MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The sun hadn't fully risen, but Damon was already awake.

He stared at the ceiling for a long while, lying still. The room was dim and quiet, but his body was tense. His hand was resting on his chest. It trembled.

Not violently. Just enough to notice.

He slowly lifted it up and looked at it. The nerves were there.

Today, he was getting married.

He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The air was cool on his skin. He stood, stretched once, and walked to the bathroom in silence.

The shower water ran hot as he stepped in. Steam quickly filled the space. He stood under the stream, letting the water soak his skin and calm his thoughts.

It helped.

A lot had happened in his life, fights, chaos, victory, heartbreak. But this was different.

This was permanent in a way no championship ever was. And for Damon, that permanence wasn't something to run from.

He just needed a moment to breathe.

He closed his eyes and let the water run over his shoulders. The day had only begun, but he could already feel everything waiting for him on the other side of those vows.

And he was ready.

The past few days had moved faster than Damon expected.

After the bachelor chaos settled, Svetlana had returned to her mother's home to handle final preparations, following the tradition of staying apart the day before the wedding.

That left Damon with the house to himself, until the guys showed up.

Joey arrived first, loud as ever, tossing his bag down and heading straight for the kitchen.

Ash followed, sunglasses on indoors, still recovering from whatever lingering damage the bachelor night had done to him.

Ty came later, quiet as usual, but steady and dependable.

And Victor, the calmest of them all, brought order with his presence, soon-to-be father-in-law, but still treating Damon like one of his own.

They were here for one reason, groomsmen duty.

Damon hadn't overthought who he wanted beside him. He knew the roles before anyone asked.

Joey was his best man. It wasn't even a question. He'd been there longer than anyone, through every ugly and great phase of Damon's life.

Joey didn't cry when Damon asked, but he did get quiet, gave him a half-hug, and said, "I got you, brother." That was more than enough.

Damon stepped out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair. The steam still clung to the mirror, and the air was warm, but his body felt calm now. No more shaking.

He dressed in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, simple for now. The suit would come later. Right now, it was about making it through the morning.

When he stepped into the living room, the house was already active.

Joey was pacing back and forth with a checklist in hand. "Okay, boutonnieres are coming at ten, photographer's at eleven, tuxes pressed and hanging, unless someone messed with the bags, in which case I'm killing you."

Ash was on the couch, sipping water with a face mask on. "You're doing too much, bro," he muttered. "It's not your wedding."

Ty was helping the stylist set up the grooming table, laying out clippers, razors, beard oil. "Damon, you want the fade cleaned up again, or you leaving it the way it is?"

Victor stood near the kitchen, pouring coffee into four mugs like clockwork. "Let the man breathe," he said, handing one to Damon. "It's his wedding day, not a weigh-in."

Damon took the mug with a small nod. "Thanks."

"You good?" Victor asked, voice low.

Damon paused. Then nodded again. "Yeah. Just... feeling it."

Victor clapped his shoulder. "You should. This is what life's about."

Joey looked up from his checklist. "Bro, it's almost time. We'll get dressed after the barber's done. Photographer's going to want some shots of us half-ready anyway. Apparently it's 'candid' or whatever."

Damon exhaled through his nose and smiled slightly. "Alright."

The house smelled like aftershave and toast. The stylist began calling them one by one. Damon sat near the window, sipping his coffee, glancing at his phone just once.

No message yet from Svetlana. They had agreed, no calls until the altar.

He could live with that.

Damon sat on the stool near the kitchen counter, a towel draped over his shoulders.

Ty stood behind him with clippers in one hand and a comb in the other, eyeing his work like a man preparing to sculpt a statue.

"You sure about this?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow at the mirror across from him.

Ty clicked the clippers on. "Relax, I got you. Ash vouched, remember?"

Damon looked over at Ash, who was lying back on the couch with a cold pack over his eyes. "Don't drag me into this," Ash muttered. "I only said he can cut hair. Didn't say he was licensed."

Joey chuckled from the dining room. "Worst case, we'll just shave it all off and say it was a bold choice."

Victor, sipping his second cup of coffee, added, "You're a good-looking guy, Damon. Even bald you'd be fine. But for Svetlana's sake, let's hope Ty really can cut."

Ty shook his head. "You all talk too much. Hold still."

Damon let out a breath and focused on the sound of the clippers humming near his ear. He tried not to overthink it. His thoughts drifted to Ava for a moment.

He smiled.

A little of her chaotic, bubbly energy would've been perfect right now.

She'd probably be singing nonsense, climbing into his lap, or asking to help with the clippers, which thankfully she wasn't here to do.

He would love some of her energy to calm his nerves. Even the noise, the constant questions, or her sudden hugs, any of it would've grounded him.

Made him forget for a second how heavy the silence felt while waiting for something this big to begin.

He closed his eyes, relaxing as Ty continued to cut his hair.