Chapter Text
Húsavik, 2020
Lars Erickssong looked quite puzzled when he saw Alexander Lemtov’s name on his phone’s screen. How the hell does he know my number? – he wondered. He picked it up anyway and faced a slightly surprised Lemtov and Mita Xenakis on the screen.
“Lars? I thought I called Sigrit,” the Russian said.
The Icelander threw a glance on the phone and realised that it wasn’t his. He was so excited that he accidentally took Sigrit’s.
“You did,” he said with a nod. “It’s her phone. Hi Mita!”
“Hello Lars!” The Greek woman smiled at him. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks. And you?”
“Fine, thank you,” she replied.
“Sorry, I can’t talk for long, because I have to find kids’ champagne for Sigrit before the shop closes,” he told them.
“Kids’ champagne?” Lemtov raised a brow.
“Non-alcoholic champagne,” Mita explained, then she turned back to Lars. “Why? She drinks, doesn’t she?”
“Not anymore,” the Icelander beamed into the camera. “She’s pregnant! I’m going to be a father!” he was shouting the last words with an ear-to-ear grin. “I’m going to be a father!” he repeated and from the movements of the camera, the contestants could guess that he was dancing on Húsavik’s main street. Then they heard someone blowing a paper horn at him.
“Wow, congratulations!” Mita said with a wide grin.
“A baby… that’s great!” Lemtov said, although he was rather shocked by the news. He had no problem imagining Sigrit as a mother, but Lars as a father… it seemed riskier than hiring Vladimir to design an actual building. He still had no idea how his background dancer could get his degree in architecture when he set the model of his final project on fire during the presentation. On purpose.
“Actually, we were calling you to wish you a happy new year,” Lemtov said. “Before we get so drunk that we can’t remember our names.”
“Happy New Year, then!” Lars grinned at them.
“To you, too! And give our best wishes to Sigrit, too.”
“Sure,” he said then he hung up.
“A baby…” Mita mumbled, surprised and excited at the same time.
“Lars as a father,” Lemtov said with a chuckle. “Poor kid. At least he or she will be half-Sigrit.”
“I think they’ll love the shit out of that kid,” the Greek woman said.
“Yeah, me too,” the Russian agreed with a small smile, although he felt his heart sinking a little. Hearing the pure joy in Lars’ voice made him realise that he probably would never be a father. Which was an odd feeling, because he didn’t even want kids. Still, whenever someone close to him got pregnant, this thought hit him.
“Hey, are you OK?” Mita asked, placing a hand on his arm.
“Yes,” the Russian replied. “Although there’s something that bothers me.”
“What is it?”
“Non-alcoholic champagne. Is that really a thing?”