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This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be.
Klopp had known Firmino before he’d even landed in the club. With all the changes and shifting in the club, Firmino had always been a constant. He’d charmed the whole squad with his bright smile and even brighter personality. And now he was leaving for good.
"I can't believe it,” Klopp said for the third time since Firmino had left the office. “I thought he was happy here.”
Lijnders nodded in agreement, setting his pen down. “It was just like that, and...he's gone. It feels like the end of an era."
Klopp didn’t even seem to register that Lijnders had spoken. “This has to be a joke. No way. I'll tie him to the Shankly Gates if I have to."
"Please, J." Taffarel stood from his desk. Even the goalkeeping coach seemed shocked. "You can't keep denying it. All great things must end."
"WELL, I HATE IT!!!" Klopp slammed his fist onto the desk, rattling the cup holder Firmino had got him for a birthday present. “Genau wie Dejan. Genau wie Gini. Genau wie Sadio. Verdammt, warum kannst du niemanden glücklich machen?! Why can’t I make anyone happy anymore? It’s like I’m losing my touch, verdammt, verdammt, verdammt!!!”
“Okay, take it easy.” Lijnders rolled his chair towards Klopp’s desk, trying to reach for him. But Klopp was too fast for him.
“Excuse me, guys. I…just need some fresh air.” And before anybody could say anything, Klopp had bolted out the door, leaving the office in a state of disarray.
*
Milner thrust his rusty iron spade into the soil and turned over a clod of dirt, hurling it into the distance. He would never admit it aloud, but working in the dirt did things to him that weightlifting never could.
Another thing he would never admit out loud is how much he would miss Firmino. The two had arrived during the same transfer window, and were two of the few survivors of the Rodgers era. The Brazilian’s sense of humor brought splashes of red to Milner’s gray wall of a life, which he loved. More like splashes of yellow.
Milner hadn’t been surprised when he’d learned Firmino’s favorite color was yellow. The forward and the color stood out from the crowd; both were sunny, cheerful and dazzling. Yellow was the physical embodiment of Firmino’s soul. Both felt like a warm hug on a cold day, a mug of soup when sick, a light at the end of the darkest tunnel.
He chucked away spadeful after spadeful of dirt, never looking back to see where it was going. It was only after he heard a muffled “oof” that he realized he’d hit someone.
“Gaffa!” Milner yanked his spade out of the ground and made his way towards Klopp. He didn’t get nervous easily, but Klopp was an exception. “You okay?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Klopp glanced at Milner, flashing him a weak, pasted-on smile. Milner easily recognized it from the press conferences. “I’m just…”
Klopp trailed off, allowing Milner to study him. Though it wasn’t very cold, Klopp had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders in addition to his customary puffy coat. His gaze didn’t land anywhere definite—the classic thousand-yard stare.
“Getting fresh air?” Milner finished for him, leaning against his spade.
“Y-yes.” Klopp finally made eye contact with Milner. Immediately, Milner saw how tired his managers’ eyes were. Red had never suited Klopp’s blue eyes, which now looked more gray.
A small part of Milner wanted to hug Klopp right then and there, similar to how he always did for them. But Milner wasn’t sure Klopp wanted to be touched right now. He eventually decided to leave him alone, but not before one final, meaningful line.
“I’ll miss him, too.”