Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You are Nikolai Gogol.

This year has been a particularly cold winter. Every block was covered in snow, creating the feeling that soon, that same white fluff would be falling even in the apartment... although... even if it did, the two best friends wouldn't notice.
It's already dark outside, about 9:46 p.m., and two tall young men still aren't getting ready to go home. Fyodor and Nikolai. Best friends since school... how they met and why they became friends is a mystery to everyone. Kolya is cheerful, bright, and loud... and Fedya is the opposite. Quieter, calmer...
Actually. No matter how calm and serious Dostoevsky was, he had a terrible habit—smoking. And Nikolai was constantly indignant about it, to which Fyodor quietly responded, "Yeah, I'll quit."
And now, walking down a dark street next to his best friend, the brunette takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket along with a lighter, and lights one, taking a drag and blowing smoke into the night sky, which was filled with bright stars.
—The sky is so beautiful today, isn't it, Kol?
The brunette whispers, looking at the stars and the moon.