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Virgil sighs, looking at himself in the huge mirror at the end of the locker room hallway. He places both hands on his hips and examines his reflection. Everything seems in place, the clothes he brought for post-workout are well ironed and comfortable against his skin, he's organized his backpack, his cell phone is in his coat pocket. Almost everything in place, if it weren't for his dry, undefined hair which, at the moment, looks very ugly in the eyes of the defender.
Virgil, along with his bronze skin, sports beautiful curly afro hair, which doesn't quite reach his shoulders yet, but is voluminous and the Dutchman's greatest pride. However, when washed, if Virgil is not patient or is very tired - like he is now - fixing his hair is almost a burden he can't carry. Virgil sighs and looks at Mohamed through the reflection. Mo's afro is almost as curly as his, but Mo simply doesn't care if his curls are defined or not. Virgil wishes he didn't care so much.
As he looks down at his feet and wonders if he should pull his hood over his hair or walk out the door like that, a hand touches the back of his neck, cold and large. Virgil lets out a frightened groan and turns almost threateningly, making the man behind him flinch and take a long step back. When Virgil lays eyes on whoever touched him, he realizes that it is Alisson, with his big blue eyes and straight voluminous hair, falling over his eyes in a very seductive way. He looks tense, as if Virgil scared him more than he did to the defender.
"Sorry." He says, sighing and trying to make his shoulders relax.
"I'm the one who apologizes, I almost hit your face." Virgil says, very tempted to touch the cheek of the man who steals his heart all day.
Alisson blushes adorably, making Virgil's heart stutter in his chest. "I just... You looked troubled looking at yourself."
"Did I really look like it?"
Alisson nods. "Yes, and I looked at the way you touched your hair. Is there something wrong with it?"
“No, just…” Virgil takes a deep breath and scratches the hair on his chin. "My hair is giving me some problems."
"Oh." Alisson looks away to the ground for a few seconds. "Well, if you need help, I... Well, I know how to deal with curly, angry hair."
With a firm grip on the strap of his backpack, Alisson stretches his lips into his usual shy smile and leaves the locker room, probably heading home after this strange interaction. Huh. Interesting, Virgil thinks, turning to look in the mirror again. A grimace adorns his face as he looks at his problem.
Virgil was like a rabid guard dog if anyone touched his hair. Especially if he had a bun on, Joe used to say. If anyone threatened to touch Virgil's hair, well, they'd be in trouble. The reason for so much reticence was unknown even to the defender himself. Virgil just didn't like other people's hands in his hair. But Alisson seemed to really know what he was talking about and Virgil was really too lazy to do his hair. Then, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and starting to walk to the half-open door, Virgil opens Alisson's contact and clicks on the small phone-shaped icon. The number starts dialing.
"Virgil?" The voice sounds on the other end of the line. Alisson appears to be driving.
"Ali." Virgil smiles to himself. "Do you... have anything to do tonight?"
"N-no? Why the question?"
"Well, remember the proposition you made to me about my hair?"
"Oh." A long pause. "You want me to help you?"
"Yes, please."
"Of course. Of course I will!" Alisson chuckles. "Your house or mine?"
"It could be mine. I'll be heading home now. We'll meet there."
"Alright."
Virgil puts his phone back in his pocket and pulls out his car keys, unlocking it and getting in. He gives himself time to breathe and close his eyes, feeling the cold, heavy Melwood air before closing the door and starting the car, driving to Cheshire, where he lived. A lump appears in his throat and he feels guilty for diverting Alisson from his path to Manchester, where the goalkeeper lived. But... If Alisson had agreed, it was because he didn't care, right?
Turning into the street of his house somewhat exaggeratedly, he notices that Alisson's car is already there, parked in front of the tall white gate. With a small honk of his horn, Virgil announces that he too has arrived, using the remote control to open the gate and show the garage large enough for both cars to enter.
Alisson is looking at him, leaning against the white wall. Virgil can almost see that same man, about two months ago, at the New Year's party, painfully removed from everything, just holding a beer. Alisson looks at him that way he does when they're playing, looking for approval, the feeling of doing the right thing and having someone support him. Virgil is very tempted to kiss his temple like at the party, but they are both sober and he is afraid of ruining the atmosphere.
"Sit down, Virgil." Alisson says as he pulls a stool from the kitchen to the space in front of the mirror in Virgil's room. "Where are your hair things?"
"Bathroom, cabinet under the sink, top left." Virgil responds, playing with his fingers and watching the Brazilian move around the room.
Alisson returns to the starting point about two minutes later, placing all the utensils in the small remaining space on the desk to his left. Hair cream, a long fine comb, a brush designed for curly hair and a spray of water.
"What's the water spray for?" Virgil asks, knowing the answer well but wanting to make sure Alisson knows what he's getting into.
"Oh." Alisson's cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. "The water helps me untangle your hair."
Virgil smiles approvingly, which makes Alisson blush even more. Alisson stands behind him and sprays water all over his hair, making sure to keep everything damp so that the comb can go through the curls without pulling them and hurting Virgil.
Virgil almost lets out a surprised sigh when Alisson starts running the comb through his curls. There's barely any tugging on his head and Alisson's hands feel light as he carefully untangles each curl. The same thing happens when he sets his hair, curl by curl, fingers damp with cream curling the strands until they look just the way he knows Virgil likes them.
"I finished." Alisson says, wiping his hands on his own pants and taking a step back.
Virgil watches himself, astonished. It didn't even seem like that same hair was giving him problems previously. Each curl was properly in place, making his hair look beautiful and shiny, just like Virgil always wore it. Virgil's heart pounds in his chest and he turns towards Alisson, who is staring at the ground with his hands in his pockets.
"Hey." He gets up and walks until he is in front of the Brazilian. "Look at me."
Alisson watches him through thick eyelashes, barely lifting his head. "Is it good?"
"Is it good?" Virgil raises his eyebrows. "Ali, do you realize that you left my hair exactly as I do? Every little strand in place, every curl well brushed and defined! How do you know how to do that?"
"When I was a teenager, I used to take care of a girl on my street who had hair very similar to yours. Her mother taught me how to define curls."
Virgil's heart goes soft for the Brazilian. "Can I kiss you?"
Alisson's eyes widen and he turns very red. "I-I-" He sighs and looks at Virgil directly. "Yes, please."
Alisson's lips taste like home when Virgil kisses them. The Dutchman pulls the Brazilian tightly against him, their chests together, breathing hard. Night falls outside, little by little, along with the rain. And Virgil has his Brazilian right where he wants him, in his arms.