Work Text:
“How about this to start off? ‘It’s been a long while since I saw you’—”
“He knows that,” Klopp snapped. "And that sounds too impersonal.”
Klopp didn’t know why he’d let the staff help him write a letter. He’d written letters before, so it wasn’t like he was unable. But for some reason, this particular letter had tortured Klopp. For twenty minutes straight he’d stared at the empty piece of cream stationery in front of him, unsure what to put down on it.
Klopp couldn’t mess this letter up, or even write something and decide against it later. This was good stationery, one that Klopp had kept in his desk for a long time. He’d waited for a special occasion to use it, and if this wasn’t a special occasion then Klopp would wave a Regio Madrid banner on top of Camp Nou.
Klopp didn’t want to do that, because he liked to live a peaceful, injury-free life. Not that his job made it possible, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Earth to the boss!” Krawietz called out. “When we said that we’d help you with your letter, we expected you to come up with something, too.”
Klopp shook his head, trying to clear out the million thoughts swarming his mind like cotton. “Oh, right. Sorry, Pete, I was getting off-topic again.”
Taffarel frowned, resting a hand on Klopp’s shoulder. The goalkeeping coach was two years older than Klopp, yet the two always interacted like they were agemates. Right now, there was something different in Taffarel’s gaze, something protective and concerned. “You weren’t even speaking. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m great. Let’s get this done! Letter writing, take five!” Klopp turned to the five behind him, dramatically holding his pen in the air. “Any ideas?”
“Luckily for us, I’ve prepared many sample letters to choose from.” Kornmayer cleared his throat, unrolling a scroll that went from the end of the office to the doorway and further out. “Okay, what about this? 'It's been far too long since we met.’”
"Too bland!" Lijnders piped up. "It should sound like this: ‘I miss you. I miss every inch of you. I miss you like crazy, I miss you like crazy baby —”
"Too sappy!" Kornmayer exclaimed. "What about ‘please come soon’?”
"Too desperate!" Achteberg insisted. "What about—"
"Stop, all of you!"
Everybody paused their fighting to stare at Klopp. The German clutched his head, covering his ears, until the staff were completely quiet.
"Please, stop fighting. None of your suggestions work, and here's the reason why. The reason none of your suggestions work is that this isn't any ordinary letter."
"It isn't?" Lijnders glanced at the still-empty paper on the desk that had started all this chaos. "Then what kind of letter is it? A will?"
"Wish it was that easy." Klopp tried to twirl his pen between his fingers, but it fell to the desk almost immediately. "I've not written to Zel for years. I tried after he left, but he just sent back the unopened envelope with a note. I sent him his favorite coffee and his favorite set of ballpoint pens, I even sent him that ridiculous hat he got from the tourist shop in Norway! I don't care if I look ridiculous, sentimental, and desperate, because that's what I am now."
Everybody exchanged glances, not knowing what to say. Until Lijnders found out what to say.
"You should write what you just said."
"But what about your advice?"
Lijnders simply shrugged, handing Klopp the pen. "I was wrong. Hate to admit it, but some things have to be done alone."
"But what about the letter? I can't mess this up!" Klopp watched as almost all his staff left the room.
"Listen, kid." Taffarel sat at the desk next to Klopp, holding two cups of coffee. "You've got a heart as big as that trophy cabinet of yours. You knew Zeljko for twenty-six years, so your heart must know how to speak to him."
"But it's been so long...I don't know how to start."
"Write the first thing that comes to mind," Taffarel advised him. "You'll see that the rest will be as easy as if he was right in front of you."
*
Please hear me out. Please don't send this letter back to me unopened like you always do nowadays. I'm not writing this because I'm right or because I'm wrong. I've run out of ideas to reach out to you.
I sent you letters, but you just returned them unopened. I sent you ornaments on Christmas, but I'm never sure if you got them. I give you your favorite things every year on your birthday. Yes, I still remember your birthday. September 13, 1961. I remember that your half-birthday is March 13 and that you like all bagels except the ones with sesame paste in the middle. You hate rain, just like me, but you love the wind. You'd dance in your seat whether you heard Bad or Sir Duke, and then I'd catch you and you'd try to pretend that nothing happened. We'd end up dancing anyway because that was just how we were.
To our players, we were a couple of old weirdos. But we were also a loving and secure base. You were a secure base for me, the older brother I never had. We argue sometimes, but that's a sign of a good relationship. Right? I can't tell. I'm lost without you reminding me what’s a good relationship and what’s toxic behavior.
The reason I didn't talk about you when we won the title is because I was already emotional. If I mentioned your name, I would've just lost it. I wish I'd told you that earlier. That was my fault, like a whole lot of things.
If you were here, you wouldn't tell me I'm rambling. You’d listen before launching into a passionate argument about why rain and bagels filled with sesame paste should’ve never been invented, and I’d just laugh because you’re always so funny. But since you're not here, I guess I’ll just have to settle for talking to the owl. It's not exactly dull without you, because there's all the boys and the staff, but none of them can replace you.
I miss...too many things to say. I miss your energy and enthusiasm and the way you make me feel when I’m around you. I miss your hugs and laughter, and the way you always know what to say to make me feel better. I just miss you, and I wish you were here. I still get days where I sit by the sycamore tree we raised together, thinking about you. It still makes me upset to remember how good things were before our argument, before you left our dreams and ambitions behind without so much as a goodbye. For the next three days, I could barely sleep, eat or work. The boys tried to cheer me up, but nothing worked.
Anyways, you don’t have to respond to this. But at least think about it for a couple of minutes. I won’t even remind you of the time you got your butt stuck in a traffic cone. Oops, I just did. Ha ha ha, yeah, that was a real cone-undrum! Okay, enough with the bad dad jokes. Let me finish this letter before it gets too big for the envelope.