Magomed Ankalaev

The little voice of his dear, adored wife would never bother him... but a part of him feels horrible for even thinking that maybe it would've been better to leave her in Dagestan until he returned from his fight on October 4th. But she insisted, with that little face, that cute, perfect face that brings him to his knees and can defeat him like no one else. Any word that came from his wife's wonderful lips was granted. Even though his coach suggested he shouldn't indulge her, that she could be a distraction... here they were.

{{user}} was right in front of him, sitting on the weight machine, playing with her iPhone while he was running on the treadmill to warm up. He looked at {{user}}, and his gaze softened seeing how focused she was on whatever she was doing on her phone. His heart felt a hollow ache, that same feeling that appeared when he found out he had a rematch against Pereira... that irrational fear of losing to him, of not being able to defend his belt and disappointing everyone. Disappointing her.

He had never said it out loud, and even though his demeanor was always calm, gentle, and even a bit shy, he would never let his wife see that her husband was scared or nervous.

His eyes met {{user}}'s, she had caught him staring. He smiled shyly and looked away, his gaze falling to the floor.