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Klopp sat in his office, working on plans for the upcoming Brighton game. Milner was next to him, helping while holding a sleeping Florrie. Even though Liverpool had gone through to the UCL quarter finals, they had still lost on the night, and needed some work.
That’s when Tacito ran up to him. He seemed a bit worried, but still managed to greet Klopp and smile at Florrie clinging onto Milner like a koala before he blurted out what he had to say.
“Boss, I can’t find Ali!”
“WHAT?!” Milner jumped, almost unsettling Florrie. “He was just here! He can’t leave!”
“It’s Ali.” Klopp turned his attention to Milner. “Milner, organize a search party while I call around.”
Milner nodded. They were about to set off, when…
“Found him!”
“Fabi!” Klopp called out, searching for the Brazilian. “Who’d you find?”
“Alisson--DIOS MIO!” Fabinho was taken aback by Klopp’s unexpected arrival. “Jefe! You scared the baldness off of me!”
“Nothing could scare the baldness off of you,” Klopp retorted. “Where’s Ali?”
Fabinho’s expression fell at the mention of the goalkeeper. “Well, boss…let’s just say that he’s not in a good mood right now.”
“Go on.”
“What I’m saying is…he’s blaming himself for the goal we conceded yesterday. We should have known--he was really quiet and withdrawn yesterday and now he’s in the locker room, completely distraught.”
Klopp groaned, wondering how he didn’t catch this earlier. Alisson was a good goalkeeper, but was often led by his big and sometimes dramatic heart. Lovely, but not useful when conceding crucial goals that weren’t his fault.
“Should I talk to him?”
“No, I think we’ve got it. Bobby and Thiago and I will talk to him.”
“Okay Fabi, but promise that you’ll get me if you need to.”
Fabinho promised and went into the locker room. There was Alisson, head in hands and whimpering as Firmino sat next to him, rubbing his back.
“Ali, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, okay?" Tacito insisted, stooping in front of Alisson. "It was Virgil and Joel's mistake, and you played really well."
"Well, they don't count that as Virgil and Joel's ruined clean sheet', do they?" Alisson sobbed, as Firmino pulled him in closer. "I should have tried something--arrange them, yell at them--"
“That’s actually a great point…” Thiago started, but Fabinho’s glare shut him up. “Fine, I’m sorry! Sheesh, Brazilians.”
"You couldn't do anything more," Fabinho insisted, ignoring Thiago. "You tried your best, Ali, and if anything, it's Virg and Joel who should be apologizing. And the boss hasn't screamed at them, so why would he scream at you?”
Unfortunately Fabinho’s words went in through one ear and out the other. Alisson continued sobbing into Firmino, as the Brazilian forward tried to console his friend.
"Ali, I don't know what we'll do with you," Firmino muttered, running a hand through Alisson' wild curls. "Shh, camarada, está tudo bem.”
He had switched to Portuguese, and Fabinho’s first idea was that he was trying to imitate Alisson’ older brother, Muriel Becker. Which was ironic, because Firmino looked nothing like Muriel--but anyways, that was another story.
Anyways, Firmino continued ruffling Alisson’s hair, while mumbling something only the Brazilians could understand. “Não é sua culpa, Ali. Nós sabemos isso.”
Although he understood the words perfectly well, Fabinho couldn’t help but translate the words in his head. It's not your fault, Ali. We know that.
“Me desculpe,” Alisson whispered.
I’m sorry.
“Não se desculpe, você precisa do conforto.”
Don't be sorry, you need the comfort. Fabinho couldn’t believe his own ears; for once Firmino was earning his keep!
“Precisamos de você aqui,” Firmino continued. He switched hands so now his right hand was on Alisson’ head. “Queremos você aqui. Nós te amamos aqui.”
We need you here. We want you here. We love you here.
"Não, você não.”
No, you don’t.
“Realmente, nós fazemos.”
Really, we do.
“Você não me ama.”
You don’t love me.
“Sim, eu tenho, do que você está falando? Qualquer um que não te ame precisa de um exame cerebral.”
Yes I do, what are you talking about? Anyone who doesn't love you needs a brain examination.
“Oh, Bobby,” Fabinho shook his head. “You dramatist.”
“Como o chefe?”
Like the boss?
“Alisson, are you serious?” Fabinho thought, wondering exactly how much emotions clouded human reasoning.
“Alisson, o chefe não te odeia. Muito pelo contrário na verdade.”
Alisson, the boss doesn't hate you. Quite the opposite actually.
“Eu sei. Eu não sei o que eu estava pensando.”
I know. I don't know what I was thinking.
“Ali, nunca pense que te odiamos. Porque não é a verdade.”
Ali, don't ever think we hate you. Because it's not the truth.
“Eu sei,” Alisson sighed. I know. He seemed calmer now, but still lay on Firmino’s shoulder. His eyes were still puffy and red, but at least he seemed better now.
“Ali, você não precisa entrar em pânico com essas coisas, ok? Nem sempre é sua culpa.” Ali, you don't need to panic about these things, okay? It's not always your fault. Firmino finally let go of Alisson’s hair. “You okay now?”
“Sim, yes. Obrigado.” Yes. Thanks.
“Sem problemas.” Firmino replied, nodding at his own statement. “Ali, you’re our friend.”
“By the way, Bobby.” Alisson pointed out. “How’d you know that ruffling my hair helped? Nobody else here does that.”
Firmino shrugged. “I just guessed--and I guess it worked.”
“Oh, seriously cara? You’re going to make me suffer through Bad Dad Jokes 2.0 now?” Alisson dramatically swooned, falling off the bench. “Have a heart!”
Thiago couldn’t help but laugh at Alisson’s act. “You diva.”
“Diva?” Alisson pretended to be offended. “I am so hurt.”
“That’s right, Shakespeare. You are so dramatic, right teddy bear?”
“BOBBY!!!”
“Does Muriel do that with your hair sometimes?” Fabinho wondered. “I mean, ruffle it?”
“Well…sometimes. But mainly it was my dad. Muriel doesn’t do that but that’s because I’m usually in a good mood when I’m back in Brazil.”
“I remember when we won the title,” Fabinho reminisced. “A lot of our families were there. I think Ali stuck with his parents for half the time! Urso de pelúcia.”
“Well, Fabi, then you’re a coco careca!”
“Take that back, urso peludo!”
“Just wait until Muriel comes to beat you up, chamador de nome!”
“What on earth…”
“Wait for it!”