Chapter 10
Silent Heaven
Ludwig's bruises were still very dark and his cuts still bleeding a bit when there was a knock on his door early in the morning.
Magnus stood there in the light sleet, hoodie covering his messy hair.
Curious.
It had been the first time that Magnus had gathered the nerve to face Ludwig, after that awful night in London. Magnus probably didn't feel shame or regret, no, not in the way a man should have been expected to, but maybe he did feel a little sorry in his own way. Magnus was too proud for real feelings of remorse, too stubborn to truly give a sincere apology, and chose avoidance instead.
Seeing Magnus this soon was odd, considering how their last encounter had gone.
When Ludwig had come back to the hotel after Timo dragging his head back up above the water, Ludwig had said to Magnus, 'How could you let him do that? Why would you go out and do that with him, when you know he needs to stay clean? You're gonna help him kill himself!'
Magnus hadn't apologized then, but his eyes had briefly broken away from Ludwig's and flitted downward, for just a second, so Magnus clearly had some inkling of knowledge that he had been an asshole. It wasn't Magnus' fault that Gilbert was using again, no, that was Ludwig's fault, but Magnus didn't need to encourage it and go along with it.
Magnus had been on radio silence since then, but Ludwig wasn't able to hold grudges for very long, and Magnus knew it.
Why he was finally showing his face, no doubt.
As soon as their eyes locked, Magnus lifted his chin and curtly said, "Come to the gym tomorrow morning. Dawn. See ya then, man."
With that, Magnus turned on his heel and walked off, leaving open-mouthed Ludwig gaping behind him. What a jerk—hadn't even tried to apologize. Really, though, Ludwig hadn't expected him to, and so slammed the door shut and then passed the day fidgeting.
Gilbert still hadn't called. Ludwig was too scared to see how (and what) he was doing to give the first ring, and didn't sleep well.
What was Magnus up to now?
Why couldn't those two ever just sit still and be normal? Didn't get it.
Ludwig slept very fitfully, rolled out of bed before sunrise, showered and shaved, and tried to look somewhat presentable to the world, despite his extremely black eye. Maybe he was just trying to prove to Magnus that he could live without him, and Gilbert too, that they didn't define him and didn't drag him down when they fell.
The farthest thing from true, and combing his hair wouldn't trick anyone into believing it.
Still, all a man could do was try.
Ludwig pulled on a button-down and slacks, put on his watch, gave a lot of effort into looking nice even though he was going into his own gym, and took a deep breath for courage before he set out.
God only knew what went on in Magnus' head, but Ludwig had his suspicions, because Magnus and Gilbert were always conspiring.
Ludwig made it to the gym, pushed open the door, and was immediately startled by a very loud cry.
"There he is! You late son of a bitch! Sit down."
Ludwig, dazed and jittery at the sound of Magnus' booming voice, immediately skittered forward and sat himself down in a metal chair with absolutely no context whatsoever.
Magnus stood up in the practice ring, hands gripping the ropes and looking down at Ludwig.
"Well!" Magnus began, very eagerly, "Now that we're all here, let's talk!"
Um.
All here?
Dumbly, Ludwig realized that there was a little row of metal chairs, and all of them were full. Apparently, he was part of a meeting, and he was the last one to show up, despite him being here before the technical 'dawn'.
Dammit.
Shoulda known that something was amiss though, when Magnus had screamed at him right off in English.
Ludwig looked around, and panicked a bit. Gilbert was sitting next to him, and on his other side sat Timo. Beside Timo, there was Berwald.
Alrighty, then. So here they all were, for reasons unknown to Ludwig, and he took a moment to look them all over and scope out the scene as Magnus tried to burn Ludwig alive.
Timo was the first one Ludwig turned to, naturally, and Timo seemed sleepy, lethargic, calm, and merely sent Ludwig a smile and wink. Beside Timo, Berwald was far from sleepy, very wide awake, alert and focused, but hair extremely messy and clothes very wrinkled.
Ludwig glanced over at Gilbert then, and wished he hadn't.
Gilbert's foot was tapping away, restlessly, and Ludwig watched him very carefully, knowing so well by now what to look for. Hated what he saw. Gilbert's pupils were dilated, he frequently cleared his throat and nose, and his jaw was always moving side to side, teeth grinding. Probably because the damn things were numb from all the fuckin' blow—
Magnus distracted Ludwig, thankfully, snatching everyone's attention by slamming his fist down on the bell on the wall.
Everyone looked crankily forward, each of them not so happy to be there.
...well. Except for one person.
Berwald.
Berwald was leaning forward ever so slightly, so that Timo wasn't obscuring his line of sight, and his line of sight happened to be falling very heavily upon Ludwig. As it always seemed to be, come to think. As he had in London, Berwald just stared and stared at Ludwig, very silently and scarcely blinking.
Ludwig shifted, but couldn't look back at Berwald because god knew Magnus would blow a gasket and pitch a fit if he wasn't being given Ludwig's undivided attention.
"So!" Magnus began, far too loudly and bossily, "I think we all know why we're here! We all—"
Magnus cut himself off abruptly, because Berwald had thrust his hand in the air like a schoolchild, seeking permission to ask a question. Magnus pursed his lips, looked pissy and annoyed, but pointed to Berwald all the same.
It would have been hilarious if Ludwig hadn't been so nervous.
When he had been given 'permission' to speak, Berwald just grunted, "I don't know why we're here."
Timo closed his eyes, rested his face in his palm, and sighed.
Ludwig just snorted, and felt that twinge of affection he couldn't place. Dork, alright.
Magnus' lips parted, he looked momentarily disgusted, and said, huffily, "Well, then! I'll explain."
Berwald's hand dropped back down into his lap, and he started glancing back and forth between Magnus and Ludwig, as if uncertain who he wanted to give his attention to.
Timo parted his fingers to stare up at Magnus, his humiliation with Berwald very clear upon his face yet. Ludwig wanted to smile but couldn't, especially when Magnus started his apparently motivational speech.
Ugh.
"We're all here because we want to be the best. That's why we all got into this. We didn't come this far just to leave it unfinished. Every man in this room has been great at some point, but only two of us are still great. We all wanted to be immortal, didn't we? All of us wanted to be remembered forever. Some of us didn't make it that far, but one of you here still has a shot for glory. Look, I know you two are friends, I get it, I know you like being equals, but that ain't fair to everyone else. People want to see someone rise up, and by god, it has to be one of you! One of you has to win, and whoever does will be the best, forever! You'll go down in history, you'll be the one people will always remember! And to that end, you'll become immortal. You won't ever die, because people will always remember you! One of you has to win, 'cause that's just the way it is. You two have to fight again! Don't you see? You got the chance for eternal glory sittin' here right in front of you! So fight! That's all we can do. That's why we're here. To settle this! I don't care how much you two don't want it, you have to, don't ya see? That's the way it has to be! You two are stars, man, but only one of you can be the sun!"
Magnus had gripped the ropes in his hands, leaning forward, eyes wide and pulse hammering, and Ludwig could see how much this meant to Magnus, so much so that Magnus had actually stood there and given that ridiculous, corny speech.
In that pause, as Magnus met Ludwig's eyes, there was only quiet.
Silence.
And then, over that silence, a slow, loud clap.
Everyone looked over, where Berwald, god bless him, had lifted his hands politely and was clapping slowly and purposefully. Timo exhaled through his flared nostrils, eyes lidded and lips pulled into a grimace. When Berwald realized no one else was clapping, he fell still, tucked his hands back politely in his lap, and kept his eyes on Magnus.
Magnus stared at Berwald as a man might have stared at a stray cat that had just thrown up in his shoe, before he cleared his throat and carried on.
"Let's finish this, once and for all! Only one man can the best, and it's only fair to the world that we find out which one it is! Right?"
More silence.
Ludwig shifted his weight, as Timo's expression was ever more droll. Berwald, that time, at least looked over to the others before he opened his mouth, and stayed silent when he saw everyone else was. If Gilbert's foot had tapped anymore furiously, his boot would have burst into flames.
"Right?" Magnus cried, more brashly and loudly, brow low and vein in his forehead visible.
A low, unenthusiastic round of 'Right's.
Magnus took what he could get, waved both hands in the air, and spat, in German, "You fuckers are the goddamn worst, kiss my ass, you wannabe sons of bitches, washed up loser assholes—"
Berwald, dumbly, gave another effort to clap. Timo, who could speak a little German, reached out and slapped Berwald's hand harshly. Berwald jumped, thrust his hands back into his lap, and stayed completely still.
It was Gilbert who called, crankily, "Can I go now?"
Magnus glanced over his shoulder, griped, "Oh", and slammed his fist once more on the bell in dismissal.
Whew.
The very second Magnus tromped out of the ring and everyone was apparently free to move, Berwald leapt upright to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in his eagerness, and came jogging straight over to Ludwig.
Dark blue eyes looked him up and down, back and forth, as if searching him for wounds, and then Berwald asked, very urgently, "How are you? Are ya okay? Huh?"
Ludwig, startled, gawked up at Berwald for a second, and couldn't say why he was suddenly so nervous. Jittery. He noticed, strange though it was, that Berwald's very crooked nose was rather cute. Certainly had a lot of character, even if Berwald himself was rather...off.
He nodded his head, finally, and Berwald exhaled a bit and seemed relieved.
...had Berwald really been worried about him? No one ever worried about him, except Timo.
Speaking of Timo, he came in, literally squeezing himself in between Berwald and Ludwig, and knocked Berwald back a pace by jamming his elbow into Berwald's stomach. A hiss of air through Berwald's teeth, and Timo clapped a hand on Ludwig's shoulder and said, "Well! That was dramatic, wasn't it?"
Magnus glared over.
Gilbert stood up, and called to everyone, "So, then! I imagine we're all in agreement that there will be another fight! When and where, who the fuck knows. I'll deal with that later, when I ain't being dragged out of bed at four in the morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home."
With that, Gilbert spun on his heel and stalked out, in a foul mood as he came down from a high, no doubt, and Ludwig watched him go with a twinge of worry.
Timo, as usual, tried to distract him, grabbing his collar and pulling him in until their noses nearly touched. A low, husky whisper. "Let's go get hammered tonight, huh? It's my turn to buy the rounds."
Trying so hard not to let Gilbert ruin him, Ludwig forced a smile, and retorted, "It's about goddamn time."
Timo punched Ludwig's chest, gently, smiling away, and added, "Wanna spend the day with us? Let's go get some breakfast, eh?"
Yes, please.
Ludwig immediately nodded his head, just as Magnus came tromping over.
"Hey!" Magnus called, as he slithered forward, "You guys need to get up there and practice. No time for rest. I need you both in good form for the next fight. No one is slacking off while I'm here."
Timo glanced at Ludwig, whose eye was still very, very black, glanced back at Magnus, and his expression was very droll when he drawled, "Nah. Think my form is fine."
Berwald suddenly came over and stood right in front of Ludwig, blocking Magnus from his sights. A huff from Magnus, a shift, as Magnus tried to sidestep and stare Ludwig down, but whichever way Magnus shuffled, Berwald just shuffled right along with him and kept Ludwig out of sight.
And, well, that was actually really nice.
Timo observed Berwald, studying him nearly, and then cracked a half smile and put his hand on the back of Ludwig's arm, pushing him back to the door. To Magnus, Timo called, "We're going out. Worry about your own form, first."
"My form?" Magnus stuttered, furiously, as Berwald spun on his heel and trotted after them, and Ludwig heard Magnus' angry, incoherent bitching as they escaped.
Timo looked back and forth rather coyly between Ludwig and Berwald, face oddly knowing and smile strange. Ludwig didn't care, he was just glad these two jerks were here to save him from two bigger jerks.
Berwald hovered in over Ludwig, glancing over his shoulder at the gym door as if worried Magnus would pursue them. Hardly; Magnus' ego had been assaulted and he was probably taking it out right now on a punching bag that he was pretending was Timo.
As Ludwig stood there, quiet and docile, Timo finally lifted his chin and said, "Well? Take me out to eat, baby. What? I gotta propose right now before you'll take me on a tour of your hometown?"
A blaze of red to Ludwig's face, Berwald looked back and forth between Timo and Ludwig with his lips parted and eyes wide, and Timo quickly muttered something to Berwald in Swedish as Ludwig writhed.
Berwald instantly settled down, and was calm again.
So Ludwig took a breath, and led Timo and Berwald to his favorite nearby breakfast joint. It was cold and cloudy, so they sat inside and hunkered down in a corner table, trying to stay out of sight. Timo was far more popular to the Finns than Ludwig was to the Germans, but as usual them being together was always a reason for people to pay attention.
Well...
It never hurt a man's ego to sign a few autographs.
Tampere was a much, much smaller city than Hamburg, and so despite a few fans here and there it was much easier to walk about incognito.
Timo looked carefree and happy, hair whipping in the wind and face calm.
They meandered about aimlessly, chatting lowly over the breeze, Berwald following them the entire while in silence, but not unhappily. Every time Ludwig glanced over his shoulder to make sure Berwald hadn't gotten left behind, Berwald seemed to perk up, light up, straighten and expand, and Ludwig would just snort and turn his eyes back forward.
Timo seemed bemused.
Timo was as good as his word, as always, and Ludwig spent his entire day with those two, walking about Hamburg and then crashing briefly in Timo's hotel room for a break.
During a bout of laughter in the evening, Ludwig's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and his laughter died down a little when he saw Magnus' text there.
'Can I join you guys for a drink tonight?'
Ludwig pursed his lips, and contemplated, glancing at Timo frequently.
"What?" Timo casually inquired, with a lifted chin, still content and easygoing.
It was the polite thing to do, to ask Timo's permission, since Timo was the visitor, and so Ludwig grunted, "Magnus wants to come drink with us tonight. What should I tell him?"
For just a split second, just a flash, Ludwig thought that Timo had looked a little...nervous. Embarrassed? Anxious? Wasn't sure, because getting emotion from Timo was so infrequent. Had Timo's cheeks gotten pink?
Nah—surely not.
Finally, Timo waved a big hand flippantly in the air, and said, a little tersely, "Yeah, sure. Why not? Let him come. What's the big deal? He can come."
Hm. Alright, then. Odd that Timo hadn't just said, 'Sure', and left it there.
Ludwig was reading too much into it, projecting his own insecurity onto Timo.
He texted Magnus the all-clear, Timo moved about quite a bit more than usual as they chatted, and when the sun went down, Ludwig took charge and led them to his favorite bar. Too predicable, perhaps, Ludwig's tastes, because when they walked inside, Ludwig cringed a bit.
Magnus was already there, sitting at the bar with beer in hand, and he wasn't alone. Gilbert was there, too.
Shoulda known.
Berwald tensed up, Timo's face was completely blank, and Ludwig gave a beleaguered sigh and finally trudged over. He sat next to Magnus, Timo next to him, and Berwald, rather than sitting down, chose to stand off over at the side.
Gilbert glanced over at Ludwig, gave a gruff greeting, and then stood up abruptly and marched on Berwald.
Ludwig and Timo watched him in scrutiny as Gilbert pulled a folder out from under his arm and shoved it in Berwald's face.
"Sign," Gilbert said, and Berwald, so literal, blinked quickly and fumbled to pull a pen out of his pocket. Timo and Ludwig were the ones bolting over to Berwald then, snatching the papers right out of Gilbert's hands before Berwald could blindly slap his signature on them.
Gilbert rolled his eyes, still as cranky as he had been in the morning.
"What's this?" Ludwig asked, as Timo thumbed through the pages, brow crinkled.
"Your new contract," Gilbert griped, without batting an eye. "It's all set up. Next May. Look at the projection."
Timo saw it first, his eyes widened, and he actually breathed, "Holy shit."
Ludwig gaped a little, too, because anyone would have at seeing a potential earning of one hundred million Euros.
Again, the extreme high end, but goddamn—
Timo and Ludwig shared a glance, held each other's gaze, communicated without words, judged the other, and when their silent agreement had been made, Timo was the one to snatch the papers all up, whirl around, shove them into Berwald's wide chest, and say, highly, "Yeah—! You should sign."
With no further prodding, Berwald signed every page, and then Timo and Ludwig took turns, and Ludwig's hand might have been shaking a little. Honor and glory and immortality, yada yada, sure, yeah, and enough money for all of them to retire, and also enough money to throw Gilbert into the best rehab center possible.
Maybe run away in the middle of the night, if nothing else.
Maybe, in the back of his mind, Ludwig was so eager to sign because he wanted this to be his last fight. He wasn't a real boxer like Timo, and Timo would retire soon, and when he did so would Ludwig. This could have been his last fight.
Oh, please, let this be his last fight.
Gilbert gathered the signed papers, sat back down next to Magnus, and proceeded to hammer back five glasses of whiskey in succession. Magnus clapped jittery Ludwig's back, happily, and Timo ran a hand through his hair with a curse. Berwald lingered upright, more concerned with watching Magnus than figuring out what he had just signed.
Magnus leaned over the bar so that he could see Timo clearly, and seemed to study him.
"Well?" Magnus asked, expectantly. "Aren't ya excited?"
"Yes," Timo immediately droned, and Ludwig snorted.
Magnus faltered at Timo's blank face and robotic voice, couldn't tell if Timo was serious or not, and finally grumbled, "Ya got a funny way of showing it."
As Timo stared away at the taps, Ludwig leaned over and offered, helpfully, "He's Finnish."
Magnus knew that, obviously, but perhaps he needed a reminder if he expected Timo of all people to actually light up and cry out in excitement. Pfft.
To regain some sense of control, Magnus said, "Well, it's better if you're not excited. You're not gonna win anyway."
Ludwig rolled his eyes, and Timo leaned in to his side, and whispered, "How have you not murdered him?"
"I'm dead inside," Ludwig very honestly muttered.
Timo snorted, and started putting back beers with Ludwig.
Ludwig glanced over frequently at standing Berwald, and wanted to invite him to sit down, to have a drink, to settle in and try to relax, but he always lost his nerve.
Couldn't really figure Berwald out.
Hours passed, Timo and Ludwig having a little drinking competition, and Ludwig tapped out when Timo was four beers ahead of him, when he realized how idiotic it had been of him to ever agree to a drinking competition with Timo. The equivalent of trying to snort more coke than Gilbert; would never happen.
An impossible challenge.
Magnus was feeling no pain, and Gilbert was a little less bitchy when he was intoxicated. As usual, Magnus and Gilbert leaned against each other and made crass jokes, laughed obnoxiously, were far too loud and annoying, and Ludwig was only able to focus on Timo and try to keep his spirits up.
Timo was getting drunker and drunker with each minute that passed, and Ludwig wasn't too far behind him. When Timo slung an arm over Ludwig's shoulder and sloppily kissed his temple several times, Ludwig just giggled tipsily and sloshed his beer.
Berwald passed in and out of Ludwig's sight, as he took to roaming about the bar in a rather strange, observant manner that kinda reminded Ludwig of some cheesy bodyguard flick. Eh—whatever he wanted to do. Ludwig just raked him up and down whenever Berwald passed within his peripheral vision, as his pale hair lit up in the bar lights and his glasses shined. Why Berwald drew his eye, he couldn't say.
Maybe he was a little too obvious about it.
When Magnus went to the bathroom with Gilbert a while later (didn't wanna know why, didn't wanna know why, didn't wanna know why—) and it was just him and Timo, Timo looked over and sent Ludwig a lopsided leer. Ludwig squirmed a little, before grunting, "What?"
Timo snorted, took a long swig of his beer, and then whispered, with a slur, "My manager desperately wants to bone you. Like, you don't know. You're all he's fuckin' talked about for weeks. He's in love. It's kinda pitiful. I think he wants to try to be your next husband. That's not a joke, by the way."
Ludwig felt his face blaze up unholy red, the heat running down all the way to his collar.
Holy shit—
"Is that why he brought me flowers?" Ludwig asked, and realized immediately he had made a terrible mistake.
The beer Timo was drinking went right up his nose as he snort-laughed, came out in a stream as he howled, Timo choked for an awful second, and then he dissolved into laughter. Ludwig tried to sink down and die, and failed, as Timo pounded his fist on the bar and laughed and coughed.
"No shit!" were the first comprehensible words from Timo's mouth. "No fuckin' shit! That's hilarious! I can't—"
Ludwig was humiliated, yes, but also extremely interested. Extremely. And so Ludwig bit down his embarrassment and anxiety to rest his hand on cackling Timo's shoulder, lean in, and ask, very lowly, "So—he's into guys?"
Timo tried hard to stifle his giggles, and tipsily reached up to clap his hand over Ludwig's.
A low, gruff whisper.
"Maybe not every guy, but he's definitely into you. Go for it, man. What have you got to lose? He's a nice guy. And he doesn't box anymore, so he won't leave your ass because you're better than him."
A rush of heat. An awful mix of terror and excitement.
Wanting desperately to look forward to something, but also petrified of doing so.
Not much time to think about it, though, because Magnus suddenly came back, Gilbert at his side, and Timo turned to look at them. Ludwig stared ahead for a while, finished his beer, and then looked over either shoulder for a certain someone. Found Berwald quickly, because he stood out so much, and also because he was hovering there in the corner closest to Ludwig as if keeping watch over everyone. A big, surly bodyguard, alright, and Ludwig was very much in need of that.
In every possible, pathetic way.
There was probably a good joke to be made about body-guarding, but Ludwig wasn't clever enough.
Timo gave Ludwig a shove, and Ludwig was too tipsy to keep his balance and tottered sideways off the barstool, catching himself at the last second and managing not to faceplant. Berwald bristled up in alarm and came darting over, and Ludwig panicked momentarily.
Oh shit. Didn't know how to flirt, for god's sake—
Timo shoved him again, towards Berwald, and uttered, "Buy the man a drink."
Ludwig stood up straight when Berwald was in front of him, arms outstretched ever so slightly as if ready to catch inebriated Ludwig within his huge arms. Had Ludwig been just a bit braver, he might have actually let himself stagger a bit. He wasn't bold enough, though, was too socially awkward to ever instigate, and glanced weakly back at Timo.
Timo waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and waved his hand in the air as if to say, 'Go on!'
Ludwig took a deep breath, looked back up at worried Berwald, and stayed pitifully silent.
Because it was so likely that Timo, not a social butterfly either, was just terribly mistaken, and Ludwig would make a complete fool of himself.
Timo had misunderstood, was all.
It was Magnus, oddly enough, who sort of got the wheels out of the mud, when he burst into horrifically loud, snorting laughter. Berwald's eyes twitched over in annoyance, and then Berwald stood up straight and seemed to be deep in thought.
...well, as deep in thought as a man like Berwald could actually be.
Berwald looked around at drunk Timo, at loud Magnus, at laughing Gilbert, and seemed almost alarmed in some way by the surroundings. Looked uncomfortable and somehow uneasy, and when he turned his eyes back to Ludwig, he seemed as worried as he had been that day in London.
Ludwig wanted to crawl back to Timo, but foundered.
Berwald scoped the scenery one more time, and then he turned to Ludwig, stared at him for a long while, and finally uttered, gruffly, "Would ya like to stay in my hotel room tonight? If they're botherin' ya. I can stay in Timo's room. If ya want to have somewhere safe for a while."
Ludwig's lips parted, but no sound came out, as he stared wordlessly and breathlessly at Berwald. Must have looked dumb as a brick, but Berwald wasn't the sort of man who was any better off, so Ludwig supposed he didn't need to worry much about it, and stared on stupidly at big Berwald.
That was so...nice.
Couldn't really remember the last time someone had tried to look out for him, Timo and Ivan aside. Gilbert and Magnus were always so harsh with him. People doing nice things for him was entirely foreign in everyday life.
Ludwig didn't consciously make the decision to nod, but he did then, anyway, and was somewhat dazzled and bewildered when Berwald reached out, placed his palm on the back of Ludwig's arm, and started walking him along like a damsel outside into the cold. Ludwig just stared up and over at Berwald the entire time, stuck in that surreal daze.
At the last second, in the threshold of the bar door, Ludwig looked back at Timo for support, as he had for countless years.
Timo was smiling, and gave Ludwig a thumbs up.
Right. He could do this.
As Berwald led Ludwig back to his hotel with surprising efficiency, Ludwig looked up again and again, but couldn't think of anything to say. Berwald turned down one street, crossed another, went over bridges and turned again, and Ludwig was a little impressed by Berwald's apparently innate sense of direction. Didn't have a shred of common sense up in his head, seemed to be filled with sawdust in fact, but Berwald didn't miss a single step as he traced his way through an unfamiliar city after having only been there one day and walked the route only twice or so. Everyone had talents, he supposed. At least he never had to worry about getting smashed with Berwald around, because he would certainly never get lost.
The hotel they came to was a very nice one, expensive, because Timo liked privacy and security, and Berwald swiped a card to get into the elevator.
As they rode up in complete silence, Ludwig found his gaze always drawn to Berwald's hands. Not because he was hoping Berwald would reach out and grab his own or anything. Nah...they were just nice hands. Really. That was all. Just admiring big, strong hands. Similar to Ivan's, but Berwald's fingers were longer.
Berwald led him down a hall, to a door, swiped a card, and then held open the door politely. Ludwig's heart was pounding, adrenaline racing, that rush of hope and expectancy building up, because, god help him, he was so lonely.
But Berwald just led him inside, gave him the spare keycard, said, "If ya need anything, I'm right next door," and then turned to leave.
An awful surge of disappointment. Dread, that maybe Timo really had misunderstood.
At the last second, Ludwig called, "Wait."
Berwald stopped short, and looked over his shoulder, tensed up and ready to leap into whatever action Ludwig would demand of him.
Ludwig heard himself whisper, deeply, "Don't you want to stay, for a while? We can talk. Get to know each other."
Why had he said that? Sounded so stupid—
Berwald immediately shut the door and came back over, and Ludwig was fairly certain from the clumsy way Berwald was walking that he was likely the mystified one then. Probably because he found Ludwig so damn dumb and awkward, but the point stood that Berwald stayed as asked, and sat down silently in the chair in the corner.
He didn't speak though, not a word, just sat there obediently in that chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. Ludwig couldn't stand the anxiety Berwald staring at him brought up, so he slid off the edge of the bed, went to the minibar, and scrounged around.
He glanced back at Berwald, who hadn't had a single beer all night, and asked, "Do you drink?"
"Sometimes."
Good enough.
He pulled out a small bottle of vodka and club soda and mixed up a drink. Would he have to get this big bastard drunk in order to pry the truth out of him, to see if Timo was right? Because, to be quite frank, Ludwig was absolutely certain there was not enough alcohol in this minibar to take Berwald out. Ivan had needed a damn keg of vodka to bow out, and Berwald surely wouldn't have been far behind.
He walked over, handed Berwald the drink, and Berwald's fingers brushed briefly over his own.
Was he blushing? Shit.
He retreated to the bed, plopped down with his own drink, and reminded himself that Timo had never steered him wrong before, at least in something that mattered.
Ludwig really didn't have anything to lose, sad as it was.
Ivan was gone, and Gilbert was pushing Ludwig to the edge of sanity.
Berwald took a sip of his drink, leaned back in his chair, seemed to relax a little, and Ludwig found a burst of courage.
"So," Ludwig finally asked, out of nowhere, "What got you into boxing?"
Berwald blinked, slowly, and Ludwig thought he might have looked a little confused. A lift of his chin, a shifting of his jaw, and then Berwald suddenly uttered, deeply, "No one's ever asked that before."
Ludwig snorted, and rested his own chin in his palm as he patiently waited for Berwald to gather up his thoughts and words. Berwald was calm and slow, never rushing, and Ludwig found it curious that such a sweet-natured man had ever gotten into a sport like boxing. Maybe just because it had been easy for Berwald, what with his size and extremely intimidating air.
A long silence, as then Berwald finally offered, "I just did it in the beginnin' 'cause I needed the money. Once I got used to it, I just stayed. It was easier. I already knew how to box, so why bother lookin' for anything else? I wa'n't ever good at anything, really."
A pang of hurt, because Ludwig felt that way, too.
Always had.
Before Ludwig could speak up, Berwald smiled a little, and quickly added, in a brighter voice, "Not like you. Yer great. You an' Timo are the best I've ever seen. Ya make it look so easy. I wish I coulda been half as good as you guys."
Ludwig lowered his eyes to the floor, swallowed in anxiety, and finally scoffed.
It didn't matter how many times or how many people told Ludwig that he was good; he just couldn't ever see it for himself. He could see strengths and weaknesses in other people so easily, could find the good in everyone, could always look at someone and find something that he liked. Except for one person :
Himself.
Only saw negative things there.
He was so used to people berating him, perhaps, that he wasn't used to being complimented. Timo had been the only person that Ludwig felt truly, honestly cared about him.
Ludwig glanced up, and realized that Berwald had very steadily scooted his chair closer and closer to the bed. Right in front of each other now, and Ludwig could have easily reached out and put a hand on Berwald's shoulder.
At the short silence, Berwald turned his eyes to the window, and said, "This is a nice city."
Ludwig tried to smile, and tested the waters a bit.
"You like it? Where do you live?"
"Near Tampere."
Near Timo, then, and Ludwig leaned forward subconsciously perhaps, because Timo was sort of Ludwig's 'heart is where the home is', and if Berwald lived near Timo, then that suddenly made Tampere Ludwig's favorite city on Earth.
His possible escape.
Berwald noticed his interest, and asked, "Ya like Finland?"
"I love Finland," Ludwig eagerly said without missing a bit, as he smiled crookedly over at Berwald. "Maybe it's just... I don't know, I always feel happy there. I knew when I was in Finland, I would only be there with Timo, and Timo is the only person I know who doesn't make me feel like I'm not good enough. I love being in Finland."
That sounded so lame, why had he said that?
With every word Ludwig uttered, Berwald leaned forward more and more, until Berwald's glass suddenly bumped into Ludwig's knee. Berwald looked quite entranced, staring away in that potent manner he was so well adept at, and Ludwig lowered his eyes self-consciously and lifted a shoulder. He didn't know what Berwald saw yet. Probably some dumb kid who couldn't take care of himself. Berwald seemed like the sort of man who enjoyed playing knight to helpless people, and luckily for Berwald Ludwig was the sort of man who would gladly have taken the rescuing.
Ivan had essentially done the same thing.
Maybe the second time would be a better match.
"So," Berwald slowly surmised, "You wouldn't mind livin' in Finland?"
Ludwig smiled.
"Not at all."
Berwald leaned forward somehow more, and offered, "I live in Finland."
"I know," Ludwig said, mindlessly, because Berwald had literally just said that two minutes ago.
Berwald smiled suddenly, leaned back in his chair, and brought his glass up to his lips. Ludwig tilted his head, curiously, and snorted a little, because only Berwald knew what went on up in that empty head of his.
Berwald had a personality, alright; sweet.
What an odd man to be inside this group of not-so-great people. Entirely out of place, but very welcome to Ludwig.
Berwald put back the rest of his drink, Ludwig made him another, then another, and when it started snowing a little outside a few hours later, Ludwig could safely say he was finally drunk. Berwald could have been tipsy, but probably not, big as the jerk was, and Ludwig was too fearless then to really care what Berwald thought of him.
Ludwig staggered around a bit, smiling stupidly, and then, didn't know why, he set his glass on the desk, and said to Berwald, "Come here."
Berwald, always so cooperative, immediately stood and came over, chest nearly bumping into Ludwig's. Ludwig took Berwald's glass from his hand, drank it because why the hell not, and set it aside as well.
He put his fists up then, playfully, and said to Berwald, "I wanna see how you fought, back then. You fought Magnus, right? Let me see."
Berwald stood still, lips parted and brow high, and for just a moment, Ludwig thought that maybe Berwald had forgotten how to fight.
But Berwald reached out, grabbed Ludwig's wrists, and said, gruffly, "Yer drunk."
Yeah, so?
What, was Berwald worried about knocking Ludwig's block off? He was already battered up by Timo; what was one more bruise to a boxer? Or maybe Berwald just didn't want to fight Ludwig, when Berwald always seemed so worried about Ludwig's wellbeing. Spent all that time blocking Ludwig from Magnus' sight, so maybe Berwald found it counterproductive to knock drunk Ludwig around a little.
Berwald's hands were rough, warm.
Ludwig stared down at them as they clenched his wrists, smiling sloppily, and when he looked back up at Berwald, he slurred, "Thanks for the flowers before."
It was Berwald then who cracked a smile, and immediately he replied, "Yer welcome."
Ludwig gazed back at unblinking Berwald, emboldened by booze, and noticed then how pretty Berwald's eyes were. Dark blue like Magnus', but not as round. Almond shaped.
Berwald slowly led swaying Ludwig back over to the bed and sat him down before reclaiming his chair.
Ludwig tried to think of conversation, but couldn't come up with anything good to talk about, and Berwald clearly wasn't a man of many words, so they sort of fell into an impasse where they stared at each other. Berwald didn't talk a lot, Ludwig didn't talk a lot, and so the majority of their night together was spent in utter silence. Somehow, though, even though it was quiet and very uneventful, Ludwig in some way felt happier then than he had in years.
Felt far more at home and cared for in that hotel room with Berwald than he did in his actual home.
Magnus and Gilbert talked and talked and talked, could chatter for hours on end without actually saying one single damn thing, but Ludwig was somehow still more fascinated by silent Berwald just staring at him.
Being drunk with Berwald wasn't fun, no, but it was better—it was safe.
Happy.
When Ludwig collapsed onto his back on the bed, Berwald seemed to take that as a sign that the night was over. He stood up, and made for the door.
As he had before, Ludwig called, "Wait."
Berwald stopped, and looked back.
Ludwig barely managed to slur, "Stay. It's your bed. Stay."
Ludwig squirmed over to the edge of the bed, making plenty of room for big Berwald, and Berwald hesitated. Seemed a little confused, a little bewildered, and when he spoke then, it was just to repeat, "Yer drunk."
Ludwig smiled at the ceiling, and whispered, "I don't bite."
It was Berwald then who seemed a little nervous, uneasy, as if Berwald too thought perhaps they were having some misunderstanding. But, in the end, Berwald obeyed, because Berwald seemed to do anything anyone told him to.
Berwald came back to the bed and took his glasses off, set them aside, and Ludwig hoped that Berwald's vision was bad enough that Berwald wouldn't notice how hard Ludwig was staring at him.
The light went off.
The feeling of the mattress sinking under Berwald's weight. The giddiness of alcohol mixed with the excitement of being in close proximity to someone that could possibly have given him something he desperately needed.
Ludwig waited.
The glow of the city outside, as snow yet fell.
Ludwig held his breath, hopefully, and waited to see if Berwald would make a move. He was drunk, yeah, but he was still too awkward to ever make the first advance, especially if he wasn't completely sure how Berwald really felt.
Waiting.
But Berwald just stayed so close to the opposite edge of the bed that Ludwig was worried he would topple out with one wrong move. He didn't squirm over, didn't turn to face Ludwig, and certainly didn't reach out to throw an arm over Ludwig's chest.
Ludwig was absolutely not disappointed. He wasn't, really.
Didn't know why he felt kinda hurt, then.
Berwald stayed perfectly in place all night, and Ludwig's disappointment was cut short when his vision went black and he passed out.
Well. Not what he had hoped for, no, but damn...
Was it ever nice to have someone there in bed beside him.
Heaven.