple emotions and ideas and activities, just wasn't mentally capable of too much complexity, and for now it seemed that Magnus had jolted Berwald from Timo's track and onto Ludwig's.

Was gonna kiss that asshole when he saw him again.

...hopefully.

Anyway, Timo couldn't worry about Berwald driving him up the wall too much, now that he was faced with Ludwig driving him to the hospital. Ludwig was gonna wreck him, Timo was so sure of it, and no matter how hard Timo had trained, how much he had practiced, he just felt a little intimidated. Ludwig's age was an undeniable advantage, even though Timo felt the same as he had at twenty. Maybe it was time to gracefully accept that his reign was over. It was Ludwig's time to shine, and Timo was scared to lose to him, but wasn't really interested in holding it against him or mourning his reputation.

He had done enough. He was proud of what he had accomplished, win or lose.

Sure was nervous, though, on the flight out. Berwald was fidgeting restlessly next to him, though likely from excitement.

The fight was to be held in the neutral land of London, because this was a high-stakes prizefight, and no one needed the advantage of the home team.

Two days before the fight, Timo landed in London, and waited anxiously in his hotel room, sworn off of alcohol for the next forty-eight hours. That made him cranky, particularly when he had to be in close quarters with Berwald, and so Timo barricaded himself in his room and ate oatmeal like it was going out of style.

Lame.

He texted Ludwig in the meanwhile, ignoring Berwald always tapping on his door and calling, eagerly, "Do ya need anything? Timo? Can I get ya somethin'? Timo?"

Ludwig was in the city, too, but they couldn't meet up before the fight, to keep the pressure on.

Timo didn't sleep too well, anxious as he was, and when he was being driven to the arena, his stomach was twisting. Berwald was shifting around again, hands clenched in his lap, and from the pursing of his lips and the twitching of his face, Timo was pretty sure that Berwald was internally squealing.

Timo went into autopilot as soon as he was in the arena, because that was how he had to focus. It was a routine, a familiar one, and he just stopped thinking. He pulled on his trunks, wrapped his hands, settled his mind, all the while as Berwald skittered around behind him like Gilbert after six cups of coffee and three lines of cocaine.

Too many people. The arena was full. Loud. Cameras everywhere.

Timo wasn't sure anymore if he was terrified or elated.

He just looked around for Ludwig, sought him out, because that was the only person in the entire arena that Timo knew he could be comfortable around.

Caught a glint of his hair in the bright lights, and made a beeline for him.

He did stop, however, because Ludwig was speaking to someone.

A familiar face.

Timo straightened up, focused his gaze to make sure he wasn't seeing things, and he wasn't : Ludwig was being accosted, alright, but not by a reporter. Ivan. The hell was he doing here? Timo lifted his chin and crept slowly through the crowd, because Ludwig was his buddy and Timo was sometimes oddly protective of him. As bad as Berwald, maybe, under it all.

He was close enough to hear them speaking to each other.

"—are you here?"

"To wish you luck. I was waiting for this for years."

Ludwig lowered his eyes to Ivan's chest, as cameras flashed, and Timo knew that this would be all over the papers tomorrow, regardless of who won tonight. Ludwig knew it, too, and that was why he looked so uncomfortable.

"Weren't you in America?"

"Yeah. I flew over to come see you. To... Well."

Ludwig looked miserable, poor thing, shoulders utterly slumped and eyes still low.

Ivan reached out, and clapped a hand on Ludwig's shoulder.

"Good luck. I know— Whatever happens, you know I'm always in your corner. Always. Even..."

Ivan trailed off, looking as uneasy as Ludwig felt, and that was when Timo swooped in suddenly to save him. He came in, settled into Ludwig's side, and asked, "Ready to go?"

Ivan stared away at Timo as Ludwig looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and die, and after a silence Ivan said, out of courtesy, "Good luck tonight."

Timo lifted his chin in acknowledgement, Ivan sent Ludwig one more prying gaze, and then he took the hint and walked off. Ludwig exhaled, and grumbled, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Timo whispered back. "The next round is just on you."

"That's three in a row," Ludwig hissed, and Timo clapped his back.

"I know! You're great."

They stood before each other in that final moment as equals, eyes locked and attempting to convey to each other that, no matter what happened, they were still friends. One of them would have one more victory than the other, and that was all.

Ludwig was in a rough place now, was down and out, low, insecure, and Timo didn't want that to mess up the fight. Didn't want Ludwig to hold back, didn't want Ludwig to falter, didn't want Ludwig to think that if he won he would lose one of the only friends he had.

It wouldn't be that way, and from Ludwig's weak smile then, Timo was pretty sure he had gotten the message.

Good.

Timo offered, as was his duty as a friend, "Good luck, kiddo. You're gonna need it."

Ludwig lifted his chin, and tossed back, "Likewise, old man. Your twilight years are beginning. Your era is over. Starting tonight."

Oof!

Timo punched Ludwig's arm, they smiled at each other (Timo was pretty sure he was smiling, anyway), and they parted ways for a while. The next time Timo saw Ludwig would be up in the ring, and he was nervous as hell about it, but also extremely excited.

The fight of his life, according to the world.

Time slowed for him then, as his senses heightened and adrenaline kicked in. Timo walked steadily and surely when he was led up to the ring. Ludwig was just as perfectly stoic when he passed through the ropes. Berwald took his place behind Timo, as Gilbert and Magnus did behind Ludwig. A loud, dutiful playing of the Finnish and German national anthems.

Timo didn't really hear it, singing along mindlessly as he gave Magnus a good ogle. Magnus seemed torn between staring at Timo and glaring at Berwald, and Berwald, naturally, was staring piercingly at his new favorite thing.

Ludwig stared off into absolutely nothing as Gilbert fidgeted and twitched.

And here it was.

Years and years, fight after fight, whispers and rumors and hopes, and now Ludwig and Timo finally faced off for one more battle. The defining one.

Ludwig was in his element in that moment, no longer passive and shy, perfectly stony and icy, gaze set and emotionless, focused and sharp. When Ludwig was at his absolute best, and Timo felt in that second that same shuddering thrill that had run through him the very first time he had stood before this kid ten years ago.

The only real excitement Timo ever got came from Ludwig.

It was Gilbert who seemed the most anxious, surprisingly. Gilbert was a strange man, very materialistic, so he should have been the most at ease, knowing he would get the same amount of money whether Ludwig won or lost. But then Gilbert kept on rubbing at his nose, and Timo realized he wasn't anxious—he was just high as fuck. Eh. Surprised Ludwig hadn't punched Gilbert and knocked his block off yet.

So many people had invested too much of their own lives and ego into this fight, and the two people who had the most right to do so couldn't have cared less about the outcome.

The world was strange.

Suddenly, too soon, it was just Timo and Ludwig left in the ring, head and mouth guards in place, the referee between them, and the hairs on the back of Timo's neck stood up. A strange, terrifying elation. Low words, as the referee laid down the law. Timo and Ludwig bumped gloves, and it was time.

All that time that had passed, so many years, had all led up to this.

Timo was so riled up, so jittery, so amped, that when the bell rang he very nearly jumped.

The first round began.

Timo fell into position and watched Ludwig's feet, to see who he would be emulating today. Ludwig was a master of mimicry, the only reason Ludwig had ever beat him to begin with, and it took Timo just a few seconds to see that Ludwig was imitating him. For now. Every round would probably be different. Timo almost couldn't remember how the hell he had beaten that fabricated pattern to knock this brat out, but sure as hell needed a repeat, because Ludwig was too clever for him otherwise. Timo's entire reputation rested on this fight, because this would be the fight that everyone remembered.

If he was gonna lose, then he would do so in a blaze of glory.

It was understandably a bit unnerving to fight against yourself, in a sense, as Ludwig effortlessly turned Timo's very moves and patterns against him. Timo had always known this was coming, and could only try to be himself, because Ludwig would expect him to change up his style.

Ludwig was the ultimate thorn in the side.

If Timo fought as he always fought, Ludwig would expect that and use it against him, but if Timo changed his style, Ludwig would see that coming and use it against him. Couldn't see a clear path to victory either way, because Ludwig was smarter than Timo was.

That said, Timo did land the first real blow, and then the second and third, but he quickly fell back after because it felt sometimes like Ludwig was baiting him into some trap. Ludwig made him nervous. Anxious. Only Ludwig had ever made Timo doubt himself.

Already, though, Ludwig was bleeding a little, a small cut above his eye dripping over his brow.

The first round suddenly ended rather uneventfully, and Ludwig continued to emulate Timo for the next round, and the one after.

Berwald was extremely alert, extremely focused, looking more wide-awake than Timo had ever seen him. Magnus was as loud and vociferous as always, as Gilbert skittered around restlessly in his high.

Round three.

Ludwig imitated Gilbert.

Flighty, quick, very evasive, not throwing as many punches as he pulled, an extremely annoying style meant to rile his opponent up and make them sloppy. Ludwig knew that Timo wouldn't fall for that, but it was slightly annoying all the same. Like a damn fly buzzing around his head. Gilbert had always had a knack for driving his opponents up the wall, and Ludwig certainly took after his brother flawlessly.

Punk.

So far, though, neither of them had had a grand breakthrough and made a debilitating blow.

Evenly matched, as they often were.

Berwald was on his toes, grabbing the ropes and gawking in.

Round six.

Ludwig imitated his ex-husband's style, and Timo imagined that somewhere in the crowd Ivan was positively beaming.

Timo was not beaming, because Ludwig was punching him in the head far too many times, as Ivan's style was extremely centered on offense. Ludwig went from evasive to full on massacre, and Timo felt the pressure (and the pain).

...Ludwig was kinda pissin' him off now, and that was probably intentional but it was grating Timo's nerves all the same, and he might have punched Ludwig back slightly more aggressively than he meant to, which naturally split Ludwig's thin skin.

Three minutes of Ivan's style was too goddamn much, and Timo was very, very glad to hear the bell.

Timo threw himself down, and Berwald immediately came skittering up to him, bristled in excitement, and cried, over the ruckus, "He's great!"

And Timo thought that Berwald was talking about him, obviously, to someone else, but when Timo glanced over his shoulder, Berwald was leaning against the ring and gawking breathlessly at Ludwig, who was being pushed around by Magnus.

That son of a—!

Berwald was absolutely taken with Ludwig, it seemed. Berwald had been Timo's biggest fan. When the hell had this little infatuation come about? Not that Timo shoulda been complaining, because Berwald creeped him out, but now was not the time or place for Berwald to suddenly gush over someone else. That big, dumb son of a bitch was still Timo's manager! Timo was getting pummeled and Berwald was practically squealing like a schoolgirl over the man doing the pummeling.

Timo huffed, as Magnus and Gilbert slapped Ludwig's back and goaded him.

Ludwig continued to mimic Ivan for the next two rounds, and Timo's head was absolutely splitting open with agony, even though Ludwig was the one bleeding all over the place, cut all up to hell already.

Round nine.

Ludwig imitated someone else, and Timo didn't know who it was. Had seen it several times before, but had never known to whom that style belonged.

It occurred very suddenly to Timo, as a loud voice next to them jeered, that it very well could have been Magnus' style. Had been all along, and Timo had just never realized it. Seemed like something that jerk would pull off; not as evasive as Gilbert's, but very provocative, aggressive, bold.

Ludwig uppercut Timo more in that round than Timo had ever been uppercut in his entire career, he was sure of it.

Did Timo have the authority to ground Ludwig? Because he was gonna ground this little shit, he swore it, was gonna lock Ludwig up forever on permanent corner-sitting time. An eternal time-out—

Another uppercut made him lose his train of thought, and also his mouth guard.

Fuck.

The bell was beautiful.

As he plopped down, Timo looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Berwald. He didn't. He sat up straight, looked around, and saw that Berwald had migrated from Timo's corner to the other end, closer to Ludwig's side.

That bastard.

Berwald seemed to have momentarily forgotten that Timo existed, eyes locked on Blondie, and Timo cursed to himself as he grabbed his own towel and water.

Oh, yeah, Ludwig was grounded. The first words outta Timo's mouth when this was done would be, 'Go to your room!'

Berwald grabbed the ropes in his hands, leaned forward, and gazed up at Ludwig as if he were seeing the sun rise for the very first time. Maybe Timo would have been more inclined to think that that was cute if Ludwig wasn't very close to ending Timo. Had Timo dropped dead right then from Ludwig's blow, Berwald woulda smiled dumbly and clapped. Was it because Berwald had been so worried about Ludwig being with Magnus? Maybe that was the look of a man who had shown up to fight off the dragon, only for the damsel in distress to pull out a shield and sword and vanquish the damn thing themselves.

Sometimes, Timo really wanted to go ahead and retire.

The final round.

In a way, Timo was exceptionally annoyed that he had been unable to replicate the past and knock Ludwig out. So far, Ludwig had been phenomenal, completely flawless, and Timo couldn't seem to break through and take him down.

Only had once chance left, because if the judges decided, as they had once before, Ludwig was going to win.

Timo's only chance at victory now lied in his ability to summon up something in this final round and knock that pale bastard out.

But Ludwig was still mimicking Magnus, that unusually irritating style that made Timo's blood pressure rise, and no matter how hard Timo tried to break in and knock Ludwig over with his strongest blows, something in Ludwig held him upright. Stubbornness, perhaps, given to him by Gilbert and Magnus.

For a second though, one hopeful second, Timo got in a surprise uppercut, and Ludwig stumbled very briefly down to one knee.

A rush of hope.

Timo rushed forward, very much intending to finish Ludwig before he could get back up, but he wasn't quick enough, and Ludwig suddenly sprung up, shifting from Magnus' style to Ivan's without Timo really even figuring out that it had happened.

A very powerful blow to Timo's head. A daze of stars.

That strange, surreal feeling that came from being on the very brink of consciousness.

Like hell—

Timo hadn't been knocked out once, not once, and it wasn't gonna happen now, not now, not here, not to this punk, he had come too damn far for that. Timo held himself up, against all odds, but maybe only because Ludwig didn't charge at him and put him down. For whatever reason, Ludwig didn't finish Timo, and Timo didn't know why.

Maybe, in the back of his mind, Ludwig really was scared to win, although surely he must have also been terrified of losing.

The bell rang, and that was it.

Timo had been quite literally saved by the bell.

Over. It was over, all of it, and Timo hadn't been able to put Ludwig to bed. Hadn't been able to replicate that one little moment of perfection he had once had, and for that, Timo was finished.

He shook his head to clear it as best he could, tried to push away those stars, and looked around at the roaring crowd. Probably the last time he would ever see it, because he was pretty sure his time was over.

Timo stood still and stoic to face the judges, but in his heart he knew that he had lost.

Ludwig had been better, all there was to it, and would claim victory.

Beside of him, Ludwig was just as poised, pale face and neck smeared with blood as he stared ahead at attention. Timo had come into this knowing he would lose, but in some way it was still shocking to him.

The sting of being second-best.

The first judge gave their score.

114 - 113, to Ludwig.

Timo knew it was coming, but still felt the twist of his stomach, as Magnus gave a loud cry of premature victory at Ludwig's side. Who could ever truly accept the end of their grand reign without a little bit of regret?

The second judge.

112 - 113, to Timo.

Timo gawked at that in shock, because he hadn't seen that one coming at all, when he felt that Ludwig had been the superior boxer all throughout. Magnus clearly felt the same, as he shouted again, but this time far more angrily.

Ludwig was blank faced, stoic, stiff as a statue and unblinking, giving away nothing.

Timo's heart was pounding.

And then, the final judge gave his tiebreaker.

Only...he didn't.

113 - 113.

A tie.

A—a what?

Ludwig and Timo turned to look at each other, both stupefied and dumbfounded, shocked and appalled. Ludwig's handsome trainer slammed a fist down on the nearest surface and cried, loudly, "Hey—that's some fuckin' bullshit!"

Gilbert looked offended, as appalled as Ludwig did.

And Berwald?

Berwald, the big fuckin' idiot, just raised his hands up and clapped very exuberantly along with the crowd, smiling and quite giddy, staring up yet breathlessly at Ludwig.

Ludwig's shoulders slumped, Timo hung his head, and that was that.

Pointless.

Timo hated that feeling he had then, because somehow this seemed worse than defeat. Felt almost guilty in some way, because he truly did think that Ludwig had been better. Felt as if had been given a lifeline that he hadn't deserved.

Everything faded once more into a blur, as Timo trailed along where Berwald led.

When the reporters were in his face and the microphones were practically touching his nose, Timo tried to come out of his daze. Voices all around, a million questions, as Berwald stood patiently beside him.

One question came through the buzzing.

"Are you disappointed in tonight's decision?"

Yes he was, but not for the reasons they assumed.

Timo looked around, dumbly, and could see bloody Ludwig a distance away, being just as hassled. Ludwig's lips were moving, softly, as he seemed yet stunned, and because Timo knew that Ludwig wasn't talking shit about him, he did the same, and merely grunted, "Nah—seems fair."

What else could he say? Perhaps they had been evenly matched after all, although Timo disagreed. He still had a reputation to think about, and couldn't openly admit that he disagreed with the judges and that Ludwig should have won.

Magnus sure as hell wasn't being neutral or polite, as Timo could hear his loud voice all the way over the ruckus, as he bitched, "It's bad judging, if you ask me!"

Kinda.

Berwald, for his part, seemed quite happy still, all but bouncing on his heels as he offered a reporter a very cheery, "Nah, I think it's great! They were both amazin', weren't they? I had a great time."

No doubt of that, and Timo zoned out and tried to die inside so that he could make it home without keeling over.

Timo did glimpse, at the last second, Ivan, trying desperately to break through the crowd and get over to Ludwig. Timo didn't hang around long enough to see if he had been successful. Ivan was probably elated and flattered that Ludwig had still used his style, even after their messy divorce. Hoped Ivan's presence wouldn't ruin however much work Timo had put into raising Ludwig's spirits, but he just couldn't find the will to hang around and intercept again.

He was a little preoccupied.

A draw. Incredible. Who had ever heard of such a thing, with such stakes and such endless promotion? It wasn't uncommon, nah, but Timo found it somehow earth-shattering. At least until he was in the back of the car, and then he remembered that he was still getting paid, regardless, and that made him feel a little better. It did agitate him, though, under the surface, that he hadn't been able to put that kid down.

But, oh! Had that ever been a thrill.

The shiver that Ludwig brought out in Timo lasted long after Ludwig was gone. It was enough to keep Timo's mood bright, even when Berwald chewed his ear off with a million fretting questions about Blondie.

Ah...

Life was strange.

Timo should have known, really, that the world wasn't as easily placated as Timo and Ludwig were, and wouldn't accept a tie.