Work Text:
June 8, 2023
I'm honestly too old to keep writing in this diary. I've been writing since I was sixteen and most of my entries are from when I was still a teenager. I'm twenty-four now, and I'm still jotting down stuff in it. Hendo gave this to me, and I still haven't finished it.
On the subject of Hendo...I don't know about him. Besides Andy and Curtis, Hendo is my best friend and favorite person here. He's like an older brother to me and always has my back. When I came, he was always willing to listen and offer advice. I knew that he'd always be there for me when I needed him.
But lately, Hendo hasn't been around much. He's always got a shoe deal or a branding gig that takes him away for hours, and he doesn't have time to write our plans, or fix our stuff, or even be there for us like he used to be. It's like his own personal career and fame are more important to him than the team or even me. I just miss him being his old self. He's never around for the important stuff anymore. He's either off working on his own projects or busy doing interviews. It's like he's forgotten all about us.
I've been having problems with my position and defending since the start of last season. But every time I try to talk to Hendo about it, he barely seems to notice how I'm feeling or even try to do anything about it. It's like he doesn't even care about me anymore. And with Milly leaving and Adam already gone, it's like all my big-brother figures are going away.
Alexander-Arnold closed the moleskine notebook and sighed. He knew he had to find a way to talk to Henderson about how he felt, but it seemed like it would just be a waste of time. He knew that people switched clubs and his teammates would eventually leave, but he couldn't help the feelings that surfaced when he looked at his first picture with the club, comparing it to the latest one. The teammates that were leaving had been there ever since he was a teenager, or came shortly after his arrival at Liverpool, and the sense of emptiness that was slowly creeping in was almost impossible to ignore.
It was especially strong now, since Henderson would be the only reminder of the "Three Musketeers", which had consisted of him, Lallana and Milner. That group had been like Alexander-Arnold's wayfinders in life. And now, with two gone and one almost never around anymore, Alexander-Arnold felt like he had been abandoned.
At least Robertson was there. The Scotsman, four years Alexander-Arnold's senior, felt like an age mate with his playful and fiery personality and never-ending banter. They were like twins, miserable if separated from each other and perpetrators of chaos within the training ground. It was all in good fun, though--until one of them had the audacity to suggest a game of rock-paper-scissors. Then it was war.
For now, though, Alexander-Arnold didn't want Robertson's goofy personality and infection grin. He wanted Henderson's calm, steady personality, his loud commander's voice barking out orders to the rest of the squad. He wanted his strong, sturdy hand, running through his hair and massaging his aching head.
I want my Hendo back.
*
Henderson opened the door to Robertson and Alexander-Arnold's new room together. When Klopp had announced that the Liverpudlians would be divided into groups of two or three per room instead of sleeping in one place, Robertson and Alexander-Arnold had jumped for joy, begging to be placed together. Klopp had obliged, and now the two were setting up their room before departing for Scotland and England camps, respectively.
Henderson glanced at Alexander-Arnold's side of the room, where several old Liverpool posters adorned the walls. Alexander-Arnold had always been a fan of the Merseyside club, even before he'd joined. Henderson smiled at the sight--it gave the room a sense of familiarity and comfort.
He knew hadn't been the best captain for the team last season. He'd usually been away with some sort of shoe deal or bag deal, and wasn't mentally or emotionally there for his teammates as much as he should've been.
Now, partially due to Milner dragging him into the gym for a well-deserved rollicking, Henderson had come to a realization. He wanted to do way better next season. He would be a leader, a captain his teammates could look up to and depend on. He would be a glue that held the team together; the "skipper-boss", as his teammates used to call him. He wanted to get back in Klopp's most dependable ranks, especially now that Milner was leaving the club after all this time.
That was why Henderson was in the room. He wanted to personally apologize to every one of his teammates for his lack of emotional and mental presence, for his lack of focus on the team, and for the individual mistakes he made with each of them. Henderson knew he could rekindle his spot on the team--but first he had to make amends and show he was genuinely sorry.
At first, Henderson didn't know where to start. But with one glance at the squad photo from last year, he decided to apologize to Alexander-Arnold first. The young fullback thought of Henderson as a sort of father figure, which was rather comical considering the nine-year age difference between them. But several of Henderson’s teammates had told him about Alexander-Arnold’s struggles with the new emotional distance between them, and Henderson knew he had to make things right.
“Trentski?” Henderson’s gaze darted around the room, searching for Alexander-Arnold. A small smile of satisfaction crossed his face when he saw a mop of hair sticking out from under the deep red comforter on Alexander-Arnold’s side of the room. “We need to talk, laddie.”
*
When Alexander-Arnold heard the familiar nickname, something in him wanted to melt down, shrink until he was seventeen and had met the others for the first time. He wanted to be the baby of the team, Henderson's starboy.
His mind drifted back to the time when his hair was still short, yet curly. He would almost never be seen in the training ground without Robertson, Henderson, Milner, or Lallana present. If he wasn't with any of the four, everybody would drop what they were doing to search for him and make sure he was safe. They still did it, but there wasn't as much panic involved in the process now, because he was older and more mature.
At the time, Alexander-Arnold would complain about how they never let him do anything fun because they were overprotecting him. But deep down, he knew they were only looking out for him and it made him feel secure.
Henderson would especially keep an eye out for Alexander-Arnold. He would brush any lint out of his eyes first thing in the morning, and make sure he had an adequate breakfast before training started--as if Klopp didn't appear in the cafeteria each morning to make sure everyone had eaten something. During training, Henderson would watch Alexander-Arnold carefully to make sure he was doing the exercises correctly and not overexerting himself.
When Alexander-Arnold needed a haircut while the team was in preseason, Henderson had been the one to do it, even though he didn't know much about handling Alexander-Arnold's hair texture, which was vastly different from his own. In the end Henderson's efforts turned out pretty decent, and he was the one to give Alexander-Arnold's hair a trim whether they weren't at home.
If Henderson was protective of Alexander-Arnold most of the time, he was especially protective of him when he was upset. It didn't matter if it was personal frustration after a bad performance or fans hating on him, Henderson would always manage to locate Alexander-Arnold and make sure that he was okay. That process often involved a pep talk or ice cream, or it could be as simple as a hug or hair-ruffling.
The thing was, Henderson was always there whenever Alexander-Arnold needed him. But now with all the things he did, Henderson was rarely around to do those things anymore. He hardly found time to do the bare minimum anymore, and now that Milner and Lallana were gone, Alexander-Arnold felt more alone than ever.
Laddie wasn't his nickname now. Laddie was back in the time when he was still young, still sprouting. Laddie was when he was still Henderson's starboy.
*
Henderson had expected quite a few things when he saw Alexander-Arnold's hair sticking out over the side of the comforter. The sight of the youngster, curled up in a ball and clutching his head, was not one of them.
Henderson sighed and quietly approached the bed, standing by the chest of drawers. He could tell he was in pain, and that he'd been trying to hide it from Henderson for a long, long time. Before, Alexander-Arnold would've openly displayed signs of his discomfort, but now he was stoic and trying to be strong. He’d been trying to work through it alone, because Henderson was virtually unavailable nowadays.
Henderson felt a pang of guilt in his heart, realizing that he had let his teammates down more than he'd thought. He'd only wanted to take some attention off the team's struggles, to ease the burden on his friends by putting the media spotlight on himself. He hadn't realized that his actions had made them feel and do even worse.
"Laddie." Henderson gently pulled down the blanket, revealing Alexander-Arnold's full form. He was turned towards the wall, refusing to look Henderson in the eye.
Henderson knew he had to say something, but the words he wanted to say just wouldn't come out. Instead, he climbed onto the bed and pulled Alexander-Arnold into a tight embrace, running his hands through the younger man's hair. Alexander-Arnold didn't respond at first, but then he melted into Henderson's arms like he'd always done.
"Y-you're here," Alexander-Arnold whispered breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around Henderson's waist, as if afraid to let him go. "You're finally here."
“I should've always been here. Oh Trentski, I should've been here all along. You don't need to feel alone anymore.”
“My head hurts.”
Henderson swore he could've heard his heart split in two at the plaintive statement. "It won't anymore. I think you're suffering from a migraine."
Alexander-Arnold didn't even have the energy to joke about it. He let Henderson ease him into a reclining position, and watched as Henderson bustled around the room. Pillows were eased under his aching head, the blinds were drawn almost shut, and the sounds from outside the room were instantly hushed by the door.
Henderson finally sat back down, carefully taking out one of the ibuprofen pills that he always carried with him. He handed it to Alexander-Arnold, along with a bottle of water he'd found on the bedside. “Take this. It'll help.”
Alexander-Arnold eyed the ibuprofen as if it were an alien. He shook his head, handing it back to Henderson. “I don't want to.”
Henderson pursed his lips, staring at the tiny pill laying in the palm of his hand. Alexander-Arnold never liked medicine, even when he was sick. Henderson usually didn't like forcing Alexander-Arnold to take medicine, knowing that some things could be cured by good old time, but this was different. This was a migraine, and it clearly had been bothering Alexander-Arnold for at least two hours. It was time for a different tactic.
“Trent John Alexander-Arnold.” Henderson's voice was gentle yet stern. “I understand you don't like medicine very much, and that's fine. But right now you have a migraine, and you need to take this ibuprofen so you can feel better. Are we clear, lad?”
Alexander-Arnold grimaced before taking the pill and water from Henderson's hands. He swallowed the pill and took a deep breath, trying to relax.
Henderson smiled softly and patted his head. “Good. Now, I'll get you a nice warm blanket, and you're going to rest for a bit, okay?”
Alexander-Arnold barely nodded, leaning back into the pile of pillows and closing his eyes. "I missed you, skipper-boss.”
"I missed you too." Henderson smiled, brushing the hair from Alexander-Arnold's forehead. "It'll be alright now. I'm going to be fully here, no matter how many shoe deals I need to do."
Henderson knew the simple, basic action of taking care of Alexander-Arnold's migraine wouldn't be enough for the Scouser to completely forgive him, much less the whole team. But it was a step in the right direction towards being the team's smooth skipper-boss once again.