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Hong Kong's air was thick with humidity, the sky draped in a heavy overcast that muted the vibrant colors of the bustling city below. Despite the oppressive heat, the players were led through their paces, their exertion punctuated by brief cooling breaks to stave off the risk of overheating. It was during one of these precious moments of respite that Marmadashvili and Alisson found themselves standing side by side, the distant sounds of their teammates' laughter mingling with the hum of the city.
"What are you doing?" Marmadashvili blurted after watching Alisson stare into the distance for what felt like seven years.
Alisson' gaze didn't move from the horizon as he sprayed the contents of his water bottle over his head. "Thinking."
Well, Marmadashvili thought with a wry chuckle, that was specific. "About what?"
Alisson sighed deeply, taking a long swig from his water bottle, his brow furrowed. "A lot."
Marmadashvili nodded in understanding. He'd expected this. "Wojciech told me you're an overthinker."
Alisson nearly choked on his water, shock flickering across his face as he turned to Marmadashvili. "Wojciech?!"
"Yeah, we ran into each other in Spain. Our team got whipped by five goals," Marmadashvili explained, leaning more of his weight against the wall. "I told him I'd be coming to Liverwool and asked if he knew anybody there, and he told me about you and Mo. Said you overthink, and try too hard, and sometimes you're a loner."
At the explanation, Alisson's shoulders drooped like a sunflower without the sun. "He's not entirely wrong."
Marmadashvili's tone turned serious as he offered an empathetic smile. He'd heard some things about Alisson from the Goalkeepers' Union--namely, Ederson threatening him to "be nice to him or face my wrath"--and he could already tell that Alisson's overthinking wasn't entirely down to personality. "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"All your old goalkeeping friends have left the club, even Taffa. That must be a heavy burden to bear. Wojciech painted a picture of the old you, and it sounded like you weren’t always so closed off."
"Oh?"
"You know what, forget I said anything. If you'd wanted to open up about your time in Rome, you'd have done it."
Alisson sighed in relief, a grateful look in his eyes. "Thank you."
"If you don't mind, I've got a question for you," Marmadashvili pressed on, mustering the courage among the murky doubt inside him.
"Alright, what is it?"
Come on, you can ask it. Ali's a cinnamon roll, he won't judge you. "Do you think I'll fit in here? It feels like everybody's so close already that there's no void to fill."
Alisson' expression softened, and he rested a warm hand on Marmadashvili's shoulder. "Of course you'll fit in, Gio! We're a family here, and there's always room for one more player."
"Even six more players, with the potential of a seventh or eighth?" It was meant to be joking, but there was some truth.
"Even twenty more players," Alisson confirmed. "I still miss everybody who's not here, but...I'm glad you're here."
A warm feeling spread from Marmadashvili's heart all over his chest, sending pleasantly fuzzy tingles up his spine. "You called me Gio."
Alisson' expression morphed from reassuring to anxious. "Is that okay? Did I offend you? I'm sorry--"
"It's okay," Marmadashvili chuckled. "Everybody calls me Gogi at home, but I like Gio, too. It's like a special teammate nickname, or something like that."
Relief washed over Alisson, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. "Oh, thank goodness. Can I hug you?"
Marmadashvili smirked mischievously. "I’ve got a better idea!" In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arms around Alisson, lifting him slightly off the ground.
"Ah-- Gio !" Alisson yelped.
Marmadashvili froze, gently setting Alisson back onto the grass. "You don't like it?"
"No, no, I'm fine," Alisson assured him. "It was just unexpected. The only person here who can lift me like that is Virgil, and he doesn't do it as often as he used to, so you kind of caught me by surprise."
"Oh, good." Marmadashvili extended his hand to the older keeper with a hopeful smile. "I think we're going to get along. Goalkeepers' Union?"
Alisson smiled shyly and shook Marmadashvili's hand. "We can be friends, too, if you want."
Marmadashvili's grin widened. "I like the sound of that."
"Ali! Giorgi!" Otte shouted from across the pitch, his voice slicing through the air like a whistle. "Get yourselves over here before I chase you with a hundred water balloons!"
Marmadashvili chuckled at the mental image of Otte chasing the keepers with buckets stuffed full of water balloons. "That's our cue, I guess. Want to go out for gelato after training?"
"Maybe..." Alisson trailed off, his smile fading like the sun going behind storm clouds. "I don't really feel like going out now."
Marmadashvili's gaze softened in understanding. Despite the players and staff starting to laugh and goof off again after such a horrible past three weeks, nothing could erase the lingering reminders of the tragedy that had occurred a little more than a month ago.
"That's okay. We're all in this together. We'll take things at our own pace." Marmadashvili thrust himself off the wall and started jogging towards Otte. "But not on the field! Race you to Otte's cones!"
Alisson shook his head fondly and took off after Marmadashvili. "Not fair! You've got a head start!"