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Firmino really missed seeing his teammates happy. It wasn’t like they were never happy—they were still pretty cheerful most of the time—but it was a period of turmoil for all Liverpudlians and things were generally taking a downturn.
Due to a stubborn calf injury, Firmino hadn’t played with his Brazilian teammates since the World Cup break. It was driving him crazy to just sit idly by while his teammates gave their all on the pitch.
Firmino was very observant, and he’d noticed that some of his teammates were struggling with their mental health. Fabinho…well, even Firmino couldn’t find the right words to describe Fabinho.
The midfielder didn’t seem to show any emotion at all besides happiness. Firmino knew that Fabinho was disappointed at his drop in form—so why didn’t he show it? Even an eighteen year old was playing better than Fabinho now.
And Alisson had grown so unpredictable. The keeper, who was normally shy and friendly, now alternated between lashing out at people and refusing to speak. Firmino hardly recognized his friends’ behavior anymore. It was like they’d been possessed by completely different people.
They needed to relax, Firmino decided. They needed to go out and have fun, just like they’d always done. They needed to take their minds off football.
That was why after the 0-0 draw vs. Chelsea, Firmino did something he never thought he’d do.
*
“Kostas!” Firmino sprinted through the halls, desperately trying to catch up with Tsimikas. “I need your help.”
Tsimikas spun on his heel, surprise crossing his regular chill expression. “What’s up, man?”
“More like what’s down. Ali and Fabi are so down. So am I. What I mean to say is…” Firmino drew a deep breath, allowing himself to think about his question before he regretted it. “Is your nightclub open tonight?”
Tsimikas’ face lit up as if Firmino had announced he found the Holy Grail. “Hell yeah, it is! We’re even gonna have some special performers tonight. Why’d you ask?”
“Me and meus companheiros are stressed out,” Firmino explained. “It’s so obvious that even you’ve noticed, Kostas. Ali never yelled at us before and look at what happened vs. Brentford. Flaco's like a robot, always trying to be cheerful for everybody else’s sake but I can see he’s hurting. We need to relax.”
Tsimikas frowned in thought, and for a while Firmino feared that the Greek was going to say no. Tsimikas tended to leap before he looked, but everybody on the team was quite aware that Alisson was one of their best players right now and so he couldn’t risk doing anything that would jeopardize his availability. Firmino was healing from an injury and Fabinho was already in bad form, so Klopp would be rather annoyed if any of them showed up drunk—or worse. Firmino wasn’t sure about his best friends’ drinking habits, but he guessed that they weren’t too bad since he’d never seen them drunk.
“Okay.”
The Brazilian beamed, squeezing Tsimikas in a tight bear hug. “Oh, thank you Kostas!”
“Kanéna próvlima, fíle,” said Tsimikas in Greek, extracting himself from Firmino's grasp. “We open at seven tonight. Just don’t get too drunk—--the boss will kill you. I speak from experience.”
Firmino smirked. Henderson had told all of them about the time Klopp and the coaching staff had first discovered Tsimikas’ “secret” nightclub. “I won’t.”
*
Firmino waltzed into the garden, whistling a merry tune. He frowned slightly upon seeing Alisson staring into space on a swing, while Fabinho listlessly hung upside down from a tree, but brightened up upon remembering what he’d come for.
“Get dressed, manos!” Firmino sang out, tossing brochures at the two. “We’re hanging out tonight, no objections!”
Fabinho snapped out of his dull demeanor as soon as he realized Firmino was there, flashing a thumbs-up at his compatriot. “I’m already hanging—from this tree!”
Fabinho’s weak attempt at a joke didn’t amuse Firmino in the slightest. “Come on, Fabi. That joke is older than the pyramids. Admit it—you feel just as rotten as Ali and I do.”
Fabinho sighed, righting himself and sitting on the branch. “It’s just that…it can get so gloomy around here, you know? I feel like I need to cheer us up.”
“I couldn’t agree more with the gloomy part, Fabi.” Alisson finally seemed to realize what was going on around him, but he still seemed absentminded. “But you don't have to do that if you don't feel like it. It's not your job to make us feel better.”
“Then whose job is it?” Fabinho leant against the tree trunk. Every inch of him screamed exasperation. “I’m playing like crap, Bobby’s injured and we keep having bad results no matter how well you play.”
“I could play better.”
“Ali, for the fifty-first time: that’s not your fault.”
Alisson shook his head, jumping off the swing and climbing the tree. “Don’t say that about yourself, Fabi. That’s really harsh.”
“An eighteen year old is playing better than I am.”
“Bro, you’re being too harsh on yourself. Both of you are.” Firmino decided to intervene, climbing up on the same branch as Alisson and Fabinho. “I think we all need to relax. That’s why we’re going to Kostas’ nightclub tonight.”
Alisson nearly fell off the branch when he heard the word nightclub. “Você é louco, Roberto? The boss will kill us.”
“Not if we stay away from the alcohol and get back before it’s too late,” Firmino argued. “The boss won’t prevent us from having a little fun.”
Fabinho stroked his beard in thought, a mischievous smirk crossing his features. “I guess it can’t be too bad.”
“I still think it’s a bad idea,” said the goalkeeper. Firmino internally groaned—Alisson could be rather stubborn sometimes.
“Kostas owns the nightclub, Ali. It’s not like he’s going to drug our drinks or something.” Fabinho turned towards Firmino, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s go. When’s it open?”
Firmino pointed to the brochure. “Seven. Come on, Ali, it won’t be so bad! It’s not like there’s going to be strippers or anything. Kostas is a little unhinged but he wouldn’t do that.”
Alisson thought about it for a while before nodding. “Alright, let’s go. It’s been too long since I hung out with you guys,” he announced, pulling the other two into a hug.
Firmino hugged them back, then began the process of climbing down the tree. “Get dressed. We leave at six!”
*
Finding the nightclub was harder than any of them had thought it would be. For somebody who couldn’t keep a secret from the others if his life depended on it, Tsimikas had concealed his nightclub well. Thankfully the Greek had given them instructions, but they were just as cryptic as the location.
“Are you sure this is it?” Fabinho asked, staring at the building they’d just parked in front of. The white letters on the front said LAUNDROMAT, and stuck all over its windows were so many detergent ads one couldn’t see inside the building.
Firmino shrugged, stepping out of the car. “Well, Kostas wouldn’t lead us to a laundromat for a night out. So this must be it.”
Alisson exited the car, freezing once his feet hit the floor. “Um, guys?”
“What’s wrong?” Fabinho was still in the car with the door closed. “Don’t tell me you ran into a scorpion.”
Alisson shook his head, pointing towards the ground. “I don’t think a laundromat should have sand all over its parking lot.”
Firmino looked down at his feet, and then around them. Indeed, the whole parking was covered in sand and dirt instead of standard pavement. “Maybe Kostas wanted a beach effect?”
Fabinho cautiously stepped out from the car, gingerly crossing the lot. “It better be for a good reason. I just bought these Michael Kors and I didn’t plan on getting them all sandy.”
Firmino struggled to hold back his laughter when he saw how Fabinho had tied plastic bags around his shoes. “I thought we agreed on casual wear, Fabi, not dress shoes!”
Fabinho ignored Firmino, relaxing once he got to the sidewalk. “So what? It’s my wardrobe. If I can stand in them, they’re casual wear.”
“Let’s go in and see what it’s like.” Alisson was already at the door. “I’ll go in first.”
“Nuh-uh!” Fabinho leapt in front of Alisson, shielding him from the still-closed door. “Remember what we talked about, abraçador: we need to protect you.”
“I’m older than you, Fabi,” Alisson argued, stepping out from behind Fabinho. “If anybody needs protection, it’s you.”
Fabinho rolled his eyes, facing Alisson but still blocking the door. “If anything, you’re the baby brother of all of us Brazilians.”
“As usual,” Alisson sighed. He nudged Fabinho aside, gripping the doorknob and preparing to turn it. “I’m still the baby brother even when I happen to be one year and twenty-one days older than you.”
“Muriel’s five years older than you.”
“Technically, he’s not five years older than me.”
“How correct—he’s five years and eight months older than you!”
“That’s five years and SEVEN months!!!”
“Rapazes!” Firmino pushed his way between them before the fighting got out of hand. “I thought we were supposed to be relaxing. Now we’re picking fights before we’ve even entered the nightclub.”
Firmino turned to Alisson, prying his hand off the doorknob. “And what got into you, Ali? You’ve never been one to argue this much. Now it’s like I’m hanging out with a different person. Você não é um lutador, você é um carinhoso. Where’s my abraçador?”
“Desculpe,” Alisson mumbled under his breath. Even though Firmino was four inches shorter than the keeper, it seemed like Alisson had shrunk. “I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never been so…”
“On the edge?” Fabinho offered. “I agree.”
Firmino rolled his eyes in annoyance, swatting at Fabinho. “Not helping, flaco. You’ve been stressed out, and this is how you’re coping with it. It’s not healthy but it’s understandable, and it’ll change in time. So what do you say, manos?” He gestured towards the door, which was still unopened. “Do you still want to go in?”
Fabinho and Alisson exchanged a glance, then they both nodded. “Yes.”
*
Firmino opened the door, gesturing for the other two to come in. Fabinho tried to hip-check Firmino into the nightclub and nearly fell to the ground, and Alisson ended up carrying Firmino in because he was laughing so hard.
They reached the main room and paused to inspect their surroundings. While the outside of the nightclub looked like a laundromat, the inside was full-blown nightclub. There was a large stage on one side of the room, and the remaining space mainly consisted of the dance floor minus a few tables and chairs grouped on the side. A few people wandered around the place—and the Brazilians recognized them immediately.
“That’s Mesut from Arsenal!” Firmino could identify the Turkish midfielder from anywhere with those eyes of his. “And Leandro, and Sergio Reguilon, and…is that Arthur?”
“So that’s what he does all the time!” Fabinho spotted somebody familiar on the stage, setting up a microphone. “Look, there’s Kostas.”
“Kos-ty!” Firmino called in a sing-song voice, approaching the stage. “Come on down, bro!”
“You’re here!” Tsimikas took the steps three by three, sprinting over to the group. “What do you think of the nightclub? Pretty slick, huh?”
“I have to admit, it’s impressive.” Alisson gestured towards the other players in the building. “You even brought other players here so we can avoid the press.”
“And they say I’m light on intelligence!” Tsimikas extended a tray towards the three. The tray held many tiny glasses filled with an unknown drink. “Try these. They’re from the kitchen.”
“Who’s head of the kitchen?” Firmino asked, stepping in front of his compatriots. He didn’t think Tsimikas would give them anything harmful, but as the oldest of the three he felt personally responsible for ensuring nothing went wrong.
“Relax, man.” Tsimikas seemed to pick up on Firmino’s concerns, holding up one of the shot glasses. “It isn’t whisky or anything, it’s just a new pina colada recipe. Thiago made it.”
“Hold up, Thiago’s here too? How many people are there?”
“Me, Thiago, Leandro, Arthur, Mesut and Sergio run the place,” Tsimikas explained. “I do the DJ work, but we don’t have regular performers. Sometimes people from the crowd come on stage for stand-up comedy. We also bring in special performers, like tonight—”
Tsimikas was cut off by a bright yet standard ringtone. Pulling his cellphone out of his jean pocket, he briefly apologized to his teammates and pressed the device to his ear.
“Hello? Yes, this is him. What about it? WHAT?! You’ve got to be kidding me, can’t you do anything about it? Well…okay. Thanks for trying.” He hung up with a shout of frustration, slamming his phone onto a table. “Anáthema!”
Firmino approached Tsimikas, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“The performers’ plane got canceled.” Tsimikas groaned, tossing his hands into the air. “The patrons will be here soon, and it’s too late to hire any other entertainment!”
“I was really looking forward to that,” said Alisson, much to Firmino’s surprise. Alisson hadn’t seemed to really be excited about the nightclub, instead focusing on spending quality time with his teammates. “What was the performance going to be?”
Tsimikas dug out a brochure, smoothing out a million wrinkles from the pages and spreading it out on a table. Firmino recognized it as the same brochure Tsimikas had given him before.
“It’s a Brazilian group, Os Três Brasileiros,” Tsimikas explained. “They mainly perform pop songs, but they were going to do arena rock for the first time tonight.”
Fabinho raised an eyebrow, inspecting the brochure. “You know what that translates to, guys?”
Tsimikas nodded. “Well, duh. It translates to ‘The Three Brazilians’. But I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Wait a minute.” Firmino slowly caught on to Fabinho’s idea, gripping the table. “We’re three Brazilians, Kostas!”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Alisson’s eyes widened as he stepped away from the table. “We’re going to sing rock, on stage? I’m not so sure…”
“Come on, man!” Tsimikas cajoled him, slinging an arm around Alisson’s shoulders. “It’s not a hard song, and we’ve got half an hour until the patrons come. They won’t throw fruit or anything, I promise.”
“Well…okay,” Alisson agreed. “But I’m not going to get into any crazy getups.”
Firmino held on to the table so he wouldn’t run towards the stage already. He could hardly wait for the patrons to come so the three could sing together. The last time he, Fabinho and Alisson had sang together was after they’d won the Premier League, and that was nearly three years ago. It had been far too long since they’d performed together.
Even if Tsimikas’ nightclub wasn’t where Firmino expected their next trio appearance to be.
*
“Patrons of the club!” Tsimikas shouted into the microphone half an hour later. His hair, usually styled into his now-famous man bun, stuck upwards in a tall, bright blue mohawk. “It is my honor to present to you tonight’s performance, at DA CLUB!”
“Are you sure we can do this, Bobby?” Fabinho asked Firmino for the fifth time.
Firmino had been especially worried about Fabinho when they agreed to perform. It wasn’t that Fabinho was a bad singer—quite the contrary, actually—but the midfielder was often so shy that he had problems giving interviews, much more performing in front of an audience. Alisson was almost as shy when it came to performing, leaving Firmino to worry about both of them.
“Of course we can do it,” Firmino reassured Fabinho. “It’s a judgment-free zone.”
“But it’s at a nightclub.”
“And it’s Kostas’ nightclub, so it’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know how unhinged Kostas can get.”
“He wouldn’t humiliate us.” Firmino stopped twirling the leather fringe on his jacket, gazing at Fabinho with what could only be classified as attempted serenity. “You’re a great singer Fabi, and you entertain people all the time with your skills. This is just another one of them.”
Fabinho stood from the bench he had been perched on, wrapping the shorter man in an embrace. “Gracas.”
Firmino reciprocated the hug, burying his head into Fabinho’s chest. “De nada, flaco.”
They remained like that for a while, Tsimikas’ droning on in the background. Even the Greek’s loud announcer voice did nothing to break them up.
“Manos!” Alisson shouted over the music, pulling the pair back into reality. “It’s time for our act!”
Fabinho and Firmino reluctantly pulled apart, brushing themselves off. They linked hands with Alisson, stepping onto the stage as soon as the music started.
“Veja!” Fabinho whispered to his compatriots, pointing towards the crowd. “All of Leeds is there, and I see some Arsenal players there, too!”
“Focus on the music, Fabi,” said Firmino, gripping his friend’s hand tighter. “Focus on the music.”
Fabinho nodded. He closed his eyes as he began to sing.
I've paid my dues, time after time
I've done my sentence, but committed no crime
Alisson joined in. Firmino spotted him squeezing Fabinho’s hand in encouragement.
And bad mistakes, I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come through
And we mean to go on and on and on and on
It was time for the chorus. Firmino momentarily froze, as he hadn’t heard the song much before. Before he could panic though, Alisson and Fabinho joined in on what would have been his solo lines.
We are the champions, my friends
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, we are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions of the World
The audience cheered, even though the song was only halfway. Jesse Marsch, one of Klopp’s best friends, flashed the three a thumbs up. Firmino grinned broadly, waving at the Leeds manager. He would have a good chat with him—but first Os Três Brasileiros II had a song to finish.