Work Text:
Mac Allister set his bags down in his new room, sighing in satisfaction. The train ride to Merseyside had been long and exhausting, and he didn't even have the energy to unpack. Right now, all he wanted to do was collapse onto the bare mattress and fall asleep. But first, he had to inspect the room he was in.
Right now his roommate, Luis Diaz, was nowhere to be seen. That left Mac Allister with plenty of time to search for clues about his new teammate's personality.
He opened the closet door and was greeted by a variety of colorful objects, some of them instruments. Mac Allister internally groaned; the fact that Diaz had a tambourine and maracas in his closet signaled potential random, late-night jam sessions. His suspicions were only confirmed when he saw a picture of Elliott on the wall, framed in a gold frame and captioned, "#1 Amigo".
No, this would not do at all. Mac Allister sighed, hoisting his backpack off the ground and trudging out of the room. If he and Diaz would be sharing a room together, there was a one-hundred percent chance that Elliott would pop into the room and randomly wake Mac Allister up at some point. And that was not something he was looking forward to.
I need to find a different room.
*
Mac Allister walked through the halls, glancing at the doors as he passed by. Some were colorful, some were plain, and others just had weird titles such as " The Concrete Amazon Rainforest" or "Death by Rap". Eventually he found a normal-sounding door: "Calm As You Like."
Slowly, Mac Allister opened the door. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he realized that the room was nothing more than a standard bedroom--although with all the neutrals on one side, it was pretty bland.
"Well, hello you!"
Mac Allister nearly jumped out of his sneakers. He relaxed upon seeing a familiar tall figure walk out of what he supposed was a bathroom. But he couldn't even make out who it was until they spoke.
"Virgil van Dries, calm as you like." Tall and talkative to the press as he was, Van Dijk didn't seem all that threatening up close. Even more surprising, he wasn't wearing his man-bun.
"I thought you were born with your man-bun," Mac Allister said in awe before he could stop himself. "You wash it?"
Van Dijk did seem rather surprised at that, but it all disappeared in about half a second. "Well, of course. This is my natural hair, I just washed it. What are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping with Lucho, Alexander."
"I'm Alexis. I chose not to, I don't want Harvey waking me up at devil o'clock with Carnival music." Mac Allister froze, realizing that he'd just dumped at least three backpacks onto what he supposed was Van Dijk's bed. "Is it quieter in your room?”
“I'm pretty quiet. You have to be careful of Joel though, he could wake up a mountain with his tossing and turning." Van Dijk gestured towards the two beds, one of which was a double bed. "But you're welcome to stay if you want."
With that, Van Dijk disappeared back into the bathroom, adjusting a fluffy towel around his hair. Mac Allister said nothing about it. He climbed into the double bed and tunneled into the covers, until only his head stuck out. He now resembled a tiny burrito--and he loved it that way. His burrito-like form was a form of comfort and security, allowing him to withdraw from the world and make sense of the chaos in his own little cocoon.
He was just about to drift off to sleep, when a loud whoosh completely ruined the peace and quiet. Mac Allister was ready to dial 911, when his sleepy brain woke up and realized the sound was coming from the bathroom.
"Virgil, may I kindly ask you what that is?"
Van Dijk stuck his head out of the bathroom. His previously limp and stringy hair now stood out three inches from his head, fluffy and long. "Oh, that's just my hairdryer. Did you know that the average head of hair can absorb about a third of the water it comes in contact with?"
“Then you'd better put your man-bun in the Sahara, because I'm not a fan." With that, Mac Allister threw the blanket over his head, settling back into his cocoon. “Could you do that quietly?”
Van Dijk slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Mac Allister lay there for a couple of minutes, staring up at the ceiling, before another sound joined the foray: shoop, shoop.
Mac Allister groaned in annoyance, burying his head in the pillow. "What is that?”
"Oh, just my hair gel!" Van Dijk stuck a hand out of the bathroom, displaying some kind of black paste in his palm. "It's the most excellent hair gel around. I'm telling you, it will keep your hair looking great all day. But that's not the only thing I use! There's cocoa butter, and aloe vera, and—”
Mac Allister released a loud, over-exaggerated fake snore in the hopes of driving Van Dijk away. It worked, and soon the bathroom door was closed once again.
Until a spritzing sound as loud as a fire hose broke the silence.
"What the hell , Virgil?!" This time Mac Allister hopped out of bed, cocoon and all, and inched towards the door like a mummified snail, head-butting the door open. "Could you keep it down?! Some of us are trying to sleep here and here you are, spritzing your little bottle of perfume! I can smell it from here and I'm not even in the same room as you.”
"This is not just any perfume." Van Dijk held up the bottle he'd been dousing into his man-bun, displaying the gleaming black label. "It's Gucci No. 1, the oldest Gucci perfume still in production. It's been around since 1974, and it's still as iconic as ever.”
“And you are iconically annoying! I'm out of here." Mac Allister pried himself out of the heap of blankets, stuffing them into his backpack before dragging his things out of the bedroom. "If you're quiet, I don't want to see Joel. I'm going to find a different room.”
Van Dijk waved him off, continuing to spritz the perfume over his neck. “If you ever want to borrow some Gucci perfume, just ask.”
*
After Mac Allister's experience with Van Dijk's serene-looking yet endlessly annoying bedroom, he decided to look for something that was the exact opposite of that. That was how he ended up in a room that said, Os Três Brasileiros . The room looked more like three different pieces from three different rooms, chaotically yet harmoniously put together.
The left third of the room was a bright canary yellow, while the middle was a softer yet still as intense hunter green. The right side was a vibrant electric blue. Yet all three thirds were united by a common theme: pictures hung in every existential direction. There was even one on the roof--how it got there, Mac Allister would never know.
As he took a closer look at the pictures, Mac Allister started to notice a pattern. There were multiple people represented there, but one of those pictures betrayed the owners of the room. Mac Allister facepalmed in disgust when the answer finally came to him. It was immediately clear that the room belonged to Firmino, Alisson and Fabinho.
A thought flickered across Mac Allister's mind, one that he would've much rather not have thunk in the first place. This room seemed like a good place to stay; it was warm and peaceful and sanctuary-like, despite the vibrant tri-tone palate that screamed Argentina's arch-enemies, Brazil.
The bed in the middle was covered in many colorful throw pillows, some of which resembled very round, plump stuffed animals. Mac Allister remembered hearing something from Lallana about someone who couldn't go three hours without hugging someone, but for the life of him he couldn't remember who it was. He was about to text Lallana and ask who it was, when he noticed how comfortable the bed looked. He felt himself drawn to it, and before he knew it, he was lying down in the middle of the bed, surrounded by colorful pillows.
His tired gaze migrated to the roof, only able to make out colors due to how fuzzy his vision was when he got tired. White, white, white--until a splash of color caught his attention. It was a poster, with Fabinho's skinny frame on it.
Fabinho's Instant Weight-Gain Diet! Gain that weight and keep it on. Guaranteed to work.
Good luck with that . Mac Allister begrudgingly hauled himself off the bed, leaving the room as quickly as he could. Fabinho had the capability to do many things, but a weight-gain diet? Mac Allister swore that Fabinho couldn't gain a gram of weight if he tried.
This team is insane.
*
From then on, Mac Allister made a concerted effort to avoid any rooms that had annoying beauty products or unbelievable posters. Near the end of the hall, he encountered a door painted half blue, half red, labeled Kosthiago .
This time, Mac Allister didn't bother to bring his bags along. He dumped everything outside the door and barged in, flopping down on the nearest pillow. Then he screamed as he realized that "pillow" was actually a stuffed catfish.
"QUE DIABOS?"
"Yo man! Welcome to the club!"
Mac Allister could only stare with a gaping mouth as a man, slightly taller than him, walked into the room. He had a man-bun that looked like it had been glued to his head, and he was wearing the most abominable shorts imaginable. The shorts were bright blue and covered in yellow polka dots. Mac Allister had to cover his eyes in second-hand embarrassment--he had never seen any get-up so outrageous before.
The man, oblivious to Mac Allister's shocked stare, grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. "The name's Kostas Tsimikas, dude. And you're Alexis, right?"
"What happened to your shorts?!" Mac Allister didn't care if his mother would drag him by the ear for saying something like that. He didn't care if it made a bad first impression, it was absolutely true.
Tsimikas shrugged, fingering the fabric of his shorts. "I dyed them myself. What do you think?"
"Horrendous. How much do I pay you to burn them?"
Tsimikas didn't seem offended. He sat on the bed next to Mac Allister, taking a picture down from the shelf above the double bed. "I share this room with Thiago. That's why we have that label on the room. And Stefan's our kind of nephew slash little brother."
Mac Allister stared at Tsimikas, trying to appear as deadpan. "So when you and Thiago get married, will Stefan be the flower boy?"
Tsimikas choked on his ginger ale at that statement. "Jesus Christ, Alexis! We're just friends, we're not in love or anything!"
"Moving on." Mac Allister gestured around the room. It was painted a soft shade of sky blue, and the window let in a lot of light. "Did you make your room look like a Greek resort on purpose?"
"This is Thiago and I's chill spot, man. That's why Ioanna is chilling here as well." Tsimikas held up the giant plush catfish, waving one of its fins in the air. "Say, you want to see something real slay?”
Mac Allister rolled his eyes, pushing the catfish plushie away from him. "I would, if I knew what you were talking about."
Tsimikas led Mac Allister by the hand, taking him out of the room and through the halls. They stopped at a white door with multiple music notes, labeled. Zen Spot.
Tsimikas pushed open the door. Inside was a turntable, along with a collection of vinyl records and a set of headphones. Many notebooks littered the desk, and there was a giant whiteboard on one wall.
"Whoa." Mac Allister picked up a vinyl record, admiring the artwork on the cover. "What the heck is this place?"
"It's my studio!" Tsimikas exclaimed. He plonked himself into the rolling chair, rolling around the room. "I always thought that if I wasn't a footballer, a fashion designer, or a hairstylist, I would be a pro DJ. I've even written some of my own songs."
Mac Allister raised an eyebrow at the last part. Lallana had warned him that Tsimikas was notorious for writing rather...questionable rap songs. "Are they football-based?”
"Some of them are. But others are about my everyday life as Plato Da God."
"I'm so sorry, I don't speak insane rapper names."
Tsimikas said nothing, dragging Mac Allister to another door inside the room. He opened it to reveal a massive horde of random stuff, chaotic and disorganized. It looked like somebody had lifted a portion of a landfill and deposited it in the room.
Mac Allister was aghast. He looked at Tsimikas, who simply shrugged. "Welcome to my lab. All these random objects give me ideas for my rap songs. I need a better name for this place than 'lab', though.”
Mac Allister glanced around the place, scowling when a stack of Campbell's soup cans tumbled down with a clatter. They landed in half of a cracked porcelain bathtub, upsetting a box of yellow rubber duckies. He scowled even more when he noticed a frog flopping away from the soup cans, its beady eyes glaring at him in accusation.
"Eh, I don't know. Does 'dumpster fire' sound good to you?"
*
Luis Diaz walked into the blank white bedroom, surveilling it. Most of the others had already started setting up and decorating their own bedrooms. He had been waiting for Mac Allister to arrive so they could set theirs up together.
I wonder what he likes, Diaz thought, staring out the window. A pair of birds sat on the windowsill, He smiled and opened the window, letting the birds in. He watched them as they perched on the furniture, enjoying the freedom of the room, until they settled on a lump in his bed.
As soon as he saw the lump, Diaz knew what it was. He gently pulled down the blue Argentina throw blanket, revealing Mac Allister. Their newly acquired player was curled up in a ball, fast asleep in Diaz's bed. He looked like a tiny hedgehog that way, his gingery-brown hair sticking up in all directions.
"He likes the room, doesn't he?" Somehow, Klopp had randomly manifested outside the room door, watching the scene inside. "Better not wake him up, he looks so cozy."
Diaz smiled, joining his coach at the door. " Si , I'm glad he settled in so easily. Doesn't look like he had any trouble deciding which room he wanted to sleep in."
Klopp nodded, turning to walk away from the room. He would've been just fine if he hadn't tripped over a giant cardboard box marked Lucho's Diabolical Instruments, along with a note written in blue and silver glitter pen.
"Um, Lucho? You might want to read this."
I looked around some of the other bedrooms, and ultimately decided on this one since it was the least weird one. I took the instruments out of the closet because I don't want to be woken up by the Harvey Elliott Serenade at three-sixteen in the morning. Besides all that, I’m very glad to be here ☺️
Your newest player,
Alexis
P.S.: Could you tell Ali that his pillow collection is amazing? I think that’s his bed with all the stuff in the Brazilians’ room. Also, tell Kostas to clean his room.