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"Home videos?" Van Dijk groaned as he watched Slot set up a video projector.
"I figured we should do some team bonding since the storm won't let us go anywhere," Slot explained. "Then I found a bucket list in the office, with a list of things to do in a storm, and I figured fate was speaking to me."
Szoboszlai didn't look convinced. "You're seriously going to make us watch a whole bunch of grainy old videos?"
"Come on, Domi, give it a try!" Alexander-Arnold cajoled him. "This could be fun."
Szoboszlai sighed, his glare softening as he leaned on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Okay, Trent, but I'm only doing it for you."
Slot popped the first videotape into the projector and sat in an armchair. The others gathered in clusters around the room, either on the floor or couches, watching as the first video began.
"Name to the camera, please," an off-screen voice said.
A wiry teenage boy, perched upon a wooden barstool, grinned, shaking his ginger-red hair out of his pale, freckled face. "Andrew Robertson."
Robertson lit up at the sound of the off-screen voice. "Milly!"
"Wow, it's Robbo!" Endo remarked, rolling his eyes. "We never would've guessed it!"
Jota sent a questioning look Robertson's way. "When was this?"
Robertson furrowed his brow. "Y'know what? I can't recall! It was probably in my first week here, though."
" Position?" Milner queried.
"Left-back," Robertson replied, vibrating in his seat. "But I'll learn anything, I swear! Oh, and I'm Scottish!"
"Nobody could tell with that accent," Milner snarked. "Do you think you'll be good friends with anybody here?"
"Dunno. Everybody at Hull thought I had too much energy, so they left me out of...almost everything."
Alisson frowned, moving from his spot on the couch to hug Robertson. "I know how it feels to be left out."
"Where are those idiots," Alexander-Arnold muttered with a scowl, "and when do I get to kick them out of the league?"
Robertson broke free of Alisson's hug, a smirk replacing the small frown on his face. "Y'know...Harry Maguire was one of them."
"Well, nobody hurts my work-dad and gets away with it. Down with United!" Elliott exclaimed, prompting cheers and battle cries from the youngsters.
"What are your favourite things?" Milner asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Robertson's eyes lit up as if they'd never dulled. "Oh, that's easy! Irn Bru, Jammy Dodgers, strawberries, crazy plans, running, LOTS of running--"
"Okay, that's enough. Do you like Raga--" Milner paused, and shuffling papers could be heard in the background. "This wasn't one of my questions! Who's been messing with my questions?"
The sound of footsteps came closer and closer, and the camcorder suddenly turned off as shouting filled the background noise. It was black for about a minute...until it turned back on, revealing Coutinho and Firmino in front of the camcorder, dancing to Rouge's "Ragatanga". They danced for about fifteen seconds before Milner ran in with a broom, chasing them out of the room.
"I swear you and the fullbacks learned your chaos from Bobby," Salah muttered, ruffling Elliott's hair. "He always came up with the most random things, even if they drove Milly crazy."
"Nope, untrue." Van Dijk shook his head, reaching for a pretzel from the bowl of them on the table. "Bobby's just lively. Robbo and Trent came pre-packed with chaos and a propensity to get on everybody's nerves."
Robertson gasped in mock-offence. "Oi, not true! You like us?"
Van Dijk rolled his eyes, but his wry smile betrayed his true feelings. "Maybe I tolerate you a little."
"Shush!" Endo hissed, pointing to the screen. "The second video's starting up."
"Siiiii senor!!!" A younger and oddly beardless Mo Salah popped up out of a laundry basket in Firmino's bedroom, a sock hanging off his ear. "Come on, Bobby, sing!"
Most of the older players laughed, while the youngsters stared at the screen in astonishment.
"You never told me you were a goofball," Elliott chuckled, elbowing Salah with a smug grin on his face.
Salah groaned, trying to hide behind his turtleneck. "Ugh, younger me was so annoying."
"Not now, Mo!" Firmino groaned. He rolled over, burying his head between the pillows. "I'm busy."
"Look!" Nunez called out, pointing to younger Firmino's slicked-back manbun. "We match!"
Tsimikas nodded, high-fiving Nunez. "Everybody knows the coolest players wear manbuns!"
Salah climbed out of the laundry basket. "Let me guess, you're thinking about your date with Philippe later."
Nyoni’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened like saucers. "They--Bobby--WHAT?! Why didn't anybody tell us this?!"
Firmino shot up, cheeks burning a comically bright red. "It's not a DATE, it's a book club meeting!"
"Right, in an ice cream parlour, and just the two of you."
"Mohamed, I swear if you say another word, I'm asking Klopp for your transfer receipt and I'll personally drive you back to Italy!"
"Just saying."
"We're just friends!"
"Bobby and Philippe, sitting in a tree--"
" Cale-se, idiota !"
"Admit it, you looooooove him!"
"I do--" Firmino suddenly glared at the camcorder, presumably at who was holding it, and leaped off the bed, running towards the video-taker. "ALEX OXLADE-CHAMBERLAIN, YOU LITTLE S--"
The screen went blurry. Nobody paid attention--they were too busy laughing.
"What happened next?" Gakpo begged, sending a begging gaze Salah's way. "We need to know , spill the tea!"
Salah leaned against the couch, smiling now that the attention was off his juvenile goofiness. "Ox stole the boss's camcorder, and Bobby and I chased after him until we got outside. Then we ran into Milly, and spent the next hour hiding in a closet because we'd interrupted Milly's lactate test practice."
"Zel, did you bundle up enough?" Klopp called from off-screen. The camcorder was positioned so that the window view was in the background, capturing the snowy outdoors as well as the inside of the office.
"Good old Melwood," Gomez murmured, and a bunch of the players nodded in agreement.
"Was that Klopp's old office?" Nyoni asked Taffarel, pointing to the screen.
Taffarel shrugged. "I don't know, Trey. This was filmed before I came."
Nyoni stared at the older Brazilian in disbelief. "You're literally a dinosaur."
"OPEN THE DOOR, GET ON THE FLOOR, EVERYBODY WALK THE DI-NO--"
" Zwig, fullbacks!"
"For the last time, I'm fine!" A younger Buvac appeared, only wearing a light windbreaker and black gloves in addition to his usual office apparel. "I was born in Omarska in September, for goodness' sake."
"Technically, you were born in the summer. The fall equinox hadn't begun yet." Klopp tossed Buvac a peach-coloured, cable-knit scarf. "Put this on, you'll be warmer."
Buvac grunted, draping the scarf on the back of a chair. He then noticed the camcorder on the desk.
"Seriously. You're filming us preparing to go outside?"
"It's for posterity, Zel! Someday people will wonder, 'Did these two squabble when bundling up for a snow day'? This is for the future!"
"Nobody cares about seeing this kind of stuff!"
"They do!"
"You're darn right, we do!" Gakpo called out. "It's hilarious!"
Buvac shook his head and positioned the camcorder so that it faced the other way. "You seriously think this will bring joy to the future?"
"Oh, for sure." Klopp opened the office door, gesturing for Buvac to come with him. "Let's go. That Christmas tree isn't going to decorate itself."
"What video do you think is next?" Kelleher wondered as the screen dissolved into black and white blurs. "They seem to be in chronological order."
"I think the last one was taken in the winter of 2017. So the next one..." Van Dijk's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no."
"This is Man. City’s oil money!" A younger Van Dijk held up two fistfuls of Monopoly play money.
The camera zoomed out. Wijnaldum stood on the empty, snow-covered pitch of Melwood and threw a bale of hay into a pile of things, lit ablaze. "And this is a bonfire!"
Van Dijk took a huge briefcase of Monopoly dollars and threw it into the fire. " Leve het verzet !"
Gakpo and Gravenberch gaped at Van Dijk as if he'd just sprouted angel wings. "You and Gini started a bonfire on the pitch?!"
If embarrassment could shrink people, Van Dijk would've shrunk to Jota's size. "We were young."
Slot shook his head as he watched a younger version of his captain set a giant wad of Monopoly cash on fire. "So this is where the Double Dutch get it from."
Meanwhile, Elliott, the fullbacks, and Kelleher cheered as more objects were thrown into the fire.
Alisson watched them, unamused. "You do realise you're aiding and abetting arson, right?"
"That's for spending all that money on Joe Allen!" Wijnaldum announced as he threw another was of play money into the fire.
Van Dijk picked up a jersey with Coutinho’s name and number on the back and hurled it into the smoldering bonfire. "And that is for breaking Bobby's heart."
Alisson moved next to Kelleher. "Now this, I can get with."
The video cut to a very fuzzy shot of Robertson and Alexander-Arnold sitting in Friedhelm the sycamore tree, holding cans of soda and swaying with the wind while singing "We Are The Champions".
Szoboszlai groaned. "Why did I fall in love with an idiot?!"
Salah extended a hand to the Hungarian. "Welcome to the club, Domi."
The camcorder's view danced around the room before settling on a place. The view zoomed out, revealing Alisson sitting on a bench in the cafeteria with a guitar.
Alisson's eyes lit up as he moved back to the couch, grabbing Van Dijk's hand. "I remember this!"
"Are you sure those are the right chords?" the offscreen voice asked.
A maraca flew through the air, and Firmino dived to catch it. "Why don't you try playing a guitar, needleman?"
"For the millionth time, Bobby--"
"Ooh!" Nunez grinned. "Rubber band session!"
Chiesa shook his head. "It's a band, Darwin, as in the musical one."
"Oh, musica!"
"Sugar! Ooh, honey, honey!" Firmino displayed a basket with a bag of sugar and two jars of honey. "You are my candy girl--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's not the words!" Fabinho appeared on camera, holding a pair of drumsticks. "And Ali, is that a D chord?"
Alisson stared at Fabinho, bewildered. "Of course, it's a D chord! That's how the 'you are my candy girl' part goes!"
"That's not how I remember Hendo singing it," Fabinho argued. "I heard him once in training, and he sang 'you're a pain in the side' while glaring at me."
Firmino and Alisson burst into laughter, while Fabinho just looked confused.
"That's not the words," Firmino laughed, holding onto Alisson so he wouldn't fall off the bench. "Hendo was singing about the fullbacks!"
"Oi, why do we always get the short end of the stick?" Robertson squawked, reaching for more Jammy Dodgers.
Van Dijk snorted, flicking Robertson behind his ear. "Because it's always you two. At least it was, until Kostas and Harvey and some of the others came. Now one-third of this squad gives me gray hairs every day."
"Alright!" Slot announced, barely holding back his own laughter. "Last one, and then we pack for the trip to Spain."
"Welcome to Fullbacks, the new show about what your favourite players get up to!" Robertson announced, balancing the camcorder in one hand while holding onto a door in the other.
"This was the precursor to Wingmen," Robertson announced as if he were David Attenborough, sending his teammates into fits of laughter.
"I fear to see who you're going to prank," said Jota, leaning on Jones’ shoulder and munching on potato chips.
Salah shook his head. "I know who they're going to prank, but I still fear it."
"I'm Andy." Robertson turned the camcorder to Alexander-Arnold, who'd almost entirely hidden himself in a locker. "This is Trentski, and today we're going to pull a prank on our newest teammate!"
"Yep," Alexander-Arnold agreed with a boyish grin, "today we're pulling a prank on Xherdan!"
Robertson's jaw dropped as he elbowed Alexander-Arnold. "I meant our newest teammate that's not Lorax-sized!"
Alexander-Arnold's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, you mean Ali."
"Yeah, mate!"
"Seriously, you two?" Taffarel glared at the fullbacks, and somehow that only made it scarier. Taffarel was even harder to provoke than Slot, but the goalkeeping coach had his moments where one glare could send the offenders scurrying for cover like mice. "Ali's tense enough without you two scaring the wits out of him."
"Relax, Taffa, it's okay. This was back in October 2018, way before we knew each other as well as we did," Alexander-Arnold chuckled. "Plus, our pranks are always completely harmless."
Robertson nudged Alexander-Arnold. "Um, what about that one time--"
"Shush, okay?! I don't want Taffa to yell at us!"
Robertson left the camcorder in a corner and hid in Alisson's locker with Alexander-Arnold. Alisson walked into the room, unaware of what was about to hit him.
"Okay...NOW!"
The locker room door opened a little, creaking as it did so. Alisson winced as he realised what was happening...
"If you scared him, I'm rolling both of you into a brigadeiro."
"We promise we didn't do anything!"
The suspense was broken by a spray of harmless soap bubbles floating from the locker. They glinted in the light, dancing on the air as Alisson watched on in surprised awe.
"I remember that," Alisson chuckled as he watched his younger self follow a particularly shiny bubble. "I was afraid somebody had planted a robotic spider again."
Salah raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by again ?"
"It's nothing, Mo, just something that happened at Roma."
"I thought I told everybody how much you hated spiders."
"Don't worry, Mo, you did. It was after you left."
The Egyptian shook his head and muttered to himself, before sending Alisson a look that said we're talking about this.
The fullbacks fell out of the locker. "Surprise!"
Alisson winced as he saw how the two had fallen, pulling them off the ground. "Are you okay? Did you see the bubbles?"
"Of course, we saw the bubbles!" Robertson exclaimed in his usual too-loud way. "We made them!"
"Did you like them?" Alexander-Arnold asked in earnest.
Alisson nodded, his eyes sparkling. "I loved them. But...why'd you do them?"
Robertson and Alexander-Arnold exchanged looks before dissolving into piercing laughter. It took them a good fifteen seconds to compose themselves before Alexander-Arnold turned back to a perplexed Alisson.
"Sorry, we thought you remembered!"
"Remembered what?" Alisson suddenly facepalmed and hugged Alexander-Arnold, ruffling his hair. "Oh, Trent, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot! Happy birthday, garoto."
However, this only caused Robertson and Alexander-Arnold to laugh again. Another fifteen seconds passed before Robertson finally caught his breath.
" Trentski's birthday's in five days. But you are on the right track, there is a birthday today."
"Oh, right, Bobby's birthday is today!" Alisson smiled at the mention of his best friend. "I hope he likes the presents I got him, I don't know him as well as I could but I think he'll like the gloves--"
"Mate." Alexander-Arnold cut Alisson off, his voice suddenly serious and a little sarcastic, like Milner's. "Did you seriously forget your own birthday?!"