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Firmino arose the day after the win against Wolves, looking forward to his day off. Even after a bad performance, Klopp always let the players have at least one day off to relax and recuperate—or, in the German’s grumbled, passive-aggressive FA-direceted vocabulary, “live like regular human beings”.
He tugged open his eye mask. Instinctively a hand flew up to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine bursting through the window. The sun always shone brightly through the bedroom windows in the morning, but usually Firmino wasn’t as bothered by it as he was today. But I usually wake up before the sun comes here…
Firmino rapidly sat upright, instantly regretting it. The rushed motion quickly made him realize how every inch of his head pounded and throbbed. Making sure to move his head more slowly this time, he checked the room for any of his teammates—only to find nobody there. Panicked, he grabbed the alarm clock and read it: 10:24 AM.
No wonder the room’s empty—I slept in! They must have all gone to breakfast without me. Firmino groaned, flopping back onto his pillow. He would get some breakfast later; not much, as he didn’t feel as hungry as usual. But first, he had to find some pain medication.
Trying to ignore the constant throbbing in his head, Firmino eased himself out of bed, searching his personal drawer for any pain medication. His search turned up empty as a wave of nausea hit him, forcing him to sit on the floor and ease himself against the hard bed frame. He didn’t have any energy, not even to climb back into bed or call for help.
The bright sunshine and clear skies, once so lovely, outside now mocked Firmino, who laid curled in a fetal position on the wooden floor. The room was quiet, nobody had passed by the bedroom yet and it seemed like nobody ever would. Hot tears stung at his eyes. His futile attempt to blink them back only made him feel even more pathetic.
*
Fabinho waved Elliott and Carvalho off as they left Kirkby for the day. Almost everybody was taking their day off as an opportunity to hang out with teammates or relax. They all loved Kirkby, but everybody agreed that some downtime away from the club was good for their individual and collective mental health.
Even Alisson, who didn’t like going out much, had plans for the day. He had managed to convince Van Dijk to “show him his impeccable fashion style”, as the goalkeeper had put it. Van Dijk had been so excited at the prospect, he’d dragged Alisson to his car before breakfast could even be served.
Fabinho, meanwhile, had plans of his own. He would take Firmino on a two-person fishing trip to Bickershaw Lake. He thought he remembered Mane having an issue with the place, but Fabinho hadn’t read anything negative about Bickershaw Lake online. He’d already dressed, packed the car and restocked the tack box and picnic basket. The only thing he needed now was for Firmino to wake up.
He frowned and checked his watch—10:32 AM. Firmino never slept past 10:30, not even after a late night game and party. Fabinho wished he could let Firmino sleep, but soon it would be midday and the sun would be too hot to fish. So Fabinho decided to wake Firmino himself.
"Bobby?" Fabinho opened the bedroom door. "Come on, you can't sleep the whole day."
He listened for an answer, but all he heard was a muffled whine. He peered into the room...only to find Firmino curled up on the floor in his pajamas.
Fabinho didn't waste any time asking questions. A strange instinct took control of his mind, hogging up the reins usually controlled by logic. The fact that the instinct screamed at him to pick up the smaller man and lay him in bed led Fabinho to assume that this was what an older brother's instinct felt like.
Wordlessly, Fabinho reached down to the floor and picked up Firmino. After shifting the weight in a way he felt secure about, he proceeded to carry Firmino to one of the single-person bedrooms they used when someone was infectiously sick.
Carrying Firmino offered Fabinho an opportunity to inspect him. Firmino's face felt warm all over even though he shivered in his sleep, and his face was hot and flushed. Upon further inspection, Fabinho noticed dried tear tracks on his cheekbones—a clear indicator that he'd cried himself to sleep.
Fabinho eased Firmino into bed, adjusting the pillows around his head. Firmino hadn't woken up at all during the walk to the bedroom, but he had stirred as Fabinho tucked him into bed.
Ay, coitadinho. Sick--and at such an important time as well. Fabinho pulled out his phone, scrolling through his Whatsapp. He considered calling Alisson for help, but then he thought better of it. Alisson rarely got a day off--and if he heard Firmino was sick, he would drop everything to return to Kirkby. Same with Klopp, so that ruled him out too. He needed somebody that wouldn’t completely freak out.
He got to the R section of his contacts, sighing as he didn’t find anybody. That’s when his finger landed on the first name on the S list. Sadio Mane.
Fabi: Sadio? Are you there?
Fabi: If you are, I need some advice. Bobby’s sick and I don’t know what’s wrong except that he has a fever and seems lethargic
Fabinho waited and waited for an answer. His phone didn’t buzz at all, though—so he set off on the task of making Firmino comfortable. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he did know that there was nothing a sweetened beverage couldn’t fix.
*
Fabinho pulled a face as he stirred chocolate syrup into Firmino’s favorite mug. Fabinho didn’t like chocolate very much, unlike Alisson and Firmino who could ingest surprising quantities of the stuff at a time. Firmino’s tastes in chocolate were particularly interesting, as he preferred whipped cream, green grapes and pumpkin spice on his hot chocolate.
He set the mug of hot chocolate onto the tray, which also had a bowl of broth in the middle. Firmino didn’t exactly like soup, but he did seem okay with broth, which would be easy to eat if he had a sore throat. Satisfied with his work, he picked up the tray and steeled himself for the walk back to the bedroom.
Halfway through, his phone buzzed, signaling that he’d received a message. Setting the tray on a nearby coffee table, Fabinho smiled upon reading that Mane had responded to him.
sm17: Oh no poor guy
sm17: With a fever and lethargy, it’s probably a common cold but you can never be too sure
sm17: Give him some safe fever medicine (preferably Tylenol)
Fabi: Yeah, not aspirin, we don’t want any complications
sm17: And make sure he gets plenty of rest and fluids. Call me if it gets more serious, okay?
Fabi: Okay
sm17: Even if it doesn’t get more serious, stay in contact with me anyways. I miss you 🥺
Fabi: Moi ici 🥺 Hope you’re doing something fun today
sm17: Not exactly, Thomas dragged me and Manu to a steeplechase and he’s going crazy over the horses while Manu’s face is stuck in permanent death glare
Fabi: 🤣🤣🤣 Thomas sounds like a total nut
sm17: Yeah but I like him 😁
Fabi: I was going to take Bobby to Bickershaw Lake to fish
sm17: I strongly advise against that 😖 Trust me, I know what I’m talking about
Fabi: Why don’t you tell me what happened?
*
Fabinho spent the next hour chatting with Mane by Firmino’s bedside. He found the Tylenol in a cabinet inside the treatment room, locked away in a medicine cabinet, and placed the glass bottle on the bedside in advance. He was careful not to make any noise—the last thing he wanted to do was wake Firmino up from his sleep.
At long last, the Brazilian stirred. Slowly, slowly, his eyes flit open, dreamily unfocused until he found Fabinho.
“You came,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe it. “Fabi, you came.”
Firmino’s relieved yet surprised grin nearly broke Fabinho’s heart. “Are you kidding me? What makes you think I wouldn’t come?”
“I…I don’t know.” Firmino seemed genuinely confused as he eased himself into a sitting position. “I was in the bedroom and nobody was there. I was probably overthinking again.”
“Were you ever left alone when sick?” Fabinho lowered himself onto the side of the bed, absentmindedly stroking the other’s hand.
“I think so…when I was young.” Firmino went straight for the mug. His tired eyes lit up slightly when he spotted all the details. “You remembered the green grapes, que doce.”
“There’s that smile!” Fabinho cheered. “How are you feeling?”
“Far better than before. The only problem is that my throat hurts and my headache didn’t go away, so…” Firmino winced, pointing to the open window. “Could you—”
“Oh, of course!” Fabinho closed the Venetian blinds with a single pull of a string, immediately returning to the bedside. “Feel like resting, or…do you wanna play checkers?”
Firmino smirked and rolled his eyes. “Fabi, you’re a million times better than me at checkers. Will you really kick a man when he’s down?”
“Clearly not! I’ll go easy on you today,” Fabinho reassured him, taking out the checkers set they kept in the room. “But when you get better, I am giving you checkers lessons.”
Firmino nodded from behind his whipped cream mustache. He’d demolished the hot chocolate, but the broth lay untouched. “I’m in…as long as we can have the hot chocolate.”