Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.
Lyrics are from Katy Perry's Firework
For EighteenQs for the Darklina Summer Mini Promptfill Exchange on Twitter.
"Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin
Like a house of cards, one blow from cavin' in?"
The words float through Aleksander's open window and he grimaces.
He hates the summer months. The weather is too hot and muggy, and the place is absolutely crawling with tourists who litter the streets and make everywhere far too busy and are way too loud when he's trying to work.
"Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing."
His sister always rolls her eyes when he complains and tells him to get out of town for July and August if he's so bothered.
"It's not like you can't afford it, Sasha, and you know you can work anywhere that has an internet connection."
But Aleksander won't be driven from his home by annoying tourists, and especially not by the barely legal art student staying in the house next to him, who seems to consider any moment she's not singing (off-key) at top volume to be time wasted.
She's his neighbour Botkin's niece, and it is only his respect for the man that has stopped Aleksander putting in a noise complaint.
"Do you know that there's still a chance for you?
'Cause there's a spark in you."
He slams the window shut so hard that the resulting bang makes the art student in question – Alina, he thinks her name is – look over at him from her spot on the private beach attached to their properties.
Despite the irritation on his face, she beams and waves at him. Her smile, he notices, is as bright as the sun.
He scowls and turns away.
But as he resumes work, he finds himself humming along to the faint sound of the rest of the song.
"Hi, Mr Morozov!"
Aleksander, taking his time grocery shopping to enjoy the store's air conditioning as a respite from the relentless sunshine that forces him out of his usual all-black and into something lighter, turns to see Alina.
"You can call me Sasha," he tells her.
It's not that he's looking to be friends, but for some reason being called Mr Morozov by a pretty young woman only a year or two out of high school makes him feel like an old man and he doesn't like it.
Alina – impertinent little thing – peers into his basket and frowns at the contents (the ingredients for a week's worth of sensible and nutritious meals, with his vice – a dozen bars of chocolate – hidden from view under the fruit and vegetables).
"You don't have anything to bring to the bonfire tomorrow," she says.
"That's because I'm not going to the bonfire."
It's been running ten years now – the brainchild of painfully over-enthusiastic Nikolai Lantsov, who lives four doors down – and takes place on the first Saturday in August, a party for the dozen homes who share the private beach on Little Palace Strand.
As with much of the summer activities in the town, Aleksander tolerates the party and subsequent bonfire, but he has no desire to go out in the sweltering heat for hours with all his neighbours, most of whom he prefers in small doses.
Alina, however, seems to think his decision is insane.
"But there's food and dancing and music and smores over the bonfire, and Nik said last year some of them went skinny-dipping in the sea and –"
"I hope you have a wonderful time, Alina," he tells her, with a sincerity that surprises even him, "but it really isn't my thing."
She is a persistent girl, he learns. Follows him around the store, doing her own shopping at the same time, and then walks back home with him, trying all the while to persuade him to "come, even if it's just for an hour, Sasha, I think you'd enjoy it."
He can't find it in himself to consider her a nuisance, despite the fact that he would probably have told anyone else, except perhaps Ivan or Botkin, to fuck off by now.
But she's so genuinely friendly and an interesting conversationalist too – they talk about art, history, literature and his work, when she's not attempting to get him to attend the bonfire.
Aleksander is almost sorry when they part ways on reaching their respective homes.
Alina, he realises, is someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better.
"Bonfire, ignite!"
Aleksander hears Nikolai's cheerful cry, followed by a round of whooping and applause as the (admittedly impressive) bonfire is lit.
He closes his window at that point, because Nikolai likes to experiment and the bonfire smoke can sometimes end up emitting the strangest smells.
By the time he finishes his work – yes, it's a Saturday, but he loves his job as chief editor at The Fold Publishing House and it always improves his day when he can slash through a poor first manuscript with a red pen and some scathing comments – the sun is setting and everyone outside has migrated down to the sea to paddle in the water.
Everyone, he realises, but Alina.
He's out of the door before he can even think of it, walking over the sand dunes towards her.
It's not so bad now it's cooler and quieter. Despite popular belief, Aleksander really does love living by the sea, he just doesn't enjoy the summer weather.
She's singing again, twirling around the bonfire with her arms in the air, her sunshine-yellow sundress flaring outwards.
"You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
'Cause baby, you're a firework!"
"Sasha!" she giggles when she spots him, clearly a little tipsy, "come and dance with me."
The last time Aleksander danced was ten years ago at Ivan and Fedyor's wedding, but now he doesn't even hesitate.
Alina is hard to resist.
He spins her around, feeling lighter and happier than he has in years when she throws her head back and laughs giddily.
"Sing with me?" she asks then, and there is no denying her.
He doesn't know the name of the song or who it's by. Still, he's heard her singing it often enough to remember most of the lyrics, and she seems to appreciate his effort, even if his singing voice is rather rusty.
When she trips over her own feet while twirling, Aleksander is there to catch her around the waist before she falls over.
And then they're closer than ever. Aleksander can smell the cocoa butter and coconut oil in her suntan lotion, can see the glitter in whatever makeup she's wearing, can feel the curve of her waist underneath his hands.
He kisses her and she tastes of strawberries and rum. He kisses her and imagines a shining future.
Maybe, he thinks, summer isn't too bad at all.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter (or whatever we're supposed to call it now) under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.