MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

It was quiet on the way back to their flat. Damon was driving.

He had one hand on the wheel and the other on the armrest.

Svetlana put her head against the window and looked at the city afternoon lights flashing by. She had her arms crossed.

They had a good time at Aoife's earlier, with laughs, stories, and even some touching moments, but their last talk still made them feel heavy.

Even though they tried to keep things light, the air in that house felt different after Damon's revelation.

The mood wasn't quite the same even though they stayed and talked. Even though Aoife tried to act tough, Damon could tell she wasn't.

Her smile was weaker, and she spoke a little more slowly. He could tell that she was quietly thinking about everything.

As they drove through the streets, Damon felt a little bad about what he had done. He didn't feel bad about telling her; she deserved to know.

But the way it made her look now, he couldn't help but wonder if he should have done something different.

Svetlana broke the silence first, her voice soft but steady. "She'll be okay, you know."

Damon glanced at her briefly, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. She's tough. Always has been."

When they finally pulled up to the apartment Damon parked the car and sat there for a moment, the engine still running.

Svetlana looked at him expectantly but didn't say anything, giving him the space to speak first.

"I need to check on some things while I'm still here," Damon said finally, breaking the silence.

Svetlana tilted her head. "Like what?"

"Joey's brother, for one," Damon replied, cutting the engine. "I promised I'd help him, and I meant it. Plus…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I need to visit the gym. See how things are going there. Make sure everything's running smoothly."

Svetlana reached for the door handle, but then paused, her hand hovering over it.

She turned slightly, her brows furrowed as she looked at Damon, who was still sitting in the driver's seat.

"Why didn't you tell her how he died?" she asked softly, her voice careful but curious.

Damon stiffened slightly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he processed her question.

He didn't meet her eyes immediately, instead staring straight ahead at the faint glow of the apartment building's lights.

"Because it doesn't matter," he said finally, his tone flat. "She's been through enough. She doesn't need to carry that on top of everything else."

Svetlana tilted her head, studying him. "But don't you think she deserves to know? To have the full truth?"

Damon's jaw tightened as he sighed. "What would it change? Whether he died by his own hand or something else, it doesn't erase what he did to us. It doesn't undo the years she spent being hurt by him, or the years I spent trying to forget. Telling her how doesn't make it easier, it just adds more weight she doesn't need."

Svetlana was quiet for a moment, her gaze softening. "Maybe. But maybe knowing could help her process it. It might not feel like it now, but sometimes the truth helps in ways we don't expect."

Damon finally looked at her, his eyes guarded but sincere. "She's already grieving in her own way. She doesn't need to know that he gave up on himself. That's not the last memory of him I want her to carry. If she asks, I'll tell her. But until then… I think it's better this way."

Svetlana nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "I get it. It's not easy, either way."

Damon gave a small, tired smile. "Nothing about this is easy. But we're managing."

With that, Svetlana opened the door and stepped out, waiting for Damon to follow.

He lingered for a moment, exhaling deeply before joining her, both of them walking toward the building in a shared, comfortable silence.

As soon as they entered, Damon sighed, plopping onto the sofa, his body sinking deep into the cushions.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Finally," he muttered, exhaustion dripping from his voice.

Svetlana set her bag down by the door and kicked off her shoes. "Finally? You were acting like that flight back was a warzone."

Damon tilted his head toward her, raising an eyebrow. "It wasn't exactly smooth sailing. That one kid behind us was kicking my seat the whole way. I was this close to losing it."

Svetlana laughed, the sound light and genuine. "What, the great Damon Cross can handle punches from professional fighters but can't deal with a kid on a plane?"

Damon grinned despite himself. "Different kind of endurance, Lana."

She rolled her eyes and walked over to sit beside him, tucking her legs underneath her. "So, what now?"

Damon stretched, his joints popping as he groaned. "What now? Now I recover from the worst hangover of my life, courtesy of you."

Svetlana smirked, leaning her head against her hand. "Hey, you needed to unwind. And I think we both know you had fun."

Damon gave her a side-eye. "Define 'fun.' Because my body feels like it went twelve rounds."

Before Svetlana could respond, Damon's phone buzzed loudly on the table, cutting through the quiet. He sighed, reaching for it and glancing at the screen.

"It's Joey," he muttered, standing up. "Probably about his brother." He walked to the kitchen, answering the call.
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Svetlana watched him leave, her expression softening.

She could hear the low murmur of Damon's voice as he spoke, his tone calm but focused. She leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

Svetlana leaned back on the couch, her thoughts drifting.

Never in a million years had she imagined she'd feel this happy. Before Damon, life had been fine, steady, predictable, but not this.

When Victor first brought Damon to the gym, she barely noticed him.

He was skinny, quiet, someone who didn't stand out.

But now, he was everything opposite of that. Bigger, stronger, and more confident.

His personality had grown too, no longer hidden. He had a sharp wit, a laugh that came rarely but felt genuine, and a quiet strength she admired.

She didn't want this to end. She wanted to hold onto this feeling and spend the rest of her life with it, with him.