Chapter Text
Joe had never been good starting conversations. He especially wasn’t good at starting conversations that usually started with him asking for help.
Luckily though- at least for him, someone beat him to the punch.
He sat on a bench, alone in the locker room. He had lost. For the hundredth time- he had lost.
Of course he gave his opponent his well deserved credit. He was quite skilled. He could tell the kid- Little Mac, was it?- would make it far. But that hadn't mattered to him at that moment. He had lost. Course he still gave himself some credit. He always did. It's what kept him going. Sure, he could lose a hundred more times, but if he felt like was getting better and that he was improving? He'd keep going. He wanted to continue because he wanted to win again. Course, the one time he did win, well....he didn't like thinking about it much. He remembered it all too well. He got into the ring with Nick Bruiser himself. He acted like such an asshole. He insulted him, but more importantly, his country. At that point it wasn't even a boxing match. It was a fight, that no one stopped. It was so bad it caused Nick to retire, and Rick quickly after. He felt horrible. A decade had passed and he still felt like shit about it. He ended a man's career, his lively hood. All because of some petty comments. He couldn't imagine if that ever happened to him. Boxing was his life, his mere essence. And yet he took that away. In Joe's eyes, his real record was 0-101. He never wanted to consider it a win. It was, like the WVBA said, a freak accident. It was the only reason they even kept him, he was certain. But it didn't help his losses. He was still considered to most, the WVBA's punching bag. A tutorial for beginners before they actually got to more challenging opponents, like Kaiser or Disco Kid.
And so there he sat. On a bench, with a paper towel on his bleeding nose and unable to see out of one eye from how swollen it was, unable to stand up perfectly straight because his stomach muscles hurt too much. It was a feeling he knew all too well. Eventually someone did actually enter the locker room. It was Macho Man. Arguably the worst person to enter the locker room at this point. Joe didn't even bother to bring himself to look up at him. Joe had always been nice to everyone in the WVBA, on account of the fact that he couldn't really be an asshole with a record like his. But he also just wanted to be a kind person, it's how he was taught after all. But he had to admit he found it really really hard to be nice to Macho Man. He briefly looked over as Macho Man just flexed in front of the mirror. "Hey Joey!" God he hated that nickname. "You like totally got your ass kicked out there! Maybe you'll win next time. Or maybe you won't." He said, putting a hand roughly on Joe's shoulder, before laughing in his face and walking out. Joe felt like crying. He could practically feel the water welling up in his eyes. He heard the door open again. At first he thought it could have been Macho leaving something in the locker room, or Don about to help him put makeup on to cover his bruises. But instead, it was a far more intimidating sight.
Mr. Sandman. The world champion himself.
He felt a shiver run up his spine. He had nothing against him, of course. He was just...so massive. And him being the WVBA World Champion titleholder didn't make things much better. He had never had any problems with him, but he never really spoke with the man either. He was probably here because of his match with Macho Man, which no surprise, he won. But he still felt so...intimidating. He felt pathetic beside him. Sandman barely had any injuries on him. Meanwhile Joe was covered in them. He watched as Mr. Sandman patched up and little cuts or wounds he had, and stopped. Wait. Why would he stop? He walked over to him. At first Joe was expecting to be mocked. But...the words he braced himself for never came. Instead...It was an ice pack being put ever so gently on his bruise cheek. "Do ya want help with that?" Joe felt like he was gonna explode. Why...why was Sandman helping him? "Ah....monsieur Sandman! Y-You know you don't have to help me, non? I-I'm capable of taking care of myself-" "I know I don't have to. I wanted to, Joe." If Sandman hadn't been so gentle Joe would have thought he was being passive aggressive. He flinched at first, which made Sandman's expression soften. "Relax Joe, I'm trying to help you." Joe sighed softly, almost in relief that Sandman confirmed he wasn't just doing this to fuck with him. "...Merci beaucoup, Sandman. I...Je m’excuse. I just...never expected you to do this." Joe felt surprised. He didn't know why. It wasn't like Sandman was rude. So why was he so....shocked? He felt Sandman using his free hand to remove one of Joe's boxing glove, revealing his skinny, sickly pale hand. For a moment, Sandman had Joe's hand in it's own. He felt his heart almost stop at that. His hand was so much bigger and rougher feeling than his own. But he tried not to focus on it so much. "Could you hold the paper towel please?" Sandman asked. Joe of course quickly did so, tilting his head forward so he wouldn't have blood in his mouth. He took off Joe's other boxing glove and told him to hold the ice pack. Joe was ashamed to admit that he winced at the lost of the warmth of Sandman's hand on his face.....even if he was feeling it through an icepack- Mon dieu why did he miss Sandman's touch that badly?...it was probably just nothing. "Wait right here Joe, I'm gonna grab the emergency kit." Joe watched as he walked away with a dull feeling radiating in his heart. Joe knew he was a lonely man. He had lived alone for the past 2 decades, but....was his loneliness effecting him that much? Why was he feeling this way over the littlest of things?
A few minutes later Sandman had come back first aid kit in hand and placed it on the bench, quickly opening it and getting to work sanitizing Joe's little injuries and scrapes. "Now Joe, this might sting a little." Sandman had warned before putting the cold alcohol pad onto Joe's knee. Of course it stung, making Joe stuck in air through his teeth, making a little hiss of pain. But it wasn't anything Joe was used to. But what he wasn't used to was someone helping him with his injuries without him even asking- let alone the World Champion of the WVBA- tending to his wounds. And being so...gentle about it. Always warning him before he did something that might hurt him, always doing everything slowly. Joe would have been offended that Sandman was treating him so delicately if he wasn't so...oddly flattered. Eventually Sandman had finished up and Joe's nose eventually stopped bleeding. Afterwards Sandman put a hand on Joe's shoulder, which Joe could have sworn made his heart rate go up, though he couldn't place if it was out of fear or not. "You sure you don't need me to call the medics to make sure you're alright?" Sandman asked. Joe simply responded with a slightly nervous chuckle and a smile. "Ah, non Sandman, I'm quite used to this, at this point I've been to them so many times I could tell exactly what was wrong with me myself." Sandman didn't take all too much amusement to this, but it wasn't that he was angry, he just seemed a bit....concerned. "Now Joe, I ain't gonna hound you about it, but that is not to good for your health. But if you feel fine then suit yourself." He watched as Sandman wordlessly got up and left the locker room.
That feeling was back again. That dull, almost ache. He still didn't understand why he felt that way. Maybe it was just because of the weather. He usually was fine living alone but he always got this weird lonely feeling in his chest during the fall. Something about the change in seasons made him wish he had someone and.....Non. It probably wasn't that. Even if it was, it would never work. He would have probably dwelled on it more if it wasn't for Don coming in, dressed more fancy since he didn't have a match today. "Buenas tardes, Joe! I heard about your match with Little Mac. I wouldn't advise you beat yourself up about it too much. The boy seems quite skilled. But, hopefully you didn't get too many injuries, ¿correcto?"
To Joe, it didn't matter at that moment if he had actually sustained any severe injuries. He was just thinking about how kind and sweet Sandman had been to him. And soon this would become a feeling that would simply just grow as time passed. Not that he knew of course.
"Je vais bien monsieur, I suppose you're here to help me touch up any blemishes?" Joe asked, already knowing the answer was- as Don would say- sí.