Work Text:
It was...so many things. Unbelievable. Poetic. Written in stone. A majestic eff-you to Moises Caicedo.
South Anfield was a gospel choir, twenty-two thousand Liverpool fans in chorus moving the sky to tears. A smaller chorus sang back on the pitch before going back inside. And now the chorus had moved on to their subunits.
Most of them were doing their little dances around the locker room, alternating between screaming at the top of their lungs and singing along to the music on the speakers. It was, of course, Dua Lipa.
" One kiss is all it takes! Falling in love with me, possibilities—”
Elliott, the rest of the youth players, and the kids, meanwhile, gathered together around a card table. They drank apple juice out of shot glasses and sang one of the club's most iconic chants—with some edited lyrics.
"We've conquered the blue bottlers, we showed up Ecuador! You know your team is awful, when Joey almost scores!"
"Are you hearing this slander?! No respect for your man, Virg. Joey has dragged this team over the line more than once.” Gomez didn’t seem too offended, though, as he collapsed next to Van Dijk with a jubilant laugh. “Virgil? Are you with me?”
Van Dijk finally seemed to snap out of whatever daydream he was in, ruffling Gomez’s hair with a smile. “Just wondering what this would be like if we had our full squad here.”
“But it wouldn’t be as special, winning without the kids.” Gomez nodded towards the card table, where the academy kids had launched into a twentieth verse of “Allez Allez Allez”. “And Kweev was excellent, wasn’t he? He saved our skins tonight.”
Van Dijk chuckled as he watched the fullback friends dance around Kelleher, singing loudly and incomprehensibly. “Yeah, he was amazing. But…”
Gomez’s eyes widened as he nodded in understanding, pulling Van Dijk into a hug. “You’re not the only one who misses Ali, Virg. I wish he and Diogo could’ve come, too. But both of them had rehab scheduled on the same day, and they needed to attend so they can come back playing for us permanently.”
Van Dijk knew what Gomez said made sense, but he couldn’t help but shake the bitterness from the sweet taste of victory. Maybe he just needed fresh air.
“Here, Joey.” Van Dijk handed the trophy to Gomez, standing up from the bench and adjusting the flag wrapped around his shoulders. “Take the trophy, will you? I’m going to take a walk.”
“Are you alright?” Gomez raised an eyebrow, brushing a piece of grass off Van Dijk’s cheek. “If I didn’t know you well, I’d almost say you looked a bit sad.”
“I’m fine,” Van Dijk said, more snappishly than he’d meant too. Thankfully, Gomez was already heading off towards the main group, and Van Dijk took his opportunity to slip out of the locker room and walk through the halls of Wembley.
Initially, he’d intended to find Klopp, who the team had last seen being chased by at least thirty journalists around the pitch and down the tunnel, all asking for an interview. But one footstep led to another, and now he was next to a broom closet, unsure what to do next.
Of course he was happy that they’d won the final! All the odds had been against them, and the referees had been awful. He’d write a stan letter about that later. None of the pundits—well, minus Daniel Sturridge—had believed in them, none had believed in him. And yet, here he was. Captain of Liverpool, a EFL winner, and the player who’d scored the winning goal. How could it get better?
It could get better. In an ideal world, Van Dijk would run to the bench to hug a six-foot koala. He would run his hair through dark brown, almost black curls, freshly grown after months of clipping, and watch joy sparkle in mint-blue eyes—and perhaps a few tears of joy, too.
Oh, how Van Dijk missed Alisson on the pitch. Of course he loved Kelleher; he was like a little brother to him, the same age as the Double Dutch. But Alisson was different. He was a friend, a companion, a ray of sunshine. Heck, from the amount of times he’d confided in him over his problems, Alisson was an unlicensed therapist.
A warm hand landed on Van Dijk’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Van Dijk didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
“We did it, boss. We beat Chelsea with kids!”
“Oh, I saw it. But last time I checked, the boss is still in interviews, minha estrela.”
Minha estrela? “Ali?!”
Van Dijk heard a chuckle before a piece of fabric covered his eyes. He felt his body turn before the fabric fell off in silky cascades. There stood Alisson, his hair in soft bangs standing out from his head and framing his face. His eyes sparkled as his hand cupped Van Dijk’s face, gently caressing his cheek.
“You’re here…oh my god.” After blinking about twenty times in shock, Van Dijk almost pounced upon Alisson, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You’re actually here, at Wembley. Where were you all this time?! How was rehab? How’d you even get here, where’s Diogo?”
“Whoa, slow down, capitão!” Alisson laughed, hugging Van Dijk back like he hadn’t hugged him in years. “Rehab finished a couple hours before the game because the storm snapped a power line. As soon as the doctors said we could go, Diogo and I piled into my car together and drove here like madmen. We ran into a traffic jam on the main road, so we detoured off the road and through some woods and even a sheep farm. We didn’t make it in time for the trophy lift, but Diogo’s in the shower, waiting to surprise Darwin. And…we’re in one piece, aren’t we?”
“Yes, you are. You’re in one piece and you’re with us, I can’t believe it! We actually did it there, with the kids! Did you see that?”
Van Dijk knew he sounded like a broken record by now, or perhaps a very excited young kid. He didn’t care. The bittersweet was now so sweet, one drop could sweeten a glass of karela juice.
Alisson nodded excitedly as he accompanied Van Dijk down the hall, their hands intertwined. “Diogo was watching the game on his phone because I had to keep my eyes on the road, but he narrated it to me play-by-play. He’d be such a good commentator someday, or a coach! And the kids…”
“Epic, right?”
“They’re kids, Virgil. I walked by the youth academy when I just came here and I saw Trey on the pitch with the others. He was ten years old, Virg! They’re football babies , they were in kindergarten when we were in the youth academy…” Alisson blinked heavily, clearing his throat before continuing. “I’m so proud of them, Virg. It feels like they’re our work-kids now, Harvey and Jarell and—you know what, I’ll stop how. If I list all the kids, I’ll be here all day.”
“You know, you and Diogo didn’t have to drive down to London. Diogo’s ligament prevented him from travelling on the plane, and the boss let you stay in Kirkby after…well, after yesterday. I knew you were supporting me from home, you didn’t need to come here to prove it.”
“I know, and honestly, I needed the time yesterday. But when I woke up today…I felt like I needed to come here. Something kept driving me to be here, with all of you. And when the power outage came…it felt like fate.”
Van Dijk chuckled, brushing the tears off from Alisson’ cheeks. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
Alisson smiled back, leaning into the touch. “Says the one who went on a late-night grocery run in Brussels to make Jarell strawberry pancakes after he scored his first goal.”
“Says the one who fell asleep in Florrie and Kairo’s room on ‘monster guard’ after they had a nightmare.”
“You learned enough Portuguese to write an entire birthday card!”
“You learned Dutch to write me a poem.”
“We’re so soft, we almost got married by Marcinho.”
“And we still didn’t kill him after that.”
After what felt like ages, they reached the locker room. Van Dijk opened the locker room door, posing by the door like a butler. “After you, mijn jade. ”
Alisson rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “Come on, Virg, I’m not that injured! I can open a door.”
“Well, I can, too. So walk your lovely self through the door and surprise everybody before I carry you bridal-style over the threshold.”
“Can you two get any worse?” about fifteen voices yelled. “ Jesucristo, ¡iros a un hotel!”
*
Things were no less chaotic in Wembley’s staff lounge. The staff had gathered there after rescuing Klopp from the clutches of all the people who wanted to talk with him, and now they were all enjoying a victory round of the beer they’d found waiting in the fridge.
“Pep, you’re a (bleep) ing genius! Vitor’s a (bleep) ing genius, Mona’s a (bleep) ing genius, you’re all ( BLEEP)ING amazing, my friends!”
Achterberg glanced at Lijnders. “How much longer do I need to man the button?”
Lijnders looked over at the remote-controlled bleep button on the desk, sighing in fond amusement. “As long as we don’t hear the words ‘let’s take this down to the locker room’, you’re on censoring duty.”
“Die Kinder haben es geschafft. Wir haben uns von den Geistern der Abgase im Benzintank leiten lassen, und die Kinder haben es geschafft!” Klopp shook his head in disbelief, finally taking a seat between Lijnders and Nemmer. “ Meine Güte, was für ein Tag. Ich bin erschöpft.”
“Great, great, whatever you’re saying.” Lijnders popped the top off of a bottle, passing it to Klopp. “Stop speaking in tongues and have a beer. You deserve it.”
“I’m not speaking in tongues, I’m speaking German, you idiot.” Klopp held up the bottle to the light, frowning at the purple liquid inside. “This isn’t beer, this is Ribena! Are you sure you’re not drunk?”
Lijnders set the Ribena onto a table, grabbing a bottle of Heinekein. “Not any more drunk than Taffa is. Just a couple of minutes ago he said Milly was in the room.”
“Ye idiot, he ain’t drunk. I’m right here!” Milner appeared out of nowhere, wearing house slippers and holding a glass of diluted Ribena. “I’ve been waiting for you since the game started, old bones. But ye know what? Ye did real well, gaffa, real well.”
Lijnders gasped in offence. “I’m not that old!”
“I was talking to the gaffa.” Milner pushed Lijnders out of the way, squeezing onto the couch. Now Nemmer, Klopp, Milner, Lijnders, and Achterberg were all squeezed onto a two-person loveseat. “Let’s hear it for the team, and for Ribena!”
Klopp pulled the brim of his hat down, mumbling something in German, before pulling Milner closer to him and taking the bottle of Ribena Lijnders had offered him earlier. “Well, you heard Milly. To Ribena!”
“To Ribena!”