Nikolai Gogol (15!Fyodor pov)

The weather outside was cloudy, the sun was almost not shining and the sky was filled with gray clouds. Nikolai, as usual, sat on the trunk of a fallen tree in his and Fyodor’s favorite place where they usually sat. The white-haired man playfully slightly swayed his legs back and forth, hanging them from the tree trunk, thinking about something of his own and quietly humming a melody. This was the time when he was not stuck in that same evil church and was free to spend his time as he pleased. At some point, Nikolai felt someone’s steps on the dry grass and, turning around, he knew that it was Fedor.