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Nikolai turned the key and opened the front door of his apartment.
New apartment. In a new city.
This was his first day in Saint Petersburg. All of his belongings had arrived earlier that week and now boxes piled on top of each other were lined up against the walls of the small hallway. After taking off his shoes, Nikolai headed for the more spacious area - a combination of bedroom and living room. The long coat stayed on his back - it was almost as cold as outside, the heating seemed to not have been turned on for a while.
A studio was all Nikolai could afford, at least for the time being. Moving from a small town to the metropolis that Saint Petersburg was, required some sacrifices, above all the size of his housing. However, Nikolai had been lucky enough to come across such a nice studio with lots of natural light coming in from the large French windows. It was located downtown, within walking distance from his new workplace, namely the most renowned theatre in the city. Landing a role there was the first big step in his acting career.
Nikolai turned on the heating, hung his overcoat on the rack, and rolled up his sleeves. Figuratively; he was actually wearing a t-shirt. Instead of despair at the idea of dealing with everything all alone, there was excitement. It took less than two days for his new residence to feel like a home.
Early Saturday morning, he was sitting on the sofa, gnawing on the last remaining piece of pirozhki and watching with great interest the development of a heated discussion between two sparrows standing on the windowsill. Nikolai also longed to talk to someone. Having been so focused on putting together the new furniture and arranging his belongings, he had been deprived of the conversations that always filled him with energy. As it happened, the only person he had exchanged a few words with over the past days was the nice lady at the local bakery where Nikolai had bought the pirozhki. And that had been the previous day.
With a sigh, Nikolai picked up his plate and empty mug and went to the small kitchen. And just then a genius idea brightened his mood - he was going to finally meet his neighbours!
After a quick trip to the store, Nikolai had everything he needed to carry out his plan. He eyed the ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter with a wide smile. And while his cooking endeavours ended in disaster more often than not, Nikolai had the weird presentiment that luck was on his side this time. His gut feeling was never wrong!
In all fairness, he was simply too giddy at the prospect of meeting new people. And a little bit hungry too. His stomach growled at the thought of all the sweets he was going to make.
Several hours and a near-successful kitchen fire later, Nikolai stood panting by the wide open window, still holding the fire extinguisher in one hand. With the other he wiped the drops of sweat from his forehead; a proud look spread over his face. Despite the setbacks, everything Nikolai had planned was now placed on the small table, ready to be consumed.
Cookies with toppings of various flavours and colours, cheesecake tarts decorated with star-shaped sprinkles, and cinnamon rolls coated with powdered sugar. Eventually, a few of them vanished into thin air; into Nikolai’s stomach, that is - he couldn’t resist the temptation.
In the late afternoon, when the sun had almost settled behind the horizon, Nikolai stepped out of his home with a plate of desserts in his hands and strode off across the hall. Whoever lives on the same floor comes first. Nikolai was sure someone lived behind the dark wooden door he was facing and hoped to find them home.
A short press of the doorbell. Nikolai waited. Maybe no one’s home. He shifted his weight on his other foot and glanced at the doorbell again. It wouldn’t hurt to try again, one last time.
At this moment, the door was unlocked and opened ajar. A man about Nikolai’s age was peering out from inside. Dark shoulder length hair and pale skin; deep violet eyes were watching Nikolai inquiringly.
Suddenly it hit him, the prolonged awkward silence so atypical of any of his interactions, and Nikolai managed to come to his senses and introduce himself with a charming smile. What a curious coincidence! Living across the hall from someone your own age and… well, fine - someone so strikingly beautiful.
The mysterious aura of the man made Nikolai follow him inside. He couldn’t refuse the invitation, and besides, it was the best excuse to get to know the man. That’s precisely why he was doing all this, right? To meet the people he shared a building with.
Nikolai knew that the apartment was much bigger than his, that was how the building had been constructed, yet he couldn’t help but stare in awe. The living room alone was the size of his studio! There were a couple more closed doors down the hall, and what Nikolai envied the most - the largest balcony he had ever seen.
“Oh…” the soft sound snapped Nikolai out of his daydream and he turned to see his host on the doorway holding two cups of tea. Fyodor Dostoyevsky . It had such a nice ring to it; Nikolai nearly said the name out loud, the syllables flowing out of his lips so sweetly. Sweet, that was the perfect word for it; lovely, delicate , just like the slender hands that lifted the lid of the sugar bowl.
Nikolai left his spot in front of the wide window and approached the sofa, mesmerised by the elegance of each of Fyodor’s movements.
“Sugar?” Fyodor offered once Nikolai was seated by his side. Sage vines wound their way across the surface of the china set, here and there accompanied by periwinkle flowers. Nikolai put a cube of brown sugar in his tea and watched it sink to the bottom and slowly dissolve.
Fyodor’s home was just like him , Nikolai thought, taking another sip of the raspberry tea. Mysterious and elegant but not exactly in a modern way. It was as if Nikolai had travelled back in time; the furniture was vintage, one wall was lined by a dark wooden bookcase, heavy burgundy curtains fell to the floor, and the entire floor was covered by a carpet.
Nikolai sank deeper into the velvet sofa. Perhaps he was too tired from all his adventures that day. Or perhaps he wanted to remember the pleasant feeling.
Fyodor was explaining what he had been working on - a new composition for cello, just for fun though. Said cello had been noticed by Nikolai the very moment he had stepped into the room. It stood propped against the mahogany desk, a disarray of stray note sheets all around. As it turned out, Fyodor also played at the theatre sometimes. Not quite that often , but Nikolai’s heart was suddenly beating faster, the image of running into Fyodor at their shared workplace was so thrilling. But then again, they were neighbours, they would surely run into one another more often than not on the stairs or the hallway.
Then the real Fyodor reached for the cookies Nikolai had made.
“Smells delicious. What recipe did you use?”
Nikolai chuckled. “I don’t really follow recipes, it’s more exciting that way,” but seeing Fyodor’s hesitant expression, he added: “It’s not poisonous! I already tried one and I’m fine!”
“Makes it even more suspicious,” Fyodor took a bite. “It’s good.”
Two toned eyes stayed glued to the single tiny crumb left on Fyodor’s bottom lip. This was so bad! Nikolai panicked; what exactly was he supposed to do? His brain had stopped working, he couldn’t think of a solution.
“Are you okay?” a tentative voice asked.
There was a dip in the sofa at Fyodor’s movement. He leaned closer to Nikolai, hand placed on the back of the sofa for support. Nikolai gulped, unable to tear his eyes away. Cold fingers mindlessly caresseed the messy hair at the nape of his neck.
Without warning, he reached out with a shaking hand, his thumb brushing the crumb off Fyodor’s lip. The other man’s eyes went wide with surprise. What a lovely shade, violets and red wine … There was no reason for Nikolai’s hand to remain pressed against the other’s face, but he indulged in it for a few seconds longer.
“Yeah… napkins are a good idea,” Fyodor’s lips spread into a bashful smile and he stood up. “I’m such a careless host. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
Nikolai watched him rumble through the cupboard. “Only if you promise to make it up to me!”
Fyodor turned around at his words, a mischievous glint in his eyes and locked them with the mismatched ones. “Precisely what I’m planning to do.”