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Tsimikas sat on the bench with Thiago next to him and Bajcetic above them both. The three were watching Liverpool’s match vs. Arsenal—but that wasn’t the only thing they were up to.
They groaned twice in succession as the team let as many goals in. They cheered when Salah scored the goal to halve the deficit…and then missed the penalty that would’ve put them level.
“Why isn’t the boss putting you on?” Bajcetic squirmed in his seat, tapping his foot impatiently. “He should be putting you on by now, Tio . You’re the only one who can change this game.”
“The kid speaks the truth, man! You’re the magician from San Pietro Vernotico!” Tsimikas pulled off his sweater, revealing a red, light-up, garish THIAGO IS DA GOD T-shirt. “As my T-shirt says, you are the god.”
Before Thiago could run away, Nunez flicked his shoulder to get his attention. “Come on, bro, we’re on in a couple of minutes! Somebody’s gotta show these cabrones who the bosses of Anfield are.”
Thiago didn’t need to be told twice. He suited up in record time, so fast that he almost accidentally put on one of Tsimikas’ hideous shirts. Finally, his number came up on the board and he was back on the pitch.
It didn’t matter how bad Thiago felt off the pitch; when he was playing, everything felt brilliant. The smell of the turf, the sight of the red jerseys, the sound of Tsimikas singing— hold up!
“ Thiagoooooo ! Thiago Alcantaaaaraaa!” Tsimikas sang loudly and terribly at the top of his lungs. Milner tried to pull him down, but with little effect. “ I don’t know the rest of this song, but I’d better add some lyrics!”
Nunez spotted this, rolling his eyes at the Greek. “How do you put up with him?”
“I don’t know.” Thiago shrugged, skipping towards his established position in the midfield. “I guess opposites attract.”
*
“ My best friend is the champion! My best friend is the king!” Tsimikas pounced on Thiago after the match finished. He still had on the shirt, and now its neon lights flashed every which way. “ When he passes the ball, what joy Thiago brings! Allez allez allez—”
“Sorry about that Tio, he’s been crazy since you got on the pitch.” Bajcetic rolled his eyes like the particularly annoyed teenager that he was. “I still don’t get it, we didn’t win the game and you weren’t even involved in the equalizer.”
“But Thi came back from injury. And in times like these, little wins are important.” Tsimikas hugged Thiago, gently dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Baby steps, I always say.”
“Your wisdom’s scaring me, Kosty.” But Thiago hugged him back, leaning on his shoulder as if he’d just reached heaven. They stayed that way for a while, until…
“Oh my god , get a room !!!” Bajcetic groaned, burying his head in his sweatshirt. “You guys flirt like Haaland scores goals.”
“It’s not flirting, we do this stuff all the time in Greece!” Tsimikas blushed, burying his face in Thiago’s shoulder. “Tell him, Thi.”
But Thiago smirked, the devious glint in his eyes indicating that the Spaniard hadn’t chosen peace that morning. “Oh, we’ve definitely done this more than two hundred and twenty-one times.”
“TIO THIAGO!!!”