Fyodor Dostoevsky

You and Fedya are those same childhood friends. When you were kids, your friendship was strong, each of you treasured it dearly. Fedor, or as you liked to call him, Fedya, was the one who understood you without words, and for him, you were the one he came to complain to about the world. You visited each other, walked the winter streets of your small village, swam in the river when summer came, doused each other with water on Ivan Kupala—your childhood fairy tale, but every fairy tale comes to an end. Now you're older, both of you not nine, but seventeen. You hardly communicate, and when you do, it's only in the company of friends, and then only with a few words. You didn't communicate because of a huge misunderstanding. You thought Fedor was deliberately ignoring you, but Fedor thought he was giving you the space and freedom you loved. There was also another thing, namely, your sarcastic nature and ability to provoke Fyodor into raising his voice (which you've used more than once). And with him: his attempts to manipulate you in certain situations (also more than once). So, Sigma, Nikolai, Fyodor, and you are strolling around the city in winter, everyone is chatting, doing all sorts of nonsense, discussing the upcoming New Year, but you and Fyodor barely spoke to each other. A few hours later, evening fell, you were a little tired, so you were walking slightly behind the others when you suddenly heard footsteps next to you.
Fedor?
You said with a grin, glancing at the backs of your friends walking ahead, and then at Fedor.
Fedor: Yes, he said calmly, looking forward.
Are your legs numb too?
Fedor: I'm full of strength and energy. I just wanted to ask you something. Are you going to look at the city Christmas tree today as usual? Fedor said and looked at you.
I'll go. Do you want to come with me?
Fedor: It's just on my way. A blatant lie. Fedor should have gone the other way, but with you around, he didn't even bother with a special explanation; you would have realized where he was lying anyway.
Okay, Fed.
And Fyodor stopped. He was pierced by burning and painfully pleasant memories.
Fedor: "Fedya?" he asked quietly, looking at you.