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“Watch me. Mirame.” Diaz hopped from one lighted area on the mat to another, humming to the music. He seemed completely lost in his own rhythm, and would’ve been if Mac Allister hadn’t coughed.
“Oh, sorry.” He gestured towards an identical mat, labeled Just Dance. “It’s easy. Just follow the steps on the screen, okay?”
Mac Allister tentatively stepped onto the mat, then nearly got a heart attack when “Waka Waka” began to play. He tried to match the steps shown on the screen, but failed miserably.
Diaz, on the other hand, danced to the music as if he’d done it since birth. He seemed to anticipate each move before it came up on the screen, keeping perfect time and balance.
By the end of the song, Mac Allister got off the mat as if it was lava. He’d been whooped by ten thousand points. If this was a UCL knockout, he would’ve been finished by minute twelve of the first leg.
“No te preocupes, don’t worry.” Diaz smiled at Mac Allister as if he hadn’t just eradicated his dancing dignity. “You’ll get used to it! Let’s try ‘Macarena; that’ll be simpler.”
“What do you eat , bro?” Mac Allister leaned against the sofa, slightly winded from his failed Just Dance attempt. “Were you born doing the meringue?”
As soon as the words came out, Mac Allister wanted to slap himself. He’d meant to say merengue, not meringue! It was the best way to embarrass himself in front of his new teammate.
“I know what you mean, don’t worry!” Thankfully, Diaz found the humor in his slipup. His eyes crinkled at the sides with amusement. “Say, what do you do for fun, Lexi?”
“Um…” He didn’t know how to answer that question. “I…keep snails?”
It was probably the lamest hobby in history. But instead of laughing at him, Diaz seemed genuinely interested.
“What do you name them?”
*
“ Senorita! Do the conga! Wait, no, that’s not it. Mamacita! Mamacita!”
Thiago glared at the Dutchman on the other side of the counter, grounding spices in a mortar. “That’s not even relevant to this situation! Remind me why I let you two help me out?”
“It’s as simple as body-checking Leandro Paredes to the ground. Well, at least if you’re Virg.” Gakpo cracked an egg into a tea saucer, passing it down the bar counter. “See, Virgil’s birthday was on the eighth. But since he was away and we all came back later, Ali and I wanted to make something for him."
Alisson nodded in agreement, pulling a bag of sugar from the cabinet. "Cody and I can both cook a little, but when it comes to baking we're hopeless. So since you can cook and Cody knows the recipe...that's why we're here."
Thiago muttered under his breath as he added the separated eggs to the bowl. "And can you kindly remind me of where you came into the plan, Ali?”
If Gakpo wasn't busy separating another egg, he would've planted his face into the counter. Alisson, whose anxiety had gradually subsided over the summer break, was taken aback by Thiago's statement. The midfielder had been snappish the whole day, and nobody could figure out why. Not even Tsimikas or Bajcetic could get through to him.
"Spices!" Gakpo announced loudly and over-cheerfully, dumping them into the bowl. He had to distract the two before somebody’s feelings got hurt.
"You idiot!" Thiago groaned, pulling his chef's hat over his eyes. "We're supposed to divide the batter and then add the spices!"
"We're going to leave one part of the cake unspiced?" Alisson shook his head, trying to prevent the flour from poofing all over the kitchen. "Weird. How are we going to layer it? Will we cut it in quarters?"
Thiago didn't remove his chef's hat from his eyes, banging his head on the cabinet. A half-closed bottle of lemon extract fell off the shelf and into the bowl of dry ingredients. The baking soda started to bubble. "We bake one-eight of the cake—”
"Oh, like a cupcake?”
“And then we add the other part of the batter! Did anybody teach you two how to cook?!”
“Well…except for a few cooking lessons from Muriel, not really.”
Thiago groaned loudly, dragging his hand down his face. “Don’t know if I told you Alisson, but you’re really not helping!”
Alisson rolled his eyes, diving to the left to catch a glass bottle of cloves before it smashed onto the ground. “I'm sorry, how much were you helping when Kostas nearly made a nuclear weapon out of a piece of toast?!”
“I swear your brother could burn water if left unattended!”
“Kostas already did!”
“Even Stefan could understand this recipe better!”
“Stefan’s rarely in the kitchen without eating something!”
“That’s because unlike some of us who can’t understand a damn recipe, I can actually cook!”
“Why don’t you treat this like the Spain squad and stay out of it?”
“Why don’t you treat this like the Brazil squad and hit the post?”
"Guys, stop!" Gakpo pointed to the cake mixer on the counter, which had a white, foamy substance spilling over the bowl and onto the counter. "We'll change the recipe just a bit. And look, the egg whites are foamy.”
"YOU DON'T SAY!" Thiago poured the dry ingredients into the wet ones, sniffing the bowl with a bemused expression. “Why is there LEMON in here?!”
Gakpo leaned against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. “Yo fault.”
*
“These are my snails.” Mac Allister opened the terrarium lid and pointed inside. “The two with brown shells are named Leo and Kun, and the greenish one is called Lautaro. They're my soul babies. I gave them all tattoos on their fourth birthday."
Diaz stared at the scene in front of him like it was a scene from a chaotic nightmare. When Mac Allister had told him that he owned three snails, Diaz had thought he was either bluffing or talking about fake snails. He had not expected giant real ones to live in his teammate’s room.
“You tattooed your snails?!"
"Did you think I was bluffing in the chat?" Mac Allister put out his hand in front of the snails. Very slowly, they crawled up onto his hand. "Here, you can hold Kun."
Diaz tried not to show his disgust as he let the snail— KUN— crawl onto his arm. He didn't like snails at all, but it was clear that Mac Allister felt less socially awkward when in their presence. Diaz gritted his teeth and forced a smile as Mac Allister gently placed the snail on his arm. He could feel its slimy trail against his skin and he had to fight to keep his composure.
Mac Allister grinned, feeding Lautaro a piece of limp lettuce. "How does it feel?”
How do you think it feels? “Simply fantastic. I can feel the slime invading my pores and messing with my sanity.”
"Want to feed Kun?" Mac Allister handed Diaz a piece of mushy apple. "Apple is his favorite."
Diaz took the apple and hesitantly held it out to Kun. The snail sniffed it before quickly snatching it away, devouring it in a few bites.
He glanced at Mac Allister, who was brushing the dirt off the shells of the other two snails. "You like them, don't you?"
Mac Allister nodded, letting the snails crawl back into their terrarium. "They're so quiet and unique. Don't you?"
No! I hate them. They feel like wet paper mache. But Diaz had more tact than that. So Diaz just let Kun crawl off his hand onto the dresser, knowing that he wouldn't go too far, and nodded mutely.
Thankfully, Mac Allister didn't seem to notice Diaz's hesitation. "I could talk about snails forever. It's too bad that they're a lame hobby, though.”
"Says who?" Diaz raised an eyebrow, momentarily forgetting about how weird the snail slime felt on his arm.
"Everyone else," Mac Allister said, shrugging. "Well, Adam, Solly and Kaoru never said anything bad, but everyone else loved to laugh at them. I was always the weirdo at Brighton. Nobody likes snails, not even you."
Diaz shook his head and pulled Mac Allister into a hug. The Argentine seemed surprised at the sudden contact, but soon he hugged back, burying his head into Diaz's shoulder.
"It doesn't matter if we have different interests. They have zero right to judge you like that." Diaz briefly let go of Mac Allister to wipe the slime off his arm with a paper towel. “I'm not a fan of snails, and you're not a fan of dancing. Doesn't prevent us from being teammates.”
Mac Allister sighed in relief, closing the terrarium lid. "I'm glad I'm out of there."
"Me too."
*
Gakpo poked his head around the doorway and was instantly met with the strong, distinctive scent of Van Dijk's favorite cologne. Van Dijk himself was laying flat on his bed, the exact image of imperfection. His hair wasn't out of its man-bun— sigh —but he wasn't measuring his breaths to be exactly the same length and his hand positions were asymmetrical.
When Gakpo told the others this, the responses were astonishing. Alisson asked Gakpo to repeat himself about ten times, Thiago nearly dropped the spice cake on its tray, and Tsimikas slid in from nowhere with his mouth wide open before Bajcetic grabbed him and dragged him away.
"Let's start from the beginning." Thiago stabilized the cake on a rolling food cart, taking a deep breath in. "Virgil's not wearing his Gucci perfume?!"
"His hair isn't gelled, either. It's like he stumbled out of the shower and fell asleep." Alisson quietly closed the door, turning back to the others. "I knew stress was getting to him, but I didn't expect it to be this serious. It's like somebody new has possessed his body."
"Damn right." Gakpo hip-checked the door open, grinning as it slammed into the wall with a loud thud. "I'm gonna go wake him up and give him a piece of my brilliant mind!"
"Cody!" Thiago ran after him. Alisson hid the spice cake inside a nearby closet and followed along. "This isn't the way to wake Virgil up."
"VIRGIL! WAKEY WAKEY!"
Van Dijk's eyes flew open. He scrambled to his feet, swaying from side to side as he tried to regain his balance. He gripped his head and fell back onto the bed, in what could only be classified as exhaustion. "Calm as you like, I'm totally fine!"
The three exchanged confused glances before Gakpo stepped forward, taking a seat on the bed. While Alisson had played with Van Dijk for five years, Gakpo had spent more time with Van Dijk in the Dutch camp . "Wat is er aan de hand, man-bun?"
"I'm fine," Van Dijk answered in English. He still looked pale, though, and his hands were shaking in a way that was opposite to the norm.
Gakpo didn't look convinced whatsoever. "Alsjeblieft, we kennen je allemaal. Waar denk je aan?"
Van Dijk didn't answer, but he turned his face to the wall. Gakpo scooted closer to him.
“Give us some space,” he said to the two players behind him. “Virg and I need to talk by ourselves.”
*
Alisson and Thiago waited outside the door, silent. They were still awkward from their kitchen argument earlier. In truth, what they were fighting over was rather petty, but the fact that they'd argued was strange in itself.
Neither wanted to open the can of worms they'd started in the kitchen. So they talked about the other obvious thing--Van Dijk.
"I don't remember the last time I've seen Virgil without his Gucci perfume," Thiago pointed out, breaking the awkward silence. "Not even when he got that injury that kept him out for a year. It's clear something's bothering him."
"The captaincy."
"Disculpe?"
"It's the captaincy. He never told me this, but he's scared to take over from Hendo." Alisson stared down at the floor. "It's the other reason why I suggested baking the spice cake. Despite what he tells us, Virgil has a sweet tooth as big as China."
For the first time since their argument, Thiago laughed. "I know he has a sweet tooth. Who do you think raids the caramels from the candy jar? That's why I poured caramel over the spekkoek ."
Alisson smiled, but only briefly. "I'm sorry. For...what I said earlier. I really put my foot in my mouth, starting with the Kostas comments. I should've read the recipe better."
"Hey, you aren't the only one here who owes an apology. I should have been more patient. It's just that..." Thiago sighed heavily, his brown eyes fixed on Alisson. "I know I'm injury-prone and that a new midfielder would help the team more. Barca wants me, but then I'm worried about leaving Kosti and Stefan here. I love this team, and I...I wish I was more helpful, you know? I've been drowning myself in cooking, getting everything to perfection, and I took that out on you.”
Alisson pulled Thiago closer to him. "You're not the only one who's taking things out on the other. Bobby told us he was leaving with three months to go, but now Flaco could leave as well. Now Marcinho's sharing a room with me, but...it just feels so different. He showed me what color he wanted to paint his side of our room, and it's this shade of hot pink that makes my eyes want to melt."
Despite himself, Thiago couldn't help but laugh. "It can't be that terrible! You've worn nearly every color of the rainbow while playing for us."
"Oh, I assure you, it's that bad." Alisson pulled a picture of Marcinho from his pocket. The young keeper swung from the top of the goalpost, trying to catch a seagull who'd stolen Robinson's nachos. "I've never dealt well with change, and Bobby and Flaco leaving are two big changes. If Marcinho leaves as well...I don't think I could take it. He has questionable taste in room decor, but he's all I have left."
Alisson put the picture back in his pocket, careful to preserve the smoothness of the photograph. "I guess I'm a little jealous of you, Thi. Kostas and Stefan are still here, and they aren't going anywhere."
"I could say the same for me. You're almost irreplaceable. You don't need to worry about leaving so the team can progress." Thiago held out his hand towards Alisson. "So...are we good?"
Instead of shaking Thiago's hand, Alisson hugged him tightly. "We're good. I'm glad that's over, even if Kostas did nearly create a bomb with the toaster."
"Even I can't disagree with that one." Thiago glanced around the hallway, eyes wide. "Where's the cake?"
Alisson opened the closet door next to them and wheeled out the cake. Covered under a glass dome, the caramel-drizzled spice cake glistened in the light. "It's here and it's intact. All we have to do now is wait for Cody to finish talking to Virgil."
"Aww, you two finally made up! I'm so proud, you know!" As if he'd heard them, Gakpo emerged from the room. Van Dijk followed him, looking more put together but calmer. "Let's eat!"
Van Dijk waved to both Alisson and Thiago. Whatever conversation he'd had with Gakpo seemed to have calmed him down considerably. When he saw the spekkoek under its glass dome, his eyes widened in amazement. "You three made this?"
Thiago stepped up, pushing the cake closer to Van Dijk. "We all did. It was Ali and Cody's idea, but I led the cooking. Do you like it?"
Van Dijk didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the three together into an uncharacteristically tight hug. "You three are...strange sometimes. But I'm lucky to have you."