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The days in St. Petersburg were dry and boring: Aragorn brewed coffee every morning—strong and bitter, like the autumn outside the window—went to work, and came back exhausted and weary. Being the director of a law firm is no easy matter, especially when every day you have to clean up other people's mistakes, prove the obvious, and listen to people's complaints.
Legolas had already come to terms with the fact that after university, their number of movie nights had shrunk to a third. Instead, they'd been replaced by evenings with Chinese tea and Aragorn's complaints about how all his employees and clients were idiots who understood absolutely nothing about legal matters but kept sticking their noses in anyway. Legolas listened, nodded, sometimes refilled the tea, sometimes just stayed quiet.
That was how things went, right up until the moment Legolas decided to take Aragorn to the Alexandrinsky Theatre. He was tired of watching autumn melancholy slowly but surely devour his partner, of watching it drain the color out of him and leave behind nothing but gray exhaustion.
***
7AM.
Legolas was already thoroughly fed up with the way autumn melancholy affected Aragorn. Every time, he had to drag him out of it—and every time, it cost Legolas energy. He genuinely hated it when Aragorn closed himself off, when the normal dose of love Legolas could only ever get within the four walls of their apartment. Not holding hands in public, not to mention, God forbid, kissing. How sincerely Legolas hated this. Hated it when he saw a couple walking hand in hand out in the open. Hated it when someone at work asked if he had a girlfriend. Hated it when he himself pulled his hand back—reflexively, without even noticing anymore.
But right now, Aragorn was standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee and hearing Legolas moving around in the room—light footsteps, occasional sighs, the rustle of clothing.
Legolas came out to him with perfect hair, already fully put together for another day of work as a simultaneous interpreter, since today he again had to translate dialogues for some employees at some influential companies. The suit fit impeccably, the tie was tied straight.
"Why so gloomy?" Legolas asked with a touch of worry, pouring Aragorn coffee from the cezve and kissing him on the temple in the process. A thin stream of dark liquid stretched into the cup, and an invigorating smell filled the kitchen.
"I wonder if my lawyers could get Raskolnikov acquitted of murder and get his sentence reduced? Purely in theory. After all, people like him—who thought they weren't 'trembling creatures but had the right'—we acquit or destroy in court every single day." Aragorn took the cup, took a sip, and winced—whether from the bitterness or from his own thoughts.
"For murdering two people? Well, maybe... as a state of affect? Though I don't know, unlikely," the man was already standing in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, absentmindedly noting that the knot was slightly askew.
"For some reason, I see myself in him. Sometimes I feel like I understand him better than I'd like to." Aragorn shifted his gaze to the window and took another sip of coffee. Outside the glass, rain drizzled, gray and endless, and it seemed the whole city was soaked through with this dampness.
"...Interesting." Legolas didn't argue, just raised an eyebrow. He knew Aragorn sometimes wandered off into these philosophical thickets, especially when he was tired.
That same evening, Legolas was sitting across from Aragorn with a very sly and delighted look on his face. There was a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips that he wasn't even trying to hide.
"Aragorn..." Legolas sat across from him. Outside, it was autumn, Thursday had turned out thoroughly gloomy, rain drummed against the eaves, and the apartment was warm and cozy. "I went to see 'The Seagull' at the Alexandrinsky recently... Would you want to come to a show with me?"
"I suppose I could, but I'm not particularly eager," Aragorn responded wearily, finishing his pasta. He didn't even look up from his plate.
"It's too late to refuse," the man's lips stretched into a smile. "I got us tickets. 'Crime and Punishment' by Dostoevsky."
Aragorn nearly choked on his tea. He set the cup down, looked at Legolas for a long moment, and finally asked:
"What, sorry? When? What time?"
"Tomorrow at 7 PM." Legolas smiled wider. He was clearly enjoying the effect he'd produced.
"...Fine, let's go. How much did the tickets cost, at least?" Aragorn sighed heavily, realizing there was no backing out now.
"7,000, why?"
"Legolas... you clearly need to work on your financial literacy." The man sighed heavily again and took a sip of tea. "Seven thousand for two tickets?"
"It's art, Aragorn. Art is priceless," Legolas responded with the most innocent look. "Besides, I'd been thinking about it since September—I set the money aside back then."
By the evening of the next day, they were already confidently striding through the gray streets of the cultural capital. It had started to rain—fine, prickly, somehow especially St. Petersburg rain—Legolas opened the umbrella, Aragorn looked at it for a couple of seconds, then stepped under it, and now they walked in step. Aragorn genuinely didn't understand why he needed to dress for the theater like he was going to court. He got enough of that at work. Legolas, as always, was dressed to the nines, with perfect hair and a beige suit that fit him flawlessly. He'd somehow managed to convince Aragorn to put on a shirt under a black sweatshirt and trousers, rather than the first thing that happened to catch his eye in the wardrobe.
"Well, you do love Dostoevsky, I'm sure you'll enjoy it!" Legolas wouldn't let up, trying to lift Aragorn's mood—he was notably worn out after work.
"You have no idea how badly I want to sleep," the man parried. "I had three meetings today, two of which lasted two hours each. My head is buzzing."
Without a word, Legolas turned into a "Shokoladnitsa"—a coffee shop that happened to be conveniently on their way—and ordered two coffees: a latte for himself and an espresso for Aragorn. After waiting about ten minutes, they both walked on in a better mood. The coffee warmed their hands, and the warmth gradually spread through their bodies, driving away the fatigue. Aragorn struck up a conversation, deciding to ask what "The Seagull" had been like. After that, his interest in the play clearly increased.
They reached the theater, and after checking their umbrellas and outerwear, they first ducked into the café. But realizing it was better not to spend money right now, they decided to go straight into the hall. Of course, Legolas bought a program sheet, wanting to look at the actors. He always did that—he liked knowing who was playing, who the director was, who the costume designer was.
"Are you serious?" Aragorn smirked, turning the cardboard over in his hands.
"Listen, I want to see who's playing," Legolas said, running his eyes over the program.
"And I want to find a place where I can sit and sleep."
"People don't sleep in theaters." The man rolled his eyes.
"Well, I'll test that."
The third bell rang, and the performance began. The lights slowly dimmed, the hall sank into silence, and lights came on on stage.
Legolas leaned forward, fixing his gaze on the stage. Aragorn leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms, showing with his whole demeanor that he was here exclusively for Legolas's sake. But ten minutes later, he too leaned forward and fixed his gaze on the stage. Something in the actors' performance, in the very atmosphere of the play, seized him, pulled him along, and he stopped noticing his fatigue.
***
"I knew you'd like it." Legolas smiled when Aragorn came out after him, already in a much better mood. That he was enjoying it had been obvious even during intermission—he'd been animatedly discussing the first part, gesturing, even arguing with Legolas about the interpretation of Raskolnikov's character.
"The acting is very good. I really liked the actor who played Raskolnikov. And the scene where Sonya gives herself to him..." Aragorn continued, pulling on his jacket. He spoke with an enthusiasm Legolas hadn't seen in quite a while. A shame Legolas couldn't even fix his scarf for him outside the apartment.
"I'm not surprised. You were the one doing all the resisting," the man put on his coat and unfastened the umbrella.
The whole way home was spent discussing the play. How the actors performed, how certain scenes were staged—and in general, Aragorn had no complaints, only genuine delight and pleasure. He recalled individual moments, quoted lines, argued with himself about whether the director had placed the emphasis correctly.
They only got home around 11PM. Aragorn made tea for himself and Legolas, the TV murmured in the background, and outside it was still drizzling. The apartment was warm, cozy, and it seemed autumn melancholy had finally retreated.
"Checkout"... Legolas, you know what?" Aragorn set down his phone, on whose screen the theater page was still open.
"What?" The man perked up and raised his gaze from his mug.
"I bought us tickets to 'Liturgy Zero,' based on the novel 'The Gambler.'"
"Did you really enjoy theater?" Legolas's eyes lit up and he looked at him in amazement. Everything had happened just as he'd hoped: Aragorn had liked it.
"I really did," Aragorn smiled gratefully and held out a cookie from the table. "Thank you for dragging me to the theater."