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He missed him. He missed those soft hazel eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, the megawatt smile that could illuminate a vacuum of darkness. The warm embrace that yelled brotherly love in a thousand different words. The late-night cuddling sessions that conquered any nightmare or insecurity or fear, no matter how bad it was.
Alisson had had friends before. But Firmino was his best friend, his twin, his other half. And while Fabinho was his best friend as well (could you blame him? He had quite a few best friends), the bond between him and Firmino was different. It was a mutual understanding, a telepathy, a merging of similar worlds. If there was such a thing as platonic soulmates, that was them.
He missed him, and it wasn’t the first time. It most certainly wouldn’t be the last. But training alone, in rehab for a hamstring injury, left plenty of time for him to think.
Goalkeepers, by trade, had always been a lonely bunch. Standing alone in a goal net for nearly one hundred minutes wasn’t something that the average outfielder wanted to discuss with great fervor. Neither was wearing thick leather gloves in sweltering heat, or wearing a different color from the rest of the team, or the fact that only one of them could play at a time.
Alisson knew he wasn’t alone, far from it. He had his teammates, as well as the Goalkeepers’ Union and the Selecao—well, some of them, anyway. But when his body was busy with the same repetitive movements—a couple of laps around the pitch, take it slow, steady pace—and he wasn’t with the others, his mind wandered easily into the things he tried to suppress daily.
Two of his best friends, on the other side of the world. His brother, on the other side of Europe, His team, on the other side of the pitch—
A ball , smack in his face .
“Earth to peluche ! Just because your eyes are blue doesn’t mean you need to daydream all day.”
Of course. In all his deep thought, he’d forgotten that while there were only five players in rehab, the others weren’t even that far away. That included Nunez, who sometimes was more of a fiery provocateur than a professional footballer.
“Only Virgil calls me that. And…” Alisson couldn’t bring himself to say the other name. Otherwise, he’d break down in the middle of training. And despite knowing Nunez for more than a year, the aftermath was still immensely awkward. “Never mind, Darwin. Just no more hitting balls into my face, okay? I already have a hamstring injury, I don’t need a concussion on top of that.”
Nunez laughed. It was his usual loud, energetic laugh, but for Alisson it was like a tiny lightbulb peeking through the gray clouds in his head.
“Right you are, right you are. Don’t get me wrong, I love Kweev and I’m really happy he’s getting some games now, but we need you back. I miss you, buddy, I do, and so do the fans.”
“Caoimh’s a good keeper.” Alisson didn’t know why he’d said that. Perhaps to act as a placeholder while he processed the fact that Nunez had said people needed him back. He knew some of the fans were delighted that Keller was finally getting a chance to play, while others were still furious at him for the World Cup.
“Right, he is. But I miss you, yeah? You saving us with your hands, me saving us with my feet, and then we hug. Yah, yah, yah!”
Alisson shook his head, amused, as Nunez ran around the pitch throwing air punches. He knocked over Taffarel in the process, but thankfully the goalkeeping coach didn't seem too mad.
He still missed Firmino, with the number nine on his back and a bright, infectious smile. But Nunez, as far as successors went, wasn't too bad of an inheritor.
*
The final whistle blew in Crystal Palace, louder than the past three final whistles had been. At least it sounded that way to Alisson, because this time he was on the pitch with all the others.
The penalty had left him panicking a bit, he had to admit. Thankfully Achterberg had called him over almost before the ref called the VAR review, holding up a list of statistics that was so long, he could've wrapped Selhurst Park in it.
"This guy goes to the right, okay? Your right, the side where your right hand is on. Towards the side of the touchline."
"Okay. Okay, I think I've got it. Not to the right, to his right. No, to my right— AAAH !" If Alisson hadn't cut his hair before the match, he would've been pulling at it. "What if I mix up the left and the right? They're relative, you know!"
"Ali, you'll be okay. Just dive towards the technical area and you'll be seventy percent fine." Achterberg showed him the tactics board and nudged him back onto the pitch. "We did our research, okay? Whatever you do, don't freeze up—”
"Because the weather's already doing that for me. And so might my nerves.” Alisson sprinted back to the goalnet, internally willing himself not to let his anxiety get the better of him.
Crystal Palace ended up scoring the penalty, even though Alisson went the right way. For the next eighteen minutes, he mentally prepared himself to take responsibility for the defeat, as well as protect Jarell Quansah from the harsh criticism of the press.
And then Salah finally scored the 200th goal that everybody had been waiting for.
Alisson couldn't help but envy the others as they jumped around Salah, hugging him tightly. Part of being a goalkeeper meant missing out on in-game goal celebrations and the hugs that came with them. It was criminal, but somebody had to protect the net on the other side.
Even considering how dodgy the penalty decision was in the first place, Alisson didn't want a draw. Everybody on the pitch wanted three points, as well as the managers and fans. Elliott responded to all those wishes for a winner with a thunderbolt to the back of the net, and, in the true tradition of the club, he celebrated with a trademark move from some anime that Alisson had only barely heard about.
Now, after the final whistle, Selhurst Park was red. None of the players actually wore red that day, but nobody cared. Their hearts were red, and that was all that mattered.
“ Abrazar !!!”
Alisson didn’t need a VAR review to know who that was. He laughed out loud, opening his arms. Nunez leapt into them with all the fire and trust in the world.
“ Estamos tan locos. Y estamos yendo a lugares, ta? Necesitamos construir una estantería para nuestros trofeos, ta, ahora!”
“Ay, Darwin.” Nunez had talked so fast, Alisson could barely understand what he was saying. He didn’t need to, though; the Uruguayan’s enthusiasm and unbridled joy was on display for all to see. “We can’t get excited over one win, can we?”
“We can turn one win into a thousand, and a thousand into dos millones veinticuatro! ” Nunez pulled away from Alisson and laughed, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. “Now come on, viejo, let’s celebrate before Lexi drinks all the mate.”
“He wouldn’t, he’s too nice. Plus, you don’t like your mate the way Lexi does it,” Alisson pointed out. He set Nunez down, and they started off towards their teammates. “He likes it lighter, right?”
“It’s absolutely criminal! Two seconds in the water and he takes it out, it’s like he wants to drink hot water by itself.” Nunez rolled his eyes, then shivered and wrung his hands together. “ Jesucristo, my hands are freezing. Who the hell invented winter?”
“Without winter, we wouldn’t appreciate the summer,” Alisson chuckled, taking off his right glove and handing it to Nunez. “Here, you can have one of my gloves.”
Nunez took the glove, chuckling as it dangled from his hand. “It’s so heavy, man, did you lift weights with Merry every day?”
“ É a vida de goleiro. Come on, let’s celebrate and go inside, I’m freezing.”