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Alisson and Klopp had never expected to have so many things in common with each other. At first, the two couldn't have appeared more different. One was from South America, and one was from Europe. One had blonde hair; one had brown hair. One used to play as a striker, and one played as a goalkeeper--whose job was literally to stop a striker from scoring. So naturally, everybody expected them to be polar opposites.
But then they met for the first time, and Alisson and Klopp turned out to be almost exactly the same height—just two centimeters apart. Alisson revealed that he was actually part German, and Klopp told Alisson about the point in time when he switched from striker to defender.
They didn't seem so different after that.
And as Alisson, Klopp, and the rest of the team would notice, there were only more things to notice.
*
"Truth or dare!" Milner pointed to Alisson from the other side of the table. "Which one will you pick?"
Alisson hesitated at the word dare. "Truth."
"What color are your eyes?"
Relatively safe question. "Well...they're not the same color all the time. Sometimes they're light brown or gray, but they're mainly greenish-blue--"
"Hold up!" Milner exclaimed. "Did you say blue?"
"Yeah, why?"
Milner rolled his eyes, slamming his head against the table. "The gaffer's eyes are blue, too. Sometimes they're gray as well. I swear you two share an ancestor or something."
Alisson didn't know what to say to that. Sure, he and Klopp had things in common, but suggesting that they were related? It gave him an odd feeling. "Shendo has blue eyes."
"Well, duh. But he couldn't be related to the boss," Robertson piped up.
"Why?" It was the second time Alisson had asked that in less than a minute, and part of him felt self-conscious for it.
"He wouldn't be this small," Robertson announced proudly, failing to dodge the rolled-up sock Henderson threw at him. "And come on, he's a rather lanky lad to be related to the boss. Not like you—"
"And that's enough!" Thankfully, Henderson seemed to notice Alisson's discomfort. He spun the bottle again, and Milner tipped it to point to Robertson.
That night, blue eyes of every shade imaginable starred Alisson's dreams. What was even stranger was that when he woke up the next morning, Milner’s words replayed in his head. I swear you two share an ancestor or something.
They probably didn’t share an ancestor. But the strange feeling Alisson had the night before was now gone, replaced with an even stranger thought.
I wish we were related.
*
“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you.” The lyrics couldn't seem more ironic; as did the song, considering the number of times Alisson had been rick-rolled. Yet he strummed the guitar's strings, each chord more unusually melancholic than the last. “Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.”
"Ali!” The porch door opened and closed, and suddenly there were two people on the veranda: Alisson and Klopp. “ Oh mein Gott, I finally found you. Are you cold out here? It is March.”
Alisson shook his head, gently cradling the guitar as if it were a baby. “No, not cold. I kind of just want to…” He trailed off, unsure how to say what he wanted without hurting Klopp.
“Be alone? I get it.” Klopp laid a gentle hand on Alisson’s shoulder, staring into the night sky. A drone flew by, flashing brighter than any of the stars around it. “Things like these can make one not themselves. I barely talked to anyone when…”
Alisson knew what Klopp meant without him saying it—and that wasn’t just down to the telepathic connection that the two had developed over the years. Personal tragedy had struck Klopp as well that year, something that Alisson didn’t find out until two weeks after it had happened. The German became more withdrawn and quiet over the past couple of months; and the losses certainly didn’t help, with the whole team under mass scrutiny. That included Klopp himself, of course, with everything down to his importance in the club questioned and weighed by the ever-judgmental media.
Thinking back on it, Alisson realized that the dates coincided with the day things had started going downhill—the 0-1 home loss to Burnley. Naturally, he’d blamed himself for conceding the penalty, although it was rather soft; and upon hearing the news, he cursed the fact that he couldn’t even bring Klopp the meager relief of a point gained. Of course, Klopp told Alisson that it wasn’t entirely his fault, even though he could’ve easily agreed with him.
“Actually…I don’t really want to be alone anymore.” Alisson turned to Klopp, who was still stargazing. He caught a glimpse of the older man’s eyes: clear, bright sky blue overshadowed with a misty gray. “You can stay if you like. Or we could go inside—”
“Are you kidding me, Ali? It’s a wonderful night.” Klopp ran his fingers over Alisson’s guitar, marveling at the painstakingly applied wood stain. “Now if I remember, you were playing that Rick Astley song that people like to prank each other with these days.”
Alisson smirked at his boss’s breakdown of the song. “I guess I can keep playing if you want.”
“I’d love that.”
Alisson struck the first chord of the chorus softly yet strongly, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “ Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you …”
*
The first time Alisson called Klopp “Dad” , he even shocked himself. He’d not intended to say it, but after a bad game where nothing had gone Liverwool’s way, it had just slipped out.
“Take a shower.” Klopp pointed Alisson in the direction of the showers, yet still held his hand as if protecting him against the West Ham fans. “And no matter what those ref idiots say, I still think those guys pushed you. So it’s not entirely your fault, okay? We win as a team and we lose as a team.”
Alisson nodded, leaning into Klopp’s shoulder. They hadn’t lost since March, and losing to West Ham definitely wasn’t on the agenda. Even though Alisson knew that Klopp had everybody’s backs no matter the result, it felt good to hear it again, like a mantra. “Okay, dad.”
He froze as soon as the words were out, and his hand flew to his mouth. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I mean, I don’t want to upset you.”
“Ali.” Klopp took both of Alisson’s hands in his own, squeezing them tightly. “You don’t need to worry, I’m not offended or anything. Some of the others call me that from time to time as well, it’s okay .”
Alisson released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders relaxing in relief. He’d heard his teammates call Klopp dad a few times, but he’d always thought they were joking. Thinking back on it though, he did remember a few times where it sounded more serious than jesting, especially with the youngsters like Alexander-Arnold or Elliott.
“ Pai was really special to me, and nobody could ever replace him.” Alisson made eye contact with Klopp, smiling at the familiar sky blue. “But you’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to getting a second chance.”
Klopp was speechless for a bit, but his eyes shimmered with what one could only describe as pure emotion. “So…will it still be boss, or…”
“Boss, for sure. I don’t think I can call you dad 24/7 like that.” Alisson pulled off Klopp’s hat and ruffled his hair, much to Klopp’s surprise. “But we’re definitely that close.”
With that, he skipped away towards the showers, feeling stranger yet lighter than he had in months.
*
Alisson cast his line into the water for the fifth time that hour, sighing in frustration. It had been Klopp’s idea for the two of them to go fishing together, but the bites had been rather slow and they hadn't caught a single fish yet.
“You've got a really practiced hand Ali, I'll tell you that much." Klopp wasn't having much luck, either. The German had already managed to ensnare himself in the fishing line three times, and was currently busy untangling himself from the fourth time. “I’ll bet it’s only my clumsiness scaring the fish away.”
“Oh, cale-se!” Alisson threaded a hook onto Klopp’s line, tying it securely. Even though Klopp could probably do it himself, something in Alisson didn’t trust Klopp with a sharp little fish hook. He could only identify that something as protectiveness.
“Your clumsiness should actually make the fish want to come closer. I mean, the more skilled a fisher looks, the more likely that they’ll catch something with those skills. And I hate to say it, but you don’t exactly look all that skilled now,” Alisson teased, casting the line in the water. “So thanks for the help, boss!”
Klopp rolled his eyes, playfully elbowing Alisson. “And to think that at first, we thought we had nothing in common.”