Chapter 8

Rain All Day

Ludwig didn't even catch up on desperately needed (and deserved) beauty sleep before his fucking phone was ringing well before dawn. Jerks—didn't they care that some expressionless rock had beaten him senseless the night before?

He reached out, grumpily, found his phone, pulled it to his ear without even opening his eyes, and answered, roughly, "What do you want?"

"Wake up, Lutz!"

Gilbert's voice was loud and far too bright for this hour. Gilbert always slept in, so why was he so damn perky? On second thought, Gilbert probably hadn't actually been to sleep yet, and was still wide awake from his two night coke bender, the creep.

"Did ya hear?"

Obviously not.

Before Ludwig could speak, Gilbert chirped, "People are pissed! Everyone is already calling for round four! I'm already getting calls from promoters. They wanna get you two up there again before the end of the year. They're talking double the money now! You get a second chance, you useless little shit—"

"No," Ludwig immediately groaned, and hung up the phone.

Absolutely not. This time, Ludwig meant it. Why bother fighting again? He had already bombed.

If you didn't win, then you lost.

Those were Magnus' first words to Ludwig, as soon as he had stopped screaming. And then Magnus had gone on a very long tirade about how useless Ludwig was (again), before he had been distracted by the reporters.

Ludwig had tried to slink away from him, and had only wound up in a worse spot, when he suddenly ran once more into Ivan.

Ivan had rushed forward through the crowd, smiling, and Ludwig had felt alarmingly close to tears when Ivan embraced him and picked him clean up off the ground, shouting, "You were great! You're so good, I almost forgot!"

Words he needed to hear, but from the wrong person.

Ivan had set Ludwig back down, cameras flashed all over, and Ludwig had stared at Ivan, stared and stared, because he missed Ivan and knew that this would be the last time he ever saw him.

Ivan had come to wish him luck, and wouldn't hang around.

What Ivan had said then, though...

Nothing had ever hurt like that.

Ivan had grabbed his hands, pulled him in, came far too close to his face, and said, breathlessly, "Come with me! Please— Come to America with me. Please, I miss you so much, please come with me."

Ludwig had stared up at him in despair, eyes stinging and watering, and then Ludwig had dumbly looked around for Timo to come and save him again.

But that time Timo didn't.

Gilbert and Magnus were nowhere to be seen, complaining to the reporters.

Ludwig was on his own, far too close to tears, and he swore that the rest of his heart broke there in his chest when he sucked in a breath and pulled his hands out of Ivan's and took a step back. A bleary, mournful stare, at the man he still loved, and then Ludwig shook his head and whined, pitifully, "I can't. I can't."

He turned around and fled in a fit of cowardice, before Ivan could speak again.

Ludwig left Ivan behind, even though it killed him to do so, because he couldn't go.

Ludwig had run out of the arena, hailed the closest taxi, and left Gilbert and Magnus there, running to the hotel to hide away from the world. Had managed only to lock the door behind him before he burst into tears and collapsed onto the bed.

Seeing Ivan had been wondrous, and horrendous.

He was working so hard to forget Ivan, to distance himself, to get rid of those feelings, and seeing him again out of nowhere like that had still made Ludwig's heart race. Stupid. That elation hurt, because he couldn't act on it.

Ludwig hid away in his room all night, and here yet he rested, busted up and alone, in pain physically and emotionally, as Gilbert and Magnus partied.

He felt defeated. Dismal. Dreary. Lethargic. Numb, in some way.

Ludwig just wanted to lie in bed forever, huddled under the blankets and away from the world. Overwhelmed and powerless. Helpless.

Everything was falling apart.

Gilbert had relapsed, Magnus was disappointed, Ivan had broken Ludwig's heart, and Timo had broken whatever lit bit of spirit Ludwig had left.

He hadn't been able to win. He had been given another chance, and had blown it, as always. A perpetual failure. Ludwig just wasn't ever good enough, so why bother getting out of bed?

He fully intended to lie there all day and stare despondently out of the window, as Ivan was so close in this city and yet always just out of reach.

He couldn't go, however much he missed Ivan. They had tried, gave it everything they had, and it hadn't worked out. There was no point in trying again, because Magnus was right; anyone would have left Ludwig. Ivan was only a man, not a saint, and Ludwig couldn't do anything right.

Ivan was gone, and that was all.

Rain fell.

A knock, suddenly, on his hotel room door.

Ludwig didn't get up at first, lost in space, dejected and wallowing in misery, as the rain pounded away on the window.

Another knock.

Ludwig inhaled, came to, and begrudgingly tumbled out of the bed, sore and cut up and in incredible pain. He staggered over, undid the chain, and pulled open the door, expecting to see Magnus or Gilbert rolling back in from their night on the town. But it wasn't either one of them. Wasn't Timo, either. Wasn't Ivan.

A man that Ludwig recognized, but one he didn't truly know.

Timo's manager. The Swede that Magnus had crassly insulted.

He was dressed professionally, but also very messily, hair sticking out and uncombed, tie loose under his unbuttoned collar and jacket wrinkled. Most noticeable about him, however, was the huge bouquet of flowers he was holding.

Ludwig gawked at him, and was pretty sure there had been some great misunderstanding and that Timo's manager was very much in the wrong place.

"Hey!" the man began, quite eagerly, voice gruff and thick and yet quite excited. "Great job up there yesterday! Yer better in person than I ever thought ya'd be! These are for you."

The flowers were shoved in Ludwig's hands, forcibly, and the huge bastard gave Ludwig a long look over and smiled away.

...okay. Right. Um.

Not in the wrong place, after all, but Ludwig was no less befuddled.

"Thank you," Ludwig uttered, politely, because what else could he do?

The Swede reached forward very abruptly, well into Ludwig's personal space, and gently prodded at his black eye, still very swollen shut. Ludwig leaned back a bit, instinctively, but couldn't escape those long arms or big hands, and the man uttered, "That's pretty bad. Aren't ya icin' it? Ya should take better care of yourself. Yer cuts aren't even patched up." A hand grabbed Ludwig's chin and forcibly turned his head this way and that like Ludwig had just discovered his long lost mother, as Timo's manager inspected the damage his prizewinner had inflicted.

Funny—it should have been Gilbert and Magnus that had patched up Ludwig last night, and instead they had abandoned Ludwig in a second to go roll around in bars. Ivan would have done it, no doubt, had Ludwig not run away from him, but it still should have been more important to Gilbert, of all people. Ludwig lied alone in his hotel room, busted up and in pain, as Gilbert leaned over a dirty bathroom sink in some club and split his cocaine with Magnus.

Instead, it was Timo's manager fussing over him.

And then that absolute weirdo reached into his own pocket, fumbled around, and pulled out a band-aid. Dumbfounded and probably still slow in the head from being punched around, Ludwig could only stand deathly still as the Swede placed the band-aid on a cut over his nose.

How...sweet?

Timo's manager was strange.

Reminded Ludwig a little of Ivan, though, honestly, in his scary size and stature and yet tranquil air. One of those giant bears of men who were actually teddy bears, caring and doting despite how frightening they looked.

A pang of sadness.

And then Ludwig remembered Gilbert's words, and sighed a little.

The Swede needed him alive and well to fight Timo one more time and get them a winner and immoral amounts of money. Right.

"Look," he began, as he shifted the flowers from one arm to the other, "I don't know what Timo's sayin', but it's...a little soon for me. I need some more time to think about it before I commit to anything."

The huge blond stared him down, as unblinkingly as ever, and said, "Sure. Of course. Maybe it was too soon."

Ludwig assumed that they were on the same page and talking about the same thing, and so he said, "Great. Thanks. Um—I'll be in touch then. Just give me some time. Alright?"

The Swede perked up, stood up tall and confident, and smiled, just a little. Ludwig didn't really know what that look was about, and shifted anxiously. He assumed that would be the end of it, and waited in awkward silence.

But the Swede just stood there, and stared.

...right.

Ludwig cleared his throat a bit, and out of anxiety asked, "What was your name?"

The blond smiled again, a little wider, and gruffly offered, "Berwald."

"Berwald. Alright. Um. So, I gotta...go. We'll talk more about it later."

The Swede, Berwald, nodded his head, seemed so pleased, and then turned on his heel and walked off down the hall. Ludwig watched him go, crept back inside and shut the door, and threw himself back down on the bed, flowers there beside of him.

Oh, god, Timo—he was so sore. This was some bullshit. It had been a long damn time since he had been beaten so senseless.

He cracked open his good eye, and gazed at the flowers.

That was kinda nice, if he were honest. Ivan had frequently shown up randomly with flowers, and regaining a bit of that nostalgia was a boost to his mood that Ludwig desperately needed.

Ludwig stared at the flowers for a good long while, and that numb daze of lethargy slowly started fading.

Magnus had said, 'You can't just stop'.

Couldn't stop, not now. May not have had anything to look forward to, but he couldn't just stop.

He turned his head, and watched the rain pouring outside.

The sound of it was comforting in a way, however dreary it was.

Couldn't stop.

Sometime in the late morning, as the rain hammered yet away, Gilbert and Magnus came tumbling back into the hotel, high as kites and laughing, chatting, jittery and energetic and looking so happy, even though Ludwig had lost.

They had been furious the night before, but millions of Euros was enough to brighten even the most banged up egos. Also cocaine. Cocaine helped out with a man's ego, if Gilbert's constant smirking was any indication.

Ludwig had pulled himself out of bed by then, spurred on by those flowers (which he had placed in a cup on the desk), and had tended at last to his cuts and bruises, as the Swede had wished.

Gilbert banged his fist down on Ludwig's door, and when Ludwig crankily opened it, Gilbert wrapped an arm around Ludwig's neck and throttled him harshly, making Ludwig wince in pain, and Gilbert used his other hand to slap Ludwig's chest. His pupils were dilated, his hair messy, amped up and rowdy, and Magnus came in right behind, looking identical.

"Good morning, Lutz," Gilbert said, very quickly, stammering a bit, as he kissed Ludwig's cheek. "Thank you for the fun night. It was your dime, after all."

Ludwig squirmed out of Gilbert's grasp as Magnus and Gilbert erupted into laughter, sounding far too much like hyenas, and Ludwig quickly attempted to silence them before they got kicked out.

Magnus went straight to the bathroom, turned on the cold water in the sink, and doused his head beneath the tap as if he were on fire. If the blazing heat emanating from Gilbert was any indication, he probably felt as if he was. Magnus was a recreational drug user, not an addict like Gilbert, and only broke out the hard stuff on very special occasions. He needed much less than Gilbert to get that same high, and Gilbert might have goaded him just a bit too much.

Ludwig tying with Timo must have been one of those 'special occasions'.

Magnus sure had gotten over his disappointment quickly enough.

Christ, couldn't imagine how their night would have gone if Ludwig had won. Woulda overdosed probably, one or both of them.

Gilbert kept on hugging Ludwig, slapping his back, jostling him, tussling his hair, kissing his cheek, and the entire while he was talking a mile a minute, so fast Ludwig couldn't really understand most of what he was saying. Talking about everything and nothing, and Ludwig knew that Gilbert was already planning the next fight with Timo.

Once more, Gilbert and Magnus didn't stop to ask Ludwig what he wanted.

Ludwig stood there, stupidly, because he was too upset and disheartened to really even bother trying to get out of Gilbert's arms. He had worked so hard to get himself out of bed, and Gilbert just made him want to go crawl right back under those blankets.

Magnus came stumbling out of the bathroom, hair and shirt soaked, and he looked around in a moment of utter bewilderment, shocked by the cold water, before he turned to Gilbert and asked, with a slur, "Did I— Did I snort coke off a hooker's back?"

"Yeah," Gilbert drawled, as Ludwig squirmed out from under his arm at last. "It was awesome. Lutz, ya shoulda come with us."

Ludwig looked back and forth between high and higher, and, just as he had that awful day in the practice ring, Ludwig couldn't explain why he hung his head and dissolved into tears.

Every time he built himself up, one of these two brought him crashing back down.

Gilbert had completely relapsed, and Ludwig felt culpable for that.

If he were better, if he could have won—

Gilbert shook him, seemed startled, and sputtered, "Are ya— Are ya fuckin' crying? Knock it off. What's the matter with you? You sucked, but so what? We got the money, you bastard! And you get another chance! This time, maybe you'll actually be worth somethin' and win!"

Magnus laughed, loudly, and when Gilbert started giggling, Ludwig pushed Gilbert off of him and stalked away. They didn't follow him, sitting down at the table and laughing to each other, and Ludwig grabbed his phone and locked himself in the bathroom.

Ludwig, still crying pitifully as he was, called Timo then, because he didn't know what else to do and Timo was the only friend he really had.

He was too proud to call Ivan.

Timo picked up immediately, and said, "What's up? How ya feeling?"

Ludwig sobbed, pathetically, and whined, "Timo— Can I come over to your place? I can't stay here. Please."

Timo was very quick to say, urgently, "Yeah. Of course. I'll text you the address. Or do you want me to come get you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ludwig grumbled. "Really. I'll come over. You don't have to come out."

"I'll be here."

Ludwig hung up, wiped his good eye, and crept out. Gilbert and Magnus were jabbering away to each other, gesturing wildly and laughing, and they were so cranked up and excited with each other that they didn't even notice Ludwig when he stalked right by them and out into the rain.

Ludwig must have looked pitiful, walking through the London streets in that downpour, soaking wet and shivering, as he followed directions in a desperate attempt to find a little bit of comfort.

As always, Ludwig ran into his enemy's arms, when the people who should have cared about him the most fell short.

When Ludwig was on the street of Timo's hotel, he glanced up, and saw two familiar faces. Timo and his manager, waiting outside the hotel for him. Timo's manager was holding an umbrella, as Timo popped up on his toes to scour the streets. Ah, hell, those bastards, that made him feel so much better, and Ludwig sped up and jogged over to them. Timo saw him coming, and ran over to close the gap, his manager hot on his heels.

Berwald, or whoever, ran so quickly that he skidded to a halt on the wet sidewalk and nearly face-planted.

Timo snatched Ludwig's arm, dragged him into the hotel, and led him wordlessly inside and into the elevator. Ludwig was dripping all over the place, and must have looked pathetic. The Swede looked alarmed, hassled, harried, and was leaning forward very frequently to observe Ludwig as if he was worried Ludwig had been shot or something.

It wasn't until they were in Timo's hotel room that Timo finally spoke, as he pushed Ludwig down on the bed, wet as he was.

"What's wrong? What happened? Did Ivan say something?"

Ludwig shook his head, and suddenly felt so stupid.

So stupid.

Timo sat down beside of him, threw an arm over his shoulders, and gave him a gentle shake, as the Swede sidestepped to and fro in front of Ludwig, apparently too worried to sit still but also too nervous to actually open his mouth. He did, however, run to fetch a towel, and handed it out to Ludwig.

Ludwig tried to dry off as best he could, as Timo hung over him.

Timo was a good friend, thankfully, and was patient with dumbass Ludwig as Ludwig ran a palm over his face, and then begrudgingly admitted, in a deep whisper, "Gilbert's using again."

Timo didn't look surprised at all, and maybe Timo had already known, because Gilbert had been high all night at the arena.

Sure enough, Timo just lifted his chin and gave a deep 'Hm!', as he gave Ludwig a shake.

Ludwig hung his head, and felt like a scared little kid again, helpless as he watched Gilbert spiraling down. Gilbert had been on and off for years, but hadn't broken down like this and gone on a binge since Ludwig had been a child.

His fault, really, because he caused Gilbert so much stress.

Timo was quiet for a long time, as Berwald hovered there above, and then Timo reached up with his other hand and clapped it gently on Ludwig's chest.

A low murmur.

"Hey. It'll be alright. He got clean once. He can do it again. Alright? But whatever happens, you can't let it get you down."

Timo was brave, confident, so sure of himself and very stoic. Ludwig's idol, but someone that Ludwig could never have truly hoped to emulate. He tried hard to be like Timo, and failed every single time, and that was why he was sniveling on Timo's damn hotel bed like a lost schoolboy.

A movement before him, as Berwald knelt down to one knee on the floor in front of Ludwig, staring at him quite piercingly. Ludwig glanced up with his good eye, to see Berwald holding out a pack of tissues.

Ludwig stared back, startled, and then he snorted and accepted them, as Timo finally smiled and dragged Ludwig into a one-armed embrace to ruffle his hair. Ludwig laughed a little, because he felt so ridiculous, and the mood was a little lighter.

Berwald looked very concerned still, but Timo was smiling when Ludwig looked over at him fondly. He had come over here so these jerks would make him feel better, and that was a mission accomplished.

Ludwig muttered, thickly, "Thanks."

Timo winked, and slapped his back.

"Don't mention it. I know your head is a wreck right now. After I spent all night punching it."

Ludwig rammed his shoulder into Timo's, as he buried his face in one of the tissues, and Berwald knelt there yet on his knee, watching Ludwig very intensely. Ludwig wasn't sure if he was feeling protective or very annoyed, so he kept his eyes low and avoided meeting Berwald's gaze.

How foolish he must have looked, coming over here crying.

Timo stood up a while later, and said, "Let's go get something to eat. Alright?"

Ludwig nodded, and let Timo lead him where he would, as Berwald trailed behind wordlessly and still seemed to be looking Ludwig over.

Wasn't his proudest moment, but Ludwig was very happy to spend the rest of that day and night with his 'rival', as his brother fell apart. And the entire time, Berwald stared at Ludwig, without looking away, and yet didn't utter a word. If Berwald thought Ludwig pathetic, then he sure as hell didn't say it, and that was just good enough. Sleeping in Timo's bed was absurd, and also remarkably comforting.

He just tried hard not to think of what Gilbert was doing, and the morning was grey and dreary. Fitting. Time to go get his stuff packed and go home, with no real victory under his belt.

He felt as if he was leaving London with less hope and reason than he had had when he had arrived.

Timo and Berwald walked Ludwig to his hotel, as if Ludwig were their kid or something, and that was embarrassing but also exactly what Ludwig really needed.

As they parted ways, Berwald gave Ludwig a long study up and down, and Timo came forward. Ludwig immediately extended his hand, because Timo meant more to him that Ludwig could have ever put into words.

Timo's pretty smile.

Timo clasped his hand, shoved it back into Ludwig's chest, and suddenly Timo offered Ludwig a very rare moment of affection, using his other hand to clap Ludwig on the back of the neck and pull him into a full embrace.

A whisper in his ear.

"Whatever you need, man, you can always call me. I'm always here."

A stupid, ridiculous watering of Ludwig's eyes, as the misery once more threatened to engulf him.

He pulled it together quickly, gave Timo a squeeze, and rumbled, "Thanks."

Timo patted his back, and went on his way.

Ludwig watched him go, fondly, and snorted a little when Berwald stood up on his toes and waved goodbye to Ludwig in a very exuberant manner, smiling away.

What a geek.

...cute.

Ludwig's eyes followed them until they were out of sight, and it was a strange mix of sadness and hope that he felt then. It was kinda sad, yeah, that his nemesis and his nemesis' manager were the most supportive people in Ludwig's life, but someone was better than no one, and Timo was always reliable. Ludwig would gladly lean upon them, if there was no one else. At least someone out there gave a damn about Ludwig, even if he wasn't up to standard.

Magnus called Ludwig worthless, and Berwald had given him flowers.