Chapter Text
Mac Allister glanced at his watch, panicking. At the moment he stood in his dress trousers and socks, but shoeless. And Nunez was supposed to help him find the perfect shirt, but the Uruguayan was still in Mac Allister’s closet, tossing out shirts like ammunition.
“Darwin, it’s 7:52!”
“So?” Nunez poked his head out of the closet, holding up two white polos. “ Dios, do you have any other color polo than white?”
Mac Allister gasped when he saw his pristinely pressed polo shirts on the floor, cast aside by Nunez. “Martin’s coming in eight minutes!”
“I’m trying my best here! You only have white polos!”
“They were all I liked at the store!”
“Borrow a shirt from me, then!” Nunez held up a polo that looked more like a Uruguay jersey with a satisfied grin. “This will look good on you.”
“If good means like an elephant skin on a termite, then yeah.”
Knock! Knock, knock!
Nunez’s expression morphed from one of triumph to one of resigned defeat. “Yep, we’re forked.”
Knock, knock, knock. “Lexi?”
Mac Allister blushed redder than the red card the idiot referee had shown him. “Wino, help me get dressed! He can’t see me like this!”
“So? You’ve got your trousers on, and your socks.” Nunez grabbed all the shirts and stuffed them in the closet. “Here’s the plan: when you let Martin in—”
“I’m naked!” Mac Allister screeched, desperately searching for something to cover himself.
“Only your top half is! He should see you this way. Y’know, show off your manly muscles like a true model.” Nunez leaped into the closet. “Alright, showtime.”
Mac Allister would’ve glared at the closet if he wasn’t freaking out over finding something to cover his chest. The cloth for the snail’s cage was too small, as were his socks. He briefly considered wrapping himself in the quilt and jumping out the window, but he’d just made the bed and didn’t feel like doing parkour.
Mac Allister groaned, hiding behind the bed. Lautaro the snail slithered out from under the bed, tentacles waving in the air.
Mac Allister relaxed a tiny bit as he stroked the snail’s shell. His snails always brought him comfort. “Maybe I just won’t open the door.”
Lautaro made a U-turn for Mac Allister’s phone. Then he somehow entered the password and pressed the Spotify button.
Crack, clang.
“Sounds like your date’s picking the lock,” Nunez unhelpfully called out from the closet.
Lautaro entered the Spotify password. He clicked Drake Discography.
Mac Allister’s eyes widened when he realized what was about to happen. “LAUTARO, NO!”
*
“He should be in here, right? I hope we got the right room.” Odegaard paced the hallway. A bouquet of pansies and peonies lay in his clenched palms, hidden behind his back.
“Why wouldn’t he answer? Is he still changing? Did I set my clock wrong and it’s not 7:59? Maybe we got the wrong stadium, and then—”
“Martin, relax !” Martinelli finished picking the lock with Odegaard’s credit card, pocketing it. “I swear you’re more anxious than Ali sometimes. He’ll be really happy to see you, just open the door and smile!”
“I hope he’s happy.” Odegaard glanced in the shiny reflection of the hallway mirror. “Do I look like somebody who just defeated Lexi’s greatest enemy? Are my teeth clean?”
Martinelli rolled his eyes and opened the door an inch, pushing Odegaard in. “Your teeth are as white as the people in Iceland—”
“You used to call me on your cell phone, late at night when you need my love…”
Odegaard blinked heavily at the scene in front of him. There was a giant snail on the bed, vibing to “Hotline Bling” like it was Antoine Griezmann, and Nunez was trying to prevent a half-nude Mac Allister from jumping out the window.
Havertz poked his head around the doorway. His eyebrows nearly flew off his head when he registered what was going on. “You’re going to go on a date with this guy? Honestly, Martin, you could do a lot better for yourself.”
Mac Allister froze when he heard Havertz’s voice. He turned around completely…to see Martin Odegaard, wearing a pink dress shirt and dark teal trousers, and holding a bouquet of the most delicate, blush pink peonies he’d ever seen.
Nunez turned around too, closing the window shut. “Damn Martin, did the entire Norway national team donate their good looks to you?”
“ DARWIN!!!” Mac Allister hastily pulled on a white polo, then a green sweater that he’d borrowed from Robertson. “What do you think? Am I ready?”
Odegaard’s eyes widened, a fond smile replacing his shocked expression from before. “You look great, Ale. Can I call you that?”
Mac Allister breathed a sigh of relief, turning off the phone and lowering Lautaro back into his cage. “Call me anything you want.”
“Hold on a minute.” Alisson opened the door, making a beeline towards Mac Allister. “Where did you find that green monstrosity?”
“Hehe…Martin likes it. Do you?”
“Virgil never wants to see it again. Robbo found it. I guess that’s how you got it?”
“Well, Darwin did give it to me…” Mac Allister glared at Nunez. “I’m getting tired of yelling your name already.”
Odegaard decided to ask the important question. “What are you doing here?”
“Martin!” As if by instinct, Alisson nearly suffocated Odegaard in a hug. “I live here, and I came to drive you two to the restaurant.”
“Wait, what?!” Mac Allister and Odegaard exclaimed at the same time. “We can drive ourselves.”
“But what about when you guys want to hold hands with each other? Watch the moon and stars without the responsibility of taking the wheel?” Martinelli sauntered in, holding a shot glass of tequila. “That’s how I convinced Ali to drive. It’s called helping romance along!”
Mac Allister rolled his eyes, struggling with his shoes. “The last time a Brazilian goalkeeper helped romance along, we all went to a wedding. Don’t think Virgil and Ali were the only ones traumatized.”
*
“How do you fit in this driver’s seat?” Alisson exclaimed when he saw the inside of Mac Allister’s sedan. “It’s gnome-sized!”
“Not all of us are six-footers, y’know.” Mac Allister reached inside to turn the keys in the ignition, but then noticed something very out of place. “What the hell is this? A booster seat?”
Odegaard and Alisson tried to hold back the laughs as Mac Allister extracted the car seat from the driver’s seat. “It’s got a note. ‘ So you can see over the dashboard. Small Gabi.’”
“Small Gabi is always getting into mayhem.” Odegaard slid into the passenger’s seat, resting his head on Mac Allister’s shoulder. “Let’s go!”
Mac Allister ruffled Odegaard’s hair, mumbling about how soft it was before pressing the gas.
“Wait a minute!” Alisson pointed to the sunshade still covering the dashboard. “Don’t you usually take that off before driving?”
Mac Allister ripped his eyes off Odegaard and onto the covered windshield. “Oops, guess I got caught up in the moment.”
Odegaard noticed Mac Allister’s flusteredness, gazing at him with empathy. “It’s okay, I get caught up in the moment, too.”
“Can you get more perfect?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“Speak Norwegian, I bet you sound even cuter that way.”
“ Hei søta.”
“I don’t know what you just said, but it’s confirmed. You’re a god.”
Alisson groaned, covering his eyes. “Now I know what Marcinho means by ‘get a room’.”
*
The three somehow made it to the Mediterranean restaurant in one piece. Judging by the bizarre amount of donkeys they had to swerve past to cross one street, that in itself by an absolute miracle.
The restaurant was crowded, with people occupying every square inch of space. The trio—well, the couple and the single person—found a table in the corner, concealed behind a trellis of bougainvillea for privacy. But whatever privacy was bought by the remote location and the bougainvillea, was completely abolished by the dreamy looks Mac Allister kept giving Odegaard.
Alisson had seen people in love before. His parents, friends, the people around him. But this was different. The Argentine was absolutely smitten with his date, yet he was too shy to say it outright. He would accidentally touch hands with Odegaard when reaching for the menu, or look at each other with adoring smiles, but once the other noticed he would back away, grinning sheepishly. Alisson had to prevent himself from gushing about how adorable they were together.
“So…” Odegaard leaned on the table, brushing a flyaway strand of hair away from his eyes. “Remember what you asked me during the wedding? Your ‘you like jazz’ line?”
Mac Allister blushed for what had to be the twentieth time that night. “That was Adrian's advice.”
“And the bit where you let me see you shirtless was Darwin's advice, wasn't it?”
“Um…his very uncalled-for advice.” Mac Allister chuckled nervously, checking his reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, Darwin’s like that. He thinks he’s Love Doctor Extraordinaire, but then his advice is a little…strange. I know he means well, but if I followed Darwin’s advice I bet I’d be single until at least my sixties.”
“My teammates are like that, too. You saw Gabi earlier.” Odegaard rolled his eyes at the thought of the youngsters. “Remember the whole wedding mess? Well, the night before that I had to get Mase, Dec, and Aaron out of a bar. They were shooting darts while completely wasted.”
Odegaard paused to talk to the waitress, waving her off as she left with their orders. “I swear, my team’s got to be the most chaotic team in the world.”
The Norwegian ate his breadstick, while Alisson and Mac Allister stared at him as if he were crazy.
“Do you know what our team does sometimes?” Alisson spluttered, nearly choking on his drink. “It’s mayhem in there.”
Mac Allister nodded. “My snail plays the Drake discography at 3:21 in the morning.”
“Virgil popped up in the Selecao camp in Barcelona, got arrested alongside my brother, and got released by Cody and I.”
“Jesse Allen Marsch popped up out of nowhere to coach a training session and taught us all, for our benefit or our demise, how to do a keg stand.”
“Kostas has three junkyards in his closet.”
“Thiago serenaded Kostas in broad daylight.”
“And that’s just a taste of this summer.”
Odegaard gulped, breaking into a nervous sweat as he thought of all the chaos. “You know what? My team sounds pretty peaceful right now.”
“I’m sure we all have our taste of chaos.” Alisson glanced over his shoulder and nearly fell out of his chair. “What the actual heck?”
“What’s wrong?” Mac Allister and Odegaard asked at the same time.
The keeper’s face fell as he glanced into the distance. “Virgil and Cody are here.”
Odegaard looked at the same place Alisson had seen. Sure enough, Van Dijk and Gakpo sat at the spot three tables away from them, conversing with a waiter. Neither seemed to be talking with the other, which Odegaard found strange for two compatriots attached by the hip. Furthermore, Alisson seemed unusually upset at the sight of the two Dutchmen.
“I thought you liked Virgil and Cody.”
“Somebody did his research.” Mac Allister pushed the bread basket towards Odegaard. “More bread, mi angel?”
“Mi angel?!” Odegaard almost yelled.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” Mac Allister clapped a hand over his mouth once he realized what he’d just said. “I mean, it doesn’t mean ‘nothing’! It’s ‘angel’ in Spanish, and I think that would be perfect for you because you look like an angel and—wait, am I rambling?”
“Never mind that.” Alisson was unsure whether to reveal the details of his and Van Dijk’s feud to Odegaard. He’d seen the midfielder in games, of course, but he’d only met him up close and personal today. But when he looked into Odegaard’s ice-blue eyes, he saw the same inquisitive anxiety that he’d seen in his own eyes.
“It’s a long story,” he admitted. “Virgil got the captaincy, but then he’s been busy. He doesn’t have time to hang out with Cody or me like we used to, and Cody’s told me that he’s feeling…how do you say it?”
“Neglected.” Odegaard hummed under his breath, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I can see why both of you would feel that way. Virgil was the only other Dutchman on the team for nine months, and Roberto and Fabio both went to the Saudis. Right now, you two are sort of prone to abandonment anxiety.”
Mac Allister’s eyes widened impressed. “You’re an empath as well as a walking angel.”
Odegaard shrugged, trying to hide the faint blush on the tip of his nose. “You learn over time. So, what are you going to do about it, Ali? You and Virgil can’t have issues the whole year, you’re both members of the captaincy circle.”
“I’m going to do what I should’ve done a long time ago, Martin. I’m going to give Virg a piece of my mind.” Alisson stood from his chair, brushing the crumbs off his light green polo. “You two have fun. I should be back in time for the main course.”
“Oh, we’ll have fun.” Mac Allister finally ripped his gaze away from Odegaard’s reflection in his glass of water. “ Lots of fun.”