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Kirkby Ground had been almost empty for eleven days straight. The training ground had missed its usual denizens, running on its floors and leaning against its walls and talking in its corridors.
But now it was time for the players to return. And that meant at least seven voices yelling over each other, while the others excitedly caught up with each other.
Van Dijk was among the few that were mostly silent. He’d been watching over his national team, including Gakpo, for a whole week and a half. So when Gakpo ran off to see Gravenberch, Van Dijk wasn’t too worried. Gakpo, despite being one of the team babies, was an adult, and Kirkby was more than safe enough for the two to be unsupervised.
Even though Van Dijk loved the Dutch team, he’d missed his teammates and managers back in Kirkby. He missed their games, their jokes, the way they cheered each other on. He'd especially missed a certain green-eyed keeper, but if he said it out loud Gakpo and Gravenberch would’ve never let him hear the end of it.
Van Dijk looked up from his phone just in time to see Alisson, standing in the revolving door. Of course Van Dijk had talked to him over the phone after the Argentina game—as well as Mac Allister, he had to be fair to all his teammates despite his not-so-secret cheering for Brazil—but he’d clearly underestimated just how tired Alisson was. The keeper had dark circles under his eyes, which seemed forlorn even from under his black beret, and he leaned against the glass door for support. When Alisson saw Van Dijk, though, his eyes lit up as he ran out the door, enveloping him in one of his trademark hugs.
“I missed you so much, Virgil! I mean, I always miss you, but this time it physically hurt.”
Van Dijk didn’t even pretend not to be worried by that statement as he reciprocated the hug. “Oh Ali, I missed you too . But you look tired, are you okay? The flight must’ve given you jet lag, poor thing.”
“Yeah, there's jet lag. But that’s not it, we lost again, at home. Against Argentina, in Maracana. They…”
His voice trailed off, as if he was afraid to say it. Afraid, Van Dijk knew, of confirming one of his worst nightmares. “They hate me for it.”
“They don’t know what they’re talking about! It’s not like you asked to start, Ederson pulled out with that ‘injury’.” Van Dijk laughed at his own sarcasm, but the jibe failed to improve Alisson’s worrying mental state. “Plus, you guys would’ve been really doomed if you didn’t make those saves! You should be proud of yourself, knuffelbeer, you did your best and that’s all that matters.”
“You don’t get it. I was twenty hours away from my best friends in the world. I couldn’t be there for my friend who’s just lost his father because of that match against Argentina. I wanted to win it. For Bobby, for Flaco, but also for Lucho. He came to me after the match, apologizing for scoring those goals and ruining my chance. I thought that if we beat Argentina, I could make Lucho feel less guilty and Flaco less worried. I thought we could cheer up Bobby, together, but we lost , and now Lucho feels worse and Flaco is even more worried and Bobby—”
“Shhh. Knuffelbeer, I need you to listen. Please, listen to me.” Van Dijk could feel the shoulder of his sweatshirt growing damp. Van Dijk didn’t want to stifle whatever Alisson felt, but if he let him go on like this, he’d end up with a stress headache. And Van Dijk knew from personal experience that stress headaches and road trips to the Etihad did not mix.
“I can’t speak for everybody who watched your match, Ali. But I know our teammates, and I can safely say that none of them would ever blame you for any of this. Bobby and Flaco don’t blame you for not being able to be there, just like your family didn’t blame you in 2021.”
“That was different. Bobby was there for me the whole time. I promised I would be there for him if something ever happened, but now I broke that promise. I broke that promise and the Argentina promise.”
Okay, now Van Dijk wanted to head straight into the FA's office and yell at them. He didn't like the congested winter fixture lists in the first place, but making his best friend feel sad and guilty over something entirely out of his control? Absolutely unacceptable.
“You can’t blame yourself for this tight football schedule and the long distance. And we can still get a point against City,” Van Dijk reminded Alisson with a gentle pat on the back. "That'll help cheer Bobby up, no? At least a little bit."
"He'd definitely appreciate us putting aqueles trapaceiros azuis in their place. At least, that's what Gusto says about them." For the first time since he'd arrived, Alisson managed to smile a bit. He let go of Van Dijk, but couldn't resist the chance to ruffle his hair with a fond gleam in his eyes. "I needed that, Virgil. Thanks so much.”
"You're not the only one who needed that. I was too worried about you after our call last night to sleep well." Van Dijk gestured towards the stairs that Gakpo and Gravenberch had ran up earlier. "Let's go see what the Double Dutch are up to before they launch another glitter bomb into Wataru's hair.”
Alisson chuckled, following Van Dijk up the stairs. "Sounds like a plan.”