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Trent Alexander-Arnold had known Andrew Robertson for six years. In that time, they’d come to know each other so well, that they knew exactly what the other wanted. It was like they were twins--or, as some called them, “agents of chaos”.
But now, six years later and just before Robertson’s birthday, Alexander-Arnold had no idea what to give the Scot.
“Why don’t you just get him a hoodie?” Henderson suggested the day before. “You know he’s into hoodies.”
“I got him a whole bunch last year.” Alexander-Arnold sighed in frustration. “This has to be something new and unique.”
“You say that every year,” Milner reminded the Scouser. “Like the first year, you two went to a carnival and almost made yourselves sick on cotton candy and doughnuts.”
“And the second year,” Henderson added, “you bought Robbo a new CD. He didn’t stop playing it for weeks and even I couldn’t stand it.”
Alexander-Arnold couldn’t help but chuckle at the skipper’s exasperated expression. “It was Alicia Keys.”
“Even I got tired of hearing ‘Girl on Fire’ for the whole Saturday afternoon!”
“And in the third year, you two went to the movies,” Milner reminded him. “You watched James Bond and gave yourselves nightmares.”
“Alright, alright, alright!” Alexander-Arnold protested. “Guys, I need ideas. Robbo’s birthday is this weekend!”
“Alright, alright, don’t panic.” Van Dijk turned to the fullback. “Whenever I have problems picking out gifts for the people in my life, I give them something homemade instead.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have time! And in case you didn’t notice, I’m not entirely crafty, Virg. Last time I tried to make papier mache, I covered the dining table instead of the bowl.”
“True, but it doesn’t have to be crafts. It just has to be something he can’t find anywhere else in the world.”
“Virg?”
“Yep?”
Alexander-Arnold beamed as his cogs began turning. “I have an idea.”
*
Two days later, Liverpool had to go to Brighton to play the match. This turned out to be convenient, since Adam Lallana was there, and after the match, Alexander-Arnold couldn’t help but rope him in.
“Come join us, Adam!” Alexander-Arnold pleaded, pulling him into the locker room.
“I’m guessing this has something to do with Robbo?” Lallana smirked as the Scouser shoved the door shut behind them.
“Yep.” Alexander-Arnold fished for the present box wrapped inside his duffel bag. “We’re probably going to have the party when we get back but I wanted to give him this now.”
“Where is he?” Lallana traced his finger over the satin ribbon.
“In the showers, singing his lungs off.” Alexander-Arnold cringed--even he had to admit he wasn’t a fan of the Scot’s singing. “Last time, poor Taki thought there was a monster when he tried to sing ‘Beat It’.”
“MATES!”
“And he’s here,” Alexander-Arnold smirked as Lallana tried to look like he didn’t know anything. Robertson entered the room, fully dressed but wrapped in a blue and white Scotland towel.
“Good game today, eh mate?” Robertson plopped down next to Alexander-Arnold, clutching the towel as if he had nothing on. “I mean, except for Mo’s injury and the foul. It looked like an assassination attempt on Luiz!”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about any of it.” Alexander-Arnold, spotting Salah emerging from the shower with Thiago’s arm around his shoulders, decided to change the subject. “So how does 28 feel?”
“So old!” Robertson joked. “Means that I get to be 5 years older than you now.”
“For seven months,” Alexander-Arnold retorted. “Then it’s back to four.”
“Our mate is growing up so fast, isn’t he?” Robertson dramatically exclaimed, eliciting a laugh from Henderson, Milner and Lallana. “Merely a baby when we met him--”
“Shut up and let me give you your present, you idiot.”
“A present?” Robertson raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d do that back at Kirkby.”
“Well, I decided to do that early.” Alexander-Arnold thrusted the small box into Robertson’s hands. “Open it, open it!”
Robertson slowly unwrapped the yellow and blue wrapping paper. He lifted out a small, brown leather bracelet. Dangling from it was a small charm, shaped like half of a heart.
“A.H.R?” He gasped as he realized what the letters meant. “My initials.”
“That’s not all.” Alexander-Arnold finally unveiled his left hand, which had a similar bracelet with the other half of the charm. “Take a look.”
“You--” Robertson laughed in disbelief, although the glee was bright in his eyes. “You got us friendship bracelets, Trentski?”
“Well, we’ve known each other for six years.” Alexander-Arnold shrugged. “I guess it’s about time. All the best friends have--”
“MATE!” Alexander-Arnold’s little speech was cut off by Robertson enveloping him in a python hug. “You are the best friend a Scotsman could ever dream of. You are the GOAT, the sheep, the cow, the binturong--”
“The what?” Alexander-Arnold wheezed. “Andy, let me go--”
“Sorry.” Robertson stopped crushing him, but still held onto Alexander-Arnold. “I am never taking this off, Trent, this is beautiful. Did you make it yourself?”
“Well…I called some company in Germany I found. They make leather stuff and I ordered two bracelets.”
“What the--” Robertson understood. “You snuck into the gaffer’s German phone books again? I thought those things were useless.”
“Not when trying to get a present for your best friend.” Alexander-Arnold couldn’t help but ask the question. “So, you like it?”
“Trent.” Robertson shook his head in disbelief. “How am I supposed to find you an awesome gift like this when your birthday rolls around?”
“You have seven months,” Alexander-Arnold reassured him. “And then you’ll have a great present. Tell me when you do, okay?”
But Robertson saw through the trick. “Sorry, Trentski, but I’m not telling you what your present is. You’ll have to wait to find out.”
“It’ll be worth it in the end, though.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, mate.”
“Least I could do for my only obstacle to the most assists this season.”
“You calling me an obstacle? How rude.”
“Shut up, Scot.”