Chapter 1
THUMP!
DING, DING, DING!
[Marcellus is saved by the bell!]
[But not before Louis lands a good right down the pipe, you think he can recover from that one by the next round?]
[I don't know Eddy, he got himself to the corner, but those steps look exactly like mine after a night on the town, either way Louis will be sticking to him as soon as the next round starts, recovered or not he better be ready for a world of pain.]
---
Gasp!
A pair of brown eyes snap open.
Wincing immediately in response to the rays of dawn.
For a moment, those glazed pupils are blinded by the gleaming light, before it eventually recedes and the rest of the room comes into view.
'It's meant for me'
The fighter thought to himself, the first heavy breath of the day escaping his lips.
Trickling in from little gaps in the walls, they enter his abode every morning in dappled strokes. Like clockwork they'd find his eyes as he awakened, whether the night prior brought good or bad he knew what he was waking up to.
A lump on the bed shudders to life next to him bringing even his heart to a halt. Arms and legs sprouting out from it in a strained stretch before all that energy leaves it and it plops back onto the bed like a deflated balloon.
The fighter doesn't miss a beat, toned arms reaching out and searching, and inevitably... wrapping the lover in his embrace. He's responded with an annoyed groan as dainty fingers probe around the amalgamation of limbs their bodies have formed.
Until it lands on his face, riffing through his 5 o'clock shadow before giving a light slap in confirmation. A hidden strength pours out of the lover's hand as it tries to push his face away and hopefully wrench away the rest of his clingy body off of her while it's at it, mumbling in feigned exasperation as she did so.
It has the opposite effect.
Instead of what she intended her body is reeled in even tighter against his own, broad shoulders shrouding her back as his face plants itself into her brunette locks, nuzzling it in until she can feel the scraggly beard pierce through the wall of hair and prickle the back of her neck.
She had only one move left, her fingers forming a claw as she lightly scratches his cheek in a threat of force.
But the fighter doesn't budge.
...
Finally she relents, knowing that there's absolutely nothing she can do to separate the fighter from her back...
And she sighs in relief.
She reaches further back with that previously aggressive hand, and glides her fingers into his hair, just above the nape and pulls it in above his ears, ruffling through until it reaches his temple and then back again.
A warm breath into her hair tells her that the gesture is appreciated. Another small squeeze of his already contricting arms tells her he's making sure she's really there and not a dream that will disappear in a cloud of smoke if he hugs her too hard.
In anger she'd scolded him for it a few times.
One that she'd admit.
She'd act as if the notion irked her. If that was even an option, she'd have done it before putting up with all the crap that had piled up over the years.
He'd never reply, he'd just look at her with his sad big brown eyes and she'd melt. The small speckles of amber in there glittering like an impossibly precious jewel.
She knew he couldn't help it. Such an old man but so child like in the way he clung to her.
So, it was fair for her to say she'd only scolded him in anger one time, the very first time.
The rest, well...
That was just for her.
---
"Hey kid wake up!" The fighter hears a raspy voice reverberate from his left.
But he doesn't respond, his sight remain on the younger body sitting on the opposite corner.
Glowing with an almost Demi-godlike sheen, reflecting the spotlights and camera flashes as if they were finely polished bronze.
And they felt like it.
Each punch brought with it a weight like a sledgehammer, the force ringing through with each blow.
In comparison, his own looked like the aging branches of and old oak.
They in turn, played their part with exceptional similarity. Creaking and crackling like old bark under stormy weather.
And what a storm it was.
The younger fighter was faster and stronger by so much that any gap in experience between the two was covered and then some. The only thing the fighter could pride himself in was his durability.
Not that the champ was any more vulnerable to his punches than the other way around. If anything, he had simply been unable to throw enough punches to test it.
"Roach, he's getting killed out there!" The lover's worried voice comes from outside the ropes.
"I know! I know!"
"If you know then tell him something useful!" There was a little tremble in that powerful voice this time. "If all he's gonna do is get beaten out there, then we may as well bring him home right now!"
"...Shit!"
A pale wrinkled face obstructs his view, gritting it's teeth in a show of confidence.
But it couldn't stop the greyed brows above it from scrunching up together and the two glistening eyes from reflecting his battered face.
"Look kid, I'm not gonna mince words, you look like my wife's cooking right now." He joked.
The fighter tries to stifle a laugh, God knows his ribs weren't in any shape to even breath properly.
Thankfully a hand resting on his shoulder stops him. "Don't laugh, Lydia is watching at home, and she'll know I told you that."
"Look, its up to you right now, if you want to throw in the towel then we can go home..." he spoke looking at him, half of his face said that there was no better ring for the fighter than this one and he wanted him in there, the other half...
Told him that chances were the next few rounds were not going to get better than the ones he'd been through.
They'd be lucky if it didn't get even worse.
10 seconds left before that bell calls him back in all they do is look eye to eye.
No words are traded, but the elder man nods.
"Then you need get to him before he gets you, let's not dream that you'll hit him first, but I need you to take the that punch and trade everything you got into the next..."
The fighter nods.
He gets ready to stand up...
but the hand doesn't leave, "and..."
"Don't stop swinging until he's down."
The fighter finally picks himself up. His legs are numb but he can force them to stand up straight.
Before he runs in, the fighter turns around and he gives the lover a look for a few seconds, and reaches out with his gloved fist.
She holds her own tears, grits her teeth gives him a glare. "Don't tell me you know..."
With all her strength the lover bumps it, feeling the sweat hardened cotton and leather scrape her knuckles.
——
"You don't have to take this fight." The lover begs.
The fighter sees her.
Even surrounded by sweaty benches and humid lockers, she didn't glow any less than if she were standing directly underneath the moonlight.
Baited breath exits sparingly from her supple lips, her brows raised as the lover's face fluctuated between anger and anxiousness.
And all he wants to say is sorry, the words finding it's way to his throat..
But no further.
"Dammit," The lover relents, resting her palm against his cheek, her thumb stroking the stubble, "Won't you look at yourself, there's so many grey hairs in there now."
Her solemn demeanor suddenly turns agitated as her other hand comes up, trying to pluck them out.
The fighter's hand comes up to hold her arm, powerful fingers gripping into her flesh, sending a warmth traveling from her hand to her chest, but it only makes it heavier.
The lover glares at him, it's not fair that he's the one who has a fight ahead and she's the one who feels like she's about to have a heart attack at any moment.
There's a knock on the door and her heart drops to her stomach.
Finally his voice reaches her ear, soft and mellow, but clear as the day she met him. "I know, I know, I know..."
"Just this one last time," The fighter wraps his gloves. "I swear you'll still be mine."
He can't promise her much, he goes for one last touch.
She flinches as she sees the gloves coming, and she stares at him all anger gone and only yearning remains.
For once in all their years, the immortal youth the fighter saw through his eyes vanished and he saw the crows feet running down the sides of her face.
Deep bags held her sleepless eyes and a permanent line ran the side of her lips, forming the frown she held for the hours he'd spent in the ring.
The leather caresses her cheeks, and this time her hands reach up to hold his gloves.
"Don't tell me you know... it's not easy sleeping with you when you come back to me looking so ugly all the time."
She tries to crack a smile, but it breaks on its way up.
——
DING! DING!
[And they're off!]
[And just like you said Howie, Louis is going for the kill!]
[But it's Marcellus who closes the distance between them! He's actually keeping his forward foot on the inside!]
[I don't know about you Eddy but I think I can chalk that up to being one of the worst decisions made by the older boxer in this fight.]
[And I agree completely, you only go inside when you know you're the faster fighter, and so far I think we can all say that of the two, Louis fits that description much more than Marcellus.]
[There's a chance that Charlie Roach has a plan for Marcellus to execute, but 15 years apart and 9 rounds in, the gap in their stamina is getting wider and I don't know if Marcellus has any gas left in the tank to pull off a miracle.]
[Louis seems to be thinking the same thing, he's throwing a lot of combos, punishing the older fighter for entering his domain.]
[Louis landing a long jab, and follows it up with a 1- OH!!! And Marcellus slips under the right landing a haymaker right on the champ's nose.]
[Louis is trying to make space, he's hurt!]
[Marcellus doesn't let this chance slip past him, dipping under Louis's check hook and delivers an uppercut of his own!]
[And for the first time in this fight "The bomber" is sent to the corner!]