It's not your fault, Ali. Yes, it was his fault today. They'd conceded four goals, and his positioning had been more than off.

The goalkeeper is the last line of defense. That one made him scoff with a foreign bitterness. The way the defense was, one would be forgiven for thinking that there wasn't a defense at all. With Alexander-Arnold switching to midfield, Robertson struggled to adjust his position to a more defense-minded fullback. When Konate wasn't playing, that left Van Dijk at the center of everything.

We win as a team and we lose as a team. Oh, really? The defense certainly hadn't played like a team. Alexander-Arnold, the new vice-captain, was caught between midfield and defense. Matip had tried, bless him, but his legs were just too slow. Tsimikas hadn't jumped for the third goal, and Van Dijk hadn't even been present for most of the chances.

It annoyed Alisson to know that Van Dijk would be the first one to try and comfort him, despite the fact that he had hardly done anything to help. Alisson had a very soft spot for Van Dijk, but the Dutchman had a tendency for not admitting when he was wrong. Alisson had learned to accept Van Dijk's nature, but this time, he was not in the mood for it. He wanted someone who could truly understand his situation and not simply offer empty words of comfort.

That was why after the match, Alisson gathered his one bag and lucky pair of gloves and walked out of the dressing room without a word. They would hardly miss him for a couple of hours.

Then he bumped into Van Dijk. Exactly the person he was trying to avoid.

"Where are you going?" Van Dijk wore his signature cologne and smirk. His hair was damp—strong evidence that he'd just come out of the shower--and his coffee-colored eyes held warmth yet coolness at the same time.

No. NO. Alisson shook his head briskly with a stifled groan. If he kept gazing into Van Dijk's eyes, his heart would forgive Van Dijk and he'd be back at square one. Forgiveness hadn't got him anywhere.

He mustered all his self-control, tied together his heart, and stared Van Dijk square in the face. “I don't want to talk about it.”

It sounded alien, coming from him. But there has always been a point in time where anyone grows tired of forgiving and forgetting, and grows bitter. And after five years, Alisson had reached that point.

Alisson sighed, looking off into the distance. A voice deep inside him yelled that it was wrong, but for now, he was content to stew in his bitterness. "I don't want to talk about it, Victor. I'm going for a walk outside the stadium.”

Van Dijk hummed, taking Alisson's hand in his own. They were criminally soft and were still scented like the cocoa butter in his hair. "Mind if I join you?"

"I said I'm going for a walk outside the stadium."

For once, Van Dijk seemed to get the point. He didn't offer to join Alisson again, but he held his hand tighter, stroking his knuckles gently.

“This isn't like you. It's not even you. What happened? If it’s one of those haters, I’m going after them with a rake.”

Alisson's expression hardened. If Van Dijk kept doing this, he would break down and confess everything. And he did not want to burst Van Dijk's bubble.

Alisson could never forget when Pickford fouled Van Dijk in 2021. He’d gone to see Van Dijk as soon as the halftime whistle blew, finding him on a medical treatment bed. The Dutchman had been diagnosed with a ruptured ACL that would keep him out for the entire season and potentially the following summer. It was one of the only times he’d ever seen Van Dijk cry.

 “I don’t want to talk about it.” That wasn’t entirely true. Alisson wanted nothing better than to give Van Dijk a piece of his mind; but not at the cost of hurting his feelings. That would hurt even more than the four goals they'd conceded today.

Still, Van Dijk didn't quit. " Mijn jade, I know you want to talk about it. Why won't you, huh?”

He stroked his cheek. Oh God. Van Dijk was pulling out every trick in the book: the gentle affection, the Dutch nicknames, the soft huh that sounded like it was recorded in a pillow factory.

Slowly, Alisson felt the bitterness fade away, replaced by an all-too-familiar warm feeling. The one that meant he was succumbing to Van Dijk's actions.

He now felt like a child, a child who’d got lost in a store by wandering off when he shouldn’t have. He often felt like a child, but it was the first time that he’d felt this particular emotion before. Guilt...and something else.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, alright?” Alisson felt a warm hand on his shoulder. One warm hand became an arm, holding him in place. He hadn’t even realized he was walking away. “What did I say?”

“What did you say? Oh, really good question!” Alisson whirled around, stabbing a finger in Van Dijk's shocked face. “You say that the defense needs to help their keeper, when you weren’t even there today. You say that it’s not my fault, when I can count out at least four errors that I made on average, per game.”

“Four? That’s way too much, Ali!” Van Dijk exclaimed. He seemed confused, but not hurt. “Where did you even get that number from?”

“Taffa. He was a keeper too, he wouldn’t lie to me.” The last part was full of vitriol, and Alisson had to swallow back the bile he could feel rising in his throat. “Why do you lie to me, Victor?”

"I don't lie to you! I love you." Van Dijk ran his hand through Alisson's hair, flinching when Alisson pushed his hand away. "You're mijn jade, mijn keeper . You're the shining jade of the Selecao, the caramel of my eye. You're the best keeper in all the Premier League."

"No, I'm not. Ederson's better with his feet, David's cooler under pressure, and Keylor is faster and more accurate. Andre commands his defense better, and Marcelo doesn't have anxiety like I do. I'm not the best keeper." Alisson looked away, his voice barely a whisper. "I check my stats, you know. I'm not dumb. If it was up to what you say, I'd have won everything by now. I'm an okay keeper, but I'm nowhere near the best. And it hurts for you to keep telling me I'm the best, when I'm clearly not."

" Knuffelbeer ." Van Dijk smiled sadly and pulled Alisson into a tight hug. "I...I don't know what to say. I haven't been helping you all this time, have I?

"Well...it feels nice at first," Alisson admitted. "But then it doesn't help in the team meeting, when we rewatch the highlights and I see everything I did wrong."

"Hate to admit it, but I've never been very good with words." Van Dijk pulled away from Alisson, but still stuck next to him like glue. "What would help you?"

"I...don't know?"

“Be honest.”

Honest . Alisson took a deep breath, wringing his hands together. "I want you to be honest. Tell me when I make a mistake, even if it hurts. It'll hurt less later.”

"Then I'll do that. And I'll never let you forget when you did something right, either. Being honest doesn't mean you have to stop being kind." Van Dijk extended his hand towards Alisson. "So, are we good?”

Instead of shaking his hand, Alisson launched upon Van Dijk in a bear hug. “I never want to feel bitter about you again. Let’s walk, together?”

Van Dijk's smile was as warm as melted butter. “If I said no, I wouldn’t be honest.”

He took Alisson's hand, and the two started walking towards the exit. Van Dijk hummed softly under his breath.

“O Fortuna, velut luna, statu variabilis. Semper crescis, aut decrescis; vita detestabilis.”

Alisson burst into laughter at hearing Van Dijk chant as if he was in the Vatican. “Since when do you know Latin?”

Van Dijk smirked, leaning on Alisson's shoulder. He still smelled like cocoa butter and Gucci perfume. “I’m a man with many talents.”