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It had only been the fourth minute. The fourth minute, and he'd already messed up enough to make the team go behind. Alisson could only pick up the ball and boot it out of the net when he was sure nobody was watching.
He'd gone into the match hoping to help his teammates, and instead, he'd immediately made things harder for them. If it wasn't for him freezing up on the spot like he'd been hit with icy powers, they could've won the game with Alexander-Arnold and Salah's amazing combination goal.
After the game, Alisson barely stuck around long enough to shake hands with the referees. He trudged towards the tunnel, trying not to be seen, until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, where are you going?" It was Diaz, evidenced by the fact that the pressure on Alisson's shoulder was pulling him towards the ground. "Cody's worried about you."
How did people manage to read him so easily?! First Onana in the last game, now Diaz and Gakpo. Alisson immediately pasted on a wry smile, determined not to worry Diaz. The forward had already come out early due to some pain in his knee, and the medics were already concerned about another injury.
“I’m…going to the locker room. It’s cold out, isn’t it? Nearly froze my eyes shut.” Alisson chuckled weakly at his own joke, even though he didn’t find it very funny. Apparently, Diaz didn’t either, because he just zipped up his coat tighter.
“Don’t mention it, I’m freezing. Of course, Alexis doesn’t mind, so he’s right there fawning over his boyfriend while Darwin and I freeze our butts off.” Diaz stretched out his hands and wrapped Alisson in a hug, much to his surprise. Diaz wasn’t supposed to laugh and joke with him, he was supposed to be mad at him.
“Go take a warm shower, you’re freezing to the touch. And be careful, okay? I don’t want you…never mind.”
“What?”
“Never mind, go enjoy your shower!” And with that, Diaz scurried off, leaving Alisson in his own thoughts.
*
It was only supposed to be a shower, he thought after what felt like an eternity.
It was only supposed to be a shower. He’d turned on the water and was about to step in, when he realized that he’d managed to get some grass stuck in his beard, despite how short he’d cut it. He sighed and took his razor from his bag, scraping it against said spot. He was so stuck in his own head, though, that he’d forgotten to apply shaving cream along with the soap, and before long there was red mixing in with the white soap suds on his cheek
For a dangerously long moment, Alisson was tempted to widen the cut. But then he looked into the mirror and remembered what had happened before.
His head pounded like a full starting eleven were kicking at it. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was blurred even though his eyes were dry. And his hands felt like they'd been scrubbed raw and chained with the firmest yet warmest handcuffs in the world.
Wait, what?!
“Please wake up. We need you to wake up.”
That voice. It was so calming, even though the voice itself wasn’t calm at all. He opened his eyes to find that there were no handcuffs around his wrists. There were two hands, though, and he relaxed upon recognizing both the hands and the voice belonged to one person.
“—oh, thank goodness you’re awake! You gave me and Virg quite a scare.” He chuckled, although his voice still sounded strange. So…desperate.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even bother to remove his sore hands from the other’s grasp. He closed his eyes again, and his body seemed to sag in relief. He stayed there, silent and still, for a few moments, before slowly opening his eyes again and looking at him.
“Virg is here?"
Alisson held the razor still and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to move his hand away. Cutting his hands with the mirror shards had initially diverted his guilt, but it had quickly been replaced with the guilt of worrying Klopp and Van Dijk. They’d only talked about the incident once more, and it had been almost a year since he’d made those two mistakes against Wolves.
He slowly and carefully put the razor away and splashed some water on his face, wincing at how the chlorine stung the cut. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering shame from both the game that had just finished and the memory of the Wolves one. Air hit the cut, making it burn more.
Burn .
He moved away from the sink as if possessed by a silent yet immovable burden. He stepped into the shower, still wearing his compression tights and shirt from the match, and let the water that had been warming for a good six minutes pour over him.
It was hot, far too hot.
He wasn’t sure if it was the water burning him on the outside, or the guilt and self-doubt eating away at his conscience. But after a few seconds, he screamed. If his hair was longer, he’d be yanking out fistfuls of it to prevent himself from thinking about it too much. He would’ve ripped out his hair if his hands weren’t shaking so much. He bit one to try and stop the shaking, but it accidentally brushed against his eyes. He quickly wiped away the tears that were streaming down his face, but his hands still shook too much to turn down the water. And it was burning now, and his bones still felt cold…
(Look at you, complaining about water temperature like a stupid kid who doesn’t know how to change it.)
The voices , he realized with a start. I thought I got rid of you, vile things. Go away, you only bring me problems!!!
Oh, how he was tempted to scratch himself. A nice, long scratch would divert all this pain into a bleeding mark. And the hot water would make it burn even more until he gave in and bandaged it, hiding it under his shirt sleeve.
You gave me and Virg quite a scare, liebling. That was enough to make him let go of his forearm, wrapping his arms around his legs so he wouldn’t be able to scratch himself.
(And how have you been since you did that? Causing problems for yourself, that’s what. Maybe you should’ve left instead of kicking away your brothers.)
Bobby didn’t leave because of me! He told me that.
(And Fabi left because he would rather be with Bobby than with you. Now all you have left is that Marcelo kid, and he’s only sticking with you because he wants to get into the first team. And you can’t even show him how to do that correctly.)
That’s not why—
(Honestly, what was the point of you even being the fourth captain when you can’t even keep people around you? You’re always the victim, why can’t you just do something for others for once?!)
No…I try…
(Not hard enough, fracasso.)
Why can’t I be good enough for anyone? The question alone was enough to make him feel dizzy. Recently, he’d gotten better at ignoring the voices in his head, but now all that work was undone by one single mistake that could’ve been prevented.
It was just supposed to be a shower. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
“ Mijn jade?”
*
“How’s your knee?” Gakpo spared a glance at Diaz’s knee, wrapped with ice packs and secured with bandages. The swelling was much less than it had been before, but it was still very red, and Diaz hissed in pain every time he put pressure on it.
“Better. I could use a nice warm shower, though, it’s freezing.” Diaz chuckled, huddling closer to Gakpo and leaning on his shoulder. “Was it ever this cold when you were a kid? In the Netherlands?”
Gakpo reached his hand over to ruffle Diaz’s hair, twirling a finger around the dense curls that were so much like his own. “It snowed sometimes where I was. It would be so cold—”
“ Dios, shut up about the cold and talk about heat, Cody! Chocolate quente, warm fires, warm showers—”
A scream interrupted the conversation. It was as loud as it was raw, and it was enough to blanch Gakpo and Diaz's faces until they were almost white. Both knew who it was, and where it was coming from, but Diaz was the first one to speak.
"It's Ali, I just know it. I just knew something was wrong when he had that glazed look in his eyes, but instead of trusting my gut I went for the easy option and—”
“Snap out of it, Lucho!” Gakpo gently shook the Colombian by the shoulders, but traded it for a hug instead. “Ali was already upset before you went to talk to him. There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. But you know what the important question is?”
Diaz sighed, calmer. “What do we do next?”
“The obvious thing.” With that, Gakpo began to jog towards the door labeled Manager’s Office.
*
“How the hell was that not a penalty?! Martin was playing volleyball inside our box!”
“I fully agree.” Klopp spun his office chair around to face Van Dijk, pressing the pause button on the highlights video. After his meeting, Klopp had called Van Dijk to join the staff for a short meeting to review the game. “But Virg, did you have to ask the ref if he’d been drinking?!”
“I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand his corrupt bald head anymore.” The whole team would review later, but for some reason, Klopp had specifically wanted to point out the mistakes the referees had made. Whether he wanted to make a safe space to rant or not, Van Dijk didn’t know; but he was more than ready to rant as long as he wanted.
Lijnders smirked, raising his cup of coffee in the air. “He wasn’t wrong, though.”
Before either Klopp or Van Dijk could comment, Diaz and Gakpo burst through the door. They weren’t out of breath from running, but one look at their faces was enough for everybody to know something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“Why’d you two run? You’re injured, Lucho!”
“It’s all my fault. I ran into Ali at the end of the match and he seemed upset, but then I left him and now he’s alone in the bathroom and we heard a scream—” Diaz finally stopped his panicked rant to breathe. “I should’ve trusted my gut, I’m sorry, I am!”
“Take us to him, now.” Van Dijk stood from his seat as if it burned him, taking two quick strides towards the door. Klopp followed the captain out of the door, his cadet-blue eyes wrought with worry.
*
“ALI!”
If the door to the showers hadn’t opened immediately. Van Dijk would’ve knocked it down with his bare fists. He didn’t care about potentially damaging property, or even scaring his manager with his sudden switch in behavior. The only thing guiding him was the urge to run, to find Alisson and protect his friend from the rest of the world. The fact that Klopp didn’t tell him to take it easy only cemented what both of them were thinking—this was serious. Thank goodness they’d sent Diaz and Gakpo back to the locker room with the reassurance that they’d bring Alisson back as soon as possible.
It was Van Dijk who found him after tracing the spots of soap suds to the shower stall at the back of the room. He was under a far too hot shower, curled into a ball in the corner of the shower with his thermal shirt and tights still on. Not caring about getting wet, Van Dijk stepped straight into the shower and turned off the water before kneeling in front of Alisson.
“ Mijn jade? ”
Alisson finally lifted his head, staring at Van Dijk like he wasn’t real. Van Dijk took one look at his friend’s teary eyes, the mint blue color marred with red, and he felt like his heart would snap in half.
“Did you find him?” Klopp appeared in the doorway and flinched at the sight before him. “Oh, thank goodness you’re safe.”
Alisson buried his head in his hands, looking away from the two. “I can’t play the next match.”
“Why? What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” Oh, how he hoped not. If somebody had physically hurt Alisson, Van Dijk was ready to go to war. “You’ve got a cut on your face.”
“Why? Virgil, just in case you didn’t notice, I conceded a goal. Like, a really bad one. The ball was coming and I stood there like a frozen statue. I let the whole team down, we’re second in the table, and now it’s two home games without a win and everybody’s going to hate us even more than they already do.” Alisson was yelling now, something that Van Dijk found disconcerting and worrying at the same time. “Boss, please listen to me! You have to put on Caoimh or Adri or Marcinho for the next match, otherwise I’ll mess it up just like I did with this one.”
The room plunged into a sterile silence as Alisson’s words hung in the air. Van Dijk just stared at him, his face a thousand expressions at once. No wonder; he could and would beat up the people or things that hurt anybody he cared about, but it was another story entirely when said person was hurting themself.
Klopp was the first to make a move. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not replacing you, Ali. Absolutely not.” Klopp repeated himself, leaning against the frame of the door. Van Dijk could see how much his coach wanted to step into the small space, but both knew that crowding anybody who’d just suffered a panic attack was a disaster waiting to happen. “Yes, you could’ve done better on that goal. But it was the only goal we conceded against one of the best attacks in the league, and that is in part thanks to your saves.”
“Ibou and Virg did all the work, and when I didn’t have them next to me, I almost conceded goals. Some sort of lucky fortune managed to keep us from swallowing more.”
“And that lucky fortune was all of us, Ali. Including you. We all pulled our weight out there, and we would’ve won the match if the refs had been fair.” Van Dijk took a deep breath, barely resisting the urge to say something more heated about the match. “You make mistakes because you’re human, just like all of us are. Nobody’s expecting you to keep thirty-eight Premier League clean sheets, knuffelbeer, not even me. And I don’t like to be presumptions, but I think I’ve got to be your most red-hot fan— literally. ”
Klopp chuckled at the joke, while Alisson managed to crack a tiny smile. Their reactions were subdued, but to Van Dijk, it was like drinking pure serotonin. That is, until Alisson spoke again.
“This shouldn’t be happening. I'm the fourth captain now, I’m thirty-one years old. I should be there for people, I shouldn’t be like…this.” He pointedly gestured towards the shower head, still dripping with water, then to the cut on his face. “And this. Why do you even put up with me?”
The last question made something inside Van Dijk hurt that he didn’t even know he had. Alisson had expressed self-doubt many times, but he’d never asked him that question. With a long sigh, Van Dijk sat beside Alisson, pulling his friend into his arms.
“Ali, I want you to listen to me very well and remember everything I say. First of all, you’re a person who has thoughts and feelings. Sometimes you have bad days, and on bad days people need support. So we’re not ‘putting up’ with you, we’re doing what any friend with half an empathy cell would do.” As if to make a point, Van Dijk hugged Alisson tighter, ruffling the keeper’s short hair. “Secondly, you’re there for us all the time. You planted that tulip garden for Cody so he wouldn’t be as homesick. You attended Lexi's snail funeral even though you didn't necessarily like snails, just because of how sad Lexi was. When Joel scored that own goal, you were the first one to hug him and tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Heck, you even collaborated with Cody and Thiago to bake me an entire spekkoek to make up for missing my birthday because we were on international duty. And that’s just one of the million reasons I love having you around.”
“You…” Alisson looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. “You like having me around?”
“Oh, mijn jade , we all do. You’re kind, and funny, and you always know how to lift our spirits. The youngsters follow you around like you're their big brother, and you welcome all the newcomers as soon as they walk through the door. You’re a great listener, you support us, you take care of us when we're sick. Even when you can't help us any more than you have, you worry about us.”
Van Dijk finally let go of Alisson, squeezing his hand tightly. “I know I haven’t been the best at showing it to you lately, but…I love you. I love having you around, spending time with you, choosing sweaters and cooking and talking about snow with you. The Double Dutch love you, and so do all of us on the team.”
“Virgil’s absolutely right,” Klopp agreed. He reached out a hand to Van Dijk and Alisson, pulling both of them off the floor and into his arms. “And despite what those voices say, you know that we love you. You’ve not cut your hands this time.”
Alisson rolled up his sleeves as far as they could go and inspected the skin beneath them. Much to his surprise and relief, there wasn’t a single scratch on them except the one he’d got during training the week before. “I sort of remembered how scared you were when I did that. Seeing you and Virg so worried about me made me realize that whatever pain I got rid of by doing that only made you feel bad.”
“Emotional intelligence! Oh, what did I do to get such smart, loving boys in the team?” Klopp put his arms around Alisson and Van Dijk, leading them out of the newly widened opening. “Come on, let’s go back to the locker room and join the others. And Ali?”
Alisson looked up at Klopp, smiling once again. “Yes, boss?”
Klopp tried to hold back his laughter as he brushed the side of Alisson’s cheek. “You’ve got grass tangled in your beard.”