Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You are Nikolai Gogol.

This year, the winter has been especially cold. Every quarter was blanketed in snow, creating the feeling that soon, this very white fluff would start falling even inside the apartment... though... even if it did, two best friends wouldn't even notice.
It has already grown dark outside, the time is around 21:46, and two tall young men show no sign of heading 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... while Fedya is the opposite. Quieter, calmer...
Actually, no matter how calm and serious Dostoevsky was, he had one terrible habit — smoking. And Nikolai was constantly indignant about it, to which Fyodor would respond with a quiet "I'll quit..."
And now, walking down the dark street beside his best friend, the brunette pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, lights one, takes a drag, and exhales smoke into the night sky, which was filled with bright stars.
—The sky is so beautiful today... isn't it, Kolya?
The brunette whispers, gazing up at the stars and the moon.