Chapter 9

Breathless

It was two days after the judges had handed Timo his ass when Timo's phone suddenly rang in the middle of the night.

That was never good.

He had just gotten home, it was his first night back in his own bed, and the damn phone was going off. Sometimes, Timo was pretty sure he was jinxed.

Timo awoke with an inhale, reached out blindly for his phone, pulse pounding and eyes wide, terrorized in the middle of sleep-shock, because no one calling at—a glance at the time—three in the morning ever had something good to say.

His immediate thought was that it was Ludwig, who might have been in trouble.

Gilbert overdosing again—

Timo answered the call, and rasped, in a panic, "What's wrong?"

"Timo!"

It was Berwald.

Timo sat up at the waist, adrenaline rushing and feeling dizzy, and he asked, "What's happened?"

"Timo," Berwald began, very urgently, "I gotta know— Is Blondie divorced?"

Wha—what?

Timo stared ahead in the dark at the wall, phone clenched in his hand, and felt utterly dumbfounded. What the hell? Had he heard that right?

To clarify that his sleepy brain hadn't misheard some potential calamity, Timo rasped, "What about Blondie?"

Berwald's voice was higher than usual, more alert, less thick and clumsy, when he repeated, "Is Blondie divorced? All the way, ya know? Is he?"

Timo lowered the phone from his ear, stared down at it, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Un-fuckin'-believable. Timo lifted the phone back up, fell backwards onto the sheets, and griped, "Berwald, do you know what fuckin' time it is—"

"Three sixteen," Berwald obliviously and dutifully replied, voice still so breathy and eager. "So! Is he? You two are friends."

"You already know," Timo spat back, "You read the papers as much as me."

"Yeah, but is he divorced-divorced? They were together in the paper. He came to see Blondie fight. They hugged. So! Are they divorced? Like, 'I never wanna see ya again' divorced, or is it more like 'let's separate and get some time apart and then we'll work it out' divorced?"

Timo's palm fell atop his forehead and then ran down over his eyes, and all he said then was, "I'm hanging up, Berwald."

"No, wait—"

As an afterthought (if only to torment Ludwig), Timo did say, right on the brink, "He's divorced-divorced. And I'm gonna punch you when I see you again, asshole. Go ski right into a cunt!"

He hung up, threw the phone aside, curled up in a ball, and cursed to himself as he tried to fall back asleep.

He punched his pillow a few times, and pretended it was Berwald.

Berwald was obsessed with Ludwig alright, and now was more worried about Ludwig than ever, after Ludwig's momentary breakdown. Berwald could have very easily been mistaken for Ludwig's mother, the way he was fretting now, and Timo was very, very close to letting Berwald have the begrudging bestowment of the word 'cute', but this was a few steps backwards.

Calling him in the middle of the night and scaring the shit out of him was a strike for Berwald.

Unbelievable.

When the sun rose, Berwald called him again.

Timo groaned, turned his phone completely off, and huddled under the blankets.

Why? Why? Why him?

Everyone around him was a complete and total asshole, and Timo hated them all. Just wanted to sleep, after his entire life had flashed before his eyes as Ludwig had pretended to be Ivan. Could still feel Ludwig's fist slamming into his head, he swore it, the way it was pounding.

Several more restless hours later, Timo turned his phone back on, because he was paranoid that Ludwig would need to call him again.

It wasn't Ludwig that had blown his phone up, though, when he finally looked down at it. There were many texts waiting for him, all of them from Berwald, and Timo sighed as he scrolled through them.

One stood out to him.

'Will you text Blondie and check on him?'

Berwald's concern was nice, yeah, and Ludwig kinda did need someone in his life right now that would be there for him in a positive way. So Timo rolled his eyes, sighed dramatically, pulled his phone up and sent Ludwig a text to make sure the poor bastard was still alive and hadn't cried himself to death.

Two minutes later, Ludwig sent Timo the 'all well'. Timo dutifully relayed the message to Berwald, so that Berwald wouldn't continue annihilating Timo's phone.

It worked.

Until night came, and then Berwald texted him again.

'Is Blondie still alright?'

Timo buried his face in his hands, groaned, and very much contemplated giving Berwald Ludwig's number. Then Berwald could torment Ludwig directly, without the middleman. But Timo didn't, in the end, because Berwald was Timo's manager and therefore Timo's responsibility. It shouldn't have been Ludwig's duty to put up with Berwald.

Timo did wonder if perhaps Ludwig might have enjoyed someone hovering over him and coddling him and worshipping the ground he walked on. The kid needed someone like that, especially now with Gilbert falling back into his old bad habits.

Berwald and Ludwig.

How...quaint.

Timo had long suspected that Berwald had been in love with him, and he was pretty sure now that Berwald was interested in Ludwig in that same fervent manner. Ludwig was as straight as the orbit of a planet, yeah, but Timo had never had actual proof about Berwald. The more he thought about it, though, well.

Berwald was Swedish. 'Course he was gay, the bastard.

Timo hadn't ever been much interested in playing matchmaker before, but this one was tempting. Two birds with one stone, after all; get Berwald out of his hair for good and give Ludwig a little boost of confidence.

Timo asked Ludwig again how he was doing, and if Ludwig thought that Timo was overbearing or worrying too much, then he didn't say it, replying just as quickly as before. Timo went to bed, and Berwald had the good sense not to call him in a panic in the middle of the night because he couldn't sleep.

In the morning, however, Timo did receive a call. By then, Timo was very sick of seeing Berwald's name on his screen.

When Timo answered, Berwald said something quite shocking :

"Can you come over to my place? I need some help carryin' a couple a' things."

Timo's mouth fell open, he sputtered, rolled his eyes, and finally conceded, "Alright, fine. I owe you a punch. That's the only reason I'm coming."

Unfazed, Berwald chirped, "Thanks!"

Timo hung up, grimaced in disgust, got dressed, and the next thing he knew he was very crankily driving through the snow to Berwald's house, cursing endlessly to himself as he took swigs of beer in between.

Berwald was huge; couldn't he manage carrying things on his own?

When Timo skidded into Berwald's driveway, an hour later, Berwald was standing out on the porch, a massive box sitting there beside him. A few more boxes were off to the side, and Timo chugged the rest of his beer before he stepped out into the slush.

Berwald gave him a quick wave, and Timo stomped up, and said, "Hold still. I'm going to punch you."

Berwald straightened up, and stood very obediently still, face very serious and jaw clenched. Timo drew back his fist, and it was only because Berwald didn't flinch or jump that Timo cursed and punched Berwald's chest instead. The jerk; couldn't really break his nose like that. If Berwald had braced up, Timo woulda knocked his block off.

Really.

...Ludwig wouldn't care, just yet, if Timo punched Berwald in the face. Should probably do it now, before Berwald became the next husband, because then Berwald was off limits unless Timo wanted Finn v. Blondie 4.

And he didn't want that, thanks a bunch. He was just fine.

Berwald smiled suddenly, as he rubbed absently at his chest, and then he said, "Mind givin' me a hand?"

He turned his head a bit to the boxes, as Timo observed Berwald's house. A small little wooden home, deep back in the woods, north of Tampere. Berwald had moved to Finland when he took over management of Timo, and clearly he was pretty keen on privacy, because he lived in the middle of actual nowhere with no neighbors in sight.

In that, Berwald and Timo actually had something in common.

"What's in it for me?" Timo asked, hands on hips, and Berwald lifted his chin.

"Mm... I got a lotta scotch that the promoters keep sendin' me—"

"Say no more," Timo grunted, as he darted over and grabbed the edge of a box. Berwald trotted happily over, and together they lifted the box up and began hauling it clumsily inside.

It was the first time that Timo had ever gone into Berwald's home. Kinda strange. Timo would have dropped dead before setting foot in here had Berwald still been chasing him, but now that Berwald was hopelessly infatuated with Ludwig, Timo didn't see the harm.

They hauled the heavy box in, grunted as they set it down, and Timo clapped his hands to look around the wooden home.

Quaint. Pretty small, considering that Berwald was by no means hurting for money. Very bare, kinda dusty, a little drab. Berwald wasn't exactly a decorator, and clearly fell well into his native country's love of minimalism. Just a dull-colored couch in front of a fireplace, a clock on the wall, a bookshelf with no books, and a little fur rug.

Hm.

...Berwald really needed a housewife.

Timo had one in mind, as Berwald clearly did, too.

With a sigh, Timo turned back to Berwald, who was on his knees and opening up the huge box to pull out smaller boxes. Timo realized it was a bed frame, and he asked, curiously, "What are you up to?"

Without looking up, Berwald offered, "Settin' up a guestroom."

Oh.

Timo looked around at the very, very, very bare house, didn't really sense the presence of any visitors, past or present (ever), and next asked, "How come?"

A guestroom for who? Because there sure as hell wasn't anyone aside from Berwald setting foot in this house, and Timo was pretty sure Berwald didn't actually have any family. Had always only ever seen him alone.

But Berwald pulled himself to his feet, met Timo's eyes, and so very seriously said, "In case Blondie ever needs somewhere to run to again."

Timo stared at Berwald, taken aback and somewhat breathless. His lips had parted in his shock, but Berwald just turned his attention back down to the boxes, as Timo gazed at him. Couldn't really describe so well what he felt then, as he watched that dumb son of a bitch start trying to haul those boxes upstairs. For some odd reason, Timo thought he felt kinda sad then, out of nowhere. A little twinge of adrenaline, twisting his stomach. Could never have said why, exactly, and how it had been Berwald of all people to make him feel that way.

The entire notion was just so...sweet, he supposed, that it had brought up that sadness because Berwald was still able to do kind things without expecting anything in return, and Timo actually dreaded it not really working out the way he wanted.

Ludwig was a good guy, his friend, and it meant a lot to Timo that Berwald was doing this, even if Ludwig would never know in the end.

Timo finally came out of his stupor and darted forward to give Berwald a hand before the dummy broke his neck, and that was how Timo spent the rest of his day, helping Berwald put together a bed frame, and then haul up a little dresser.

It was bizarre and surreal, and Timo spent a good deal of time glancing over at intent Berwald, who was extremely focused on his tasks. If there was one thing a Swede was good for, it was putting together furniture, Timo supposed, and Berwald did excel at that.

Come nightfall, Berwald's odd guestroom had a ready bed, a dresser, an end table, a little bookshelf, a chair, and a mirror.

Berwald looked around the room when they were finished, and it was clear from his bristling that he was quite pleased with himself.

Timo took a gander around, and figured that Ludwig might have actually been a little comfortable in this room, even though it was small and not so colorful.

Berwald made a noise of approval, and smiled.

Timo rolled his eyes, shook his head, felt utterly and completely exasperated, but at the same time he thought he felt himself smiling, just a little. Hard not to, when Berwald was puffed out like a peacock, hands on his hips and looking very proudly around his little house that he was apparently trying to turn into a marital home, if only subconsciously.

A little hideaway for Ludwig, when the world outside was too harsh.

Too bad Ludwig didn't really know Berwald existed.

Berwald was a dope, but a sweet one. Certainly dreamed big, the bastard, considering that he hadn't even really talked to Ludwig yet.

Timo's face softened a little, his brow came up, and that was the very first time in their long years together that Timo had felt anything remotely close to affection for Berwald.

...yuck. Time to get the hell outta here.

Timo walked over, clapped Berwald's arm, and uttered, "Looks good. Where's my scotch?"

Berwald led Timo down into the kitchen, opened up a cabinet, and Timo swore he saw the heavens open up when he was greeted with bottle after bottle of extremely expensive scotch.

Berwald offered, "Take yer pick."

Well! If Berwald insisted.

Timo shuffled through the lot, picked the most expensive one because he was an asshole and Berwald clearly wasn't drinking this stuff, and then he took one more because he had not been given a limit. He gave Berwald a sarcastic two-fingered salute as he said, "Nice doing business with you. Call me again if you need help with something else."

Timo couldn't say if he was so eager for the payment of scotch, or because this entire damn thing was disgustingly adorable. Eh, call it both.

The drive back home was much more content, and there was a slight possibility that Timo may have been inebriated by the time he got home, and one of the bottles may have been half empty. But no one could prove that, so Timo just parked crookedly and stumbled inside his house, plopping down on his couch and pulling out his phone.

It was only because he was tipsy that he texted Ludwig, vaguely saying, 'If you ever need to get away from Gilbert, I have a room here ready for you.'

Just didn't say in whose house, precisely.

Timo snickered to himself, took another swig of scotch, and felt like a devious matchmaker indeed, despite him being unkempt and half in the bag as he lied on his couch in his socks.

Ludwig, the clueless fool, just responded with a gushing, 'Thank you. You're a good friend, jerk.'

Yes. Yes he was. He was also a good matchmaker, despite having only become one about eighteen hours ago.

Timo had limitless confidence.

Or for the most part he did, anyway, but Timo could very easily say that his drunk heart started trotting when he received another text an hour later, and it was not from Ludwig nor from Berwald. An unknown number, and Timo glanced at the start of the message on the screen and saw enough to momentarily panic.

The world was spinning a little, mostly from the scotch, but also a little because the text was from someone Timo was very much interested in being a, er, Ludwig for.

Magnus.

Timo bolted upright at the waist, lowered his phone for a second to gather his courage, took a deep breath, and then read the text in full.

'This is Magnus. Got your number from Lutz' phone when he wasn't looking. Call me. Have something important to discuss.'

Timo's heart was pounding, from that thrill of the unknown, and he forced himself to put his phone aside. Didn't wanna call too soon and seem desperate. Had too much pride for that.

How long was not too long? Timo glanced restlessly at the clock, foot swaying away in the air as he tried to watch the television but kept on looking instead at his phone. Five minutes. Ten. Eleven.

Twelve. Twelve was good! That was enough.

Timo took a deep breath, pressed the number, and dialed.

Magnus answered on the second ring, likely expecting Timo.

"Hello?"

"It's Finn," Timo said, in what he wanted to be a commanding voice but instead just came out as a slurred grunt. Not a good first impression. "What do ya want?"

"That was fast," Magnus drawled, arrogantly. "You got the hots for me or something?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

"What do you want?"

Magnus snorted, and uttered, "Testy! You're just like Lutz, alright."

For that gorgeous asshole, he would be.

Erhm—

"I'm hanging up if you don't tell me what you want right now," Timo bitched, to sound more in charge than he may actually have been.

"Chill out! You ain't got nothin' better to do than talk to me."

"False," Timo grumbled, though it was not.

"Whatever. I want you to come to Germany. In two days. I need to have a talk with you."

"About what?"

Timo sat up ever straighter, making himself dizzy in the process, and felt far too warm. Coulda been the alcohol, maybe, but Magnus' voice was actually very nice to listen to.

"That's classified. Just get down here. You don't have anything going on. I'll make it worth your while."

Because he was kinda drunk, Timo was bold enough to ask, "Are you hitting on me?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't'cha?" Magnus crooned, and Timo was not quite drunk enough to open his mouth and affirm that. Before he could come up with a retort, Magnus carried on, "Look, I got a lot to say. So come down. You ain't got nothin' to lose. Just come hear me out."

Well...

With a sigh, Timo swung his foot, and then finally relented.

"Alright. Whatever. Guess I don't have anything better to do. I'm just coming down to have a drink with Ludwig. That's all. Don't get full of yourself."

Far too late for that, obviously, but Magnus just made a noise of self-satisfaction, was probably smirking, and just said, "We'll see, won't we? Two days. Until then, you can just dream about me."

Jerk!

Magnus hung up before Timo could speak, and Timo rolled his eyes to no one and leaned back into the couch. Man. Not exactly what he had expected, in some way. He had sort of hoped that Magnus' matter of importance would have involved Magnus wanting to come to Finland for a beer or two and then maybe a romp in the sauna or something, because Timo was only a man and could dream just as much as Berwald.

Timo was absolutely not disappointed.

No way. Really...

Timo knew what Magnus wanted, even though he hadn't come out and said it, because Timo wasn't a fucking moron. It was very obvious that Magnus wanted a rematch (of the rematch), and Timo knew it, but, ah, hell. He had nothing else going for him, and maybe fighting Ludwig one more time would get promoters sending Berwald more scotch, which would eventually end up in Timo's hands. But he didn't have an alcohol problem.

Besides! Fighting Ludwig again would also give Timo an excuse to throw Berwald right at Ludwig's chest and say, 'Here ya go. He's yours now.'

That was a good reason, so Timo drunkenly dialed Berwald and said, with no context at all, "Pack up, man! We're going to Germany in the morning."

Luckily, Berwald was a man simple enough to desire no context, and he immediately grunted, "Okay!"

Easy.

Berwald was probably squealing already in excitement, thinking no doubt that he would get to see Blondie, and if Timo had his way, he would.

So Timo just packed up come dawn, and looked forward to sticking out his leg and tripping dumbass Ludwig right into Berwald's ever-waiting arms. Hopefully at the same time he could flatter egotistical and hotheaded Magnus into his hotel room bed during the process.

Just like Timo had said; two birds, one stone. One of the birds had just changed a little.

So off to Germany Timo went.