MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Dinner had already begun, even before the food arrived.

The atmosphere was right. Quiet, private, the faint sounds of water lapping at the lake and soft conversation drifting from the main dining area. Damon could feel the calm settling over them.

Then the waiter returned, moving smoothly as he set the bottle of non-alcoholic wine on the table.

"Here you are, signore, signorina," he said with a polite nod. "If you need anything else, I'll be close."

And with that, he stepped away, leaving them to it.

Damon took the bottle in hand, pouring the first glass for himself. He glanced across the table at her, pausing.

"You want one?" he asked.

Svetlana smiled, giving a small nod. "Yeah."

He poured her a glass next, setting the bottle back down before leaning back into his chair.

He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. She did the same, but there was something playful in her look. That usual spark she had when she was winding up to say something she found funny, even if no one else would.

And there it was.

"It feels like you're drinking me," she said, smirking behind her glass.

Damon chuckled, setting his glass down.

"Well," he said, "I would love to… but I feel like I've been underdressed for the occasion."

He looked down at himself, then back at her, shaking his head with mock disapproval.

"Seeing as you picked my clothes tonight, I can't help but feel… conned."

Svetlana laughed quietly, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Conned into looking good?"

Damon shrugged, keeping his tone casual.

"I don't like being tricked into things. Even if it works out." He said it with a grin, and she rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.

The conversation drifted as they ate, easy but thoughtful.

Damon didn't rush through his food. Neither did she. They took their time, tasting the flavors, watching the last bit of daylight fade over the lake.

Svetlana set her fork down for a second and leaned in slightly.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren't fighting?" she asked.

Damon sat back in his chair. He let the question hang for a few seconds before answering.

"No," he said. His voice was quiet but sure. "I don't know what I'd be doing."

She watched him as he picked up his glass and took a sip.

"I spent half my life thinking I wouldn't be doing anything," he went on. "Living on the streets with my mom… I wasn't planning careers back then."

Svetlana nodded slowly. She already knew his story. But hearing him say it like this, calm and steady, was different.

"I guess I never figured out who I'd be without fighting," he added. "And I'm not sure I want to."

She smiled faintly.

"You figured out who you are outside of it. You just don't like to say it out loud."

Damon gave a small shrug.

"Maybe."

But he wasn't convinced. Not yet.

They ate quietly for a little while after that. It wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with her.

When Svetlana spoke again, she kept her eyes on him.

"Do you ever think about… us?"

Damon looked at her, setting his fork down, giving her his full attention.

"Yeah," he said. "All the time."

"And?"

"And I know I'm not the easiest person to be with," he said plainly. "I get caught up in my own head. I put everything on the fight. I don't always know how to leave space for anything else."

Svetlana tilted her head slightly.

"But you try," she said.

"Because I want to."

"That's what matters."

She reached across the table, resting her hand over his. Damon turned his hand so their fingers laced together.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly.

Damon nodded once.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not asking you to."

They sat like that for a while, the sound of the lake in the distance, the faint noise from the restaurant inside.

The date continued smoothly.

They kept talking, the way they always did when it was just them, honest, direct, and easy.

After a while, any formality they had started the night with was gone. They were relaxed now. Damon had undone another button on his shirt somewhere along the way, and Svetlana had kicked off her heels under the table.

She was laughing hard at something Damon had said. He didn't even remember what it was, but seeing her laugh like that made it worth it.

When she finally caught her breath, she stood up, still smiling.

"I'll be right back," she said. "Just need to freshen up."

She stepped around the table, leaned in, and kissed him. Nothing over the top. Just something real.

Then she turned and walked toward the bathrooms.

Damon let out a deep breath the second she was gone.

His fingers ran through his hair once before he leaned back in the chair.

How was he going to do this?

They had just ordered dessert before she got up. The waiter had promised it would be out in a few minutes.

But he was still trying to figure out how to start.

How did this even work?

Did he wait until dessert was on the table?

Did he say something first? Did he just pull the box out and let that speak for him?

He had played out a dozen different scenarios in his head leading up to this moment, but none of them made sense right now.

His hands were sweating again.

He wiped them off on his pants under the table and took another slow breath.

He was ready.

But he was nervous.

And that surprised him more than anything.

The waiter approached quietly, setting the dessert plate down in front of him. A small, polished nod followed.

"Enjoy, signore," the waiter said, his accent still thick but smooth. Then he stepped away, leaving Damon alone again.

Damon gave a quiet "Thanks" as he glanced at the plate.

Some kind of delicate cake, layered with cream and topped with fresh berries. It looked perfect. Like everything else about this place.

He checked his watch.

Only a few minutes had passed, but it felt longer.

He glanced around the terrace, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table.

He could've started on the dessert, but he didn't move.

He wasn't going to eat without her.

Damon leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the small box still sitting in his pocket.