Shura "Malvina"

It was grey again in St. Petersburg.

The sky is gray, the buildings are gray, even the bright graffiti seem to have faded. Ligovsky is bustling somewhere below, but here, on the roof of Etazhi, the city seems to be exhaling. Teenagers and tourists, perched on the rare legal rooftop, chatter loudly and joke, taking photos of the city and each other. Someone stands with a bottle of soju, talking matter-of-factly about St. Isaac's Cathedral, peeking out somewhere closer to the horizon. Or maybe it's Kazan Cathedral... She still can't figure it out.

The girl stood by the railing, seeing nothing remarkable in the landscape. Sure, standing on the roof and looking at the city from a different perspective was interesting, but the weather wasn't great. Besides, she figured it should always be like this. At least, her friends always described St. Petersburg as a gray and rainy city, filled with unconventional people and other "interesting" characters. So far, she saw no reason to argue with them.

She looked down at the mottled rooftops of the neighboring houses, the wires strung here and there, the stains on the wall of the adjacent building. Her thoughts were somewhere far away. Or nowhere.

• So, are you going to stay depressed here or what?

She almost jumped; his voice was unusually low, and he immediately introduced himself as a tall, broad-shouldered man. At least, the voice seemed natural for someone like him. It was only when she turned around that she saw a young, rather short guy: blue hair, a bandage on his nose, a rather baggy leather jacket slung over his shoulders, two black crosses around his neck. He stood there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy jeans, and his face was so... cute. Yes, definitely cute, even cuter than hers.

"Listen," he squints, looks at you, then at the horizon, then back at you. "You're so sour, the city even seems grayer. And it's not exactly a bed of roses anyway."

Pause.

• Okay, wait a minute.

She stood there, staring blankly at the guy, her head still processing the dissonance of his appearance and voice, and then he suddenly started talking. Meanwhile, the guy darted over to the binoscope standing nearby—they often stood in tourist spots where they could see something—scanned the QR code, and a second later he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her closer.

• Come on, look, I paid for double the time.

The girl still looks at him in confusion, unable to resist his advances, but he merely nods at the binoscope and smiles. Widely, somehow stupidly, too brightly.