White Nights

Single Chapter

Hello
I was supposed to post this on Christmas, but I forgot so I'm posting now. I want to post before the year ends because this story belongs in 2022. (I know that in some places it's already new year, but it's not here yet, so it's worth it)
This year was so tough for me, I barely made it alive, I still don't know how to deal with depression.
I wanna say that I am very grateful to everyone who takes a little bit of their precious time to read what I write, it really means a lot me.
I'm kinda drunk lmao, that's why I'm saying those things, but I'm really grateful!
<3
Happy new year!
English is not mother langue so if there's any mistake just ignore.

                               🐭🎆🐭

Sleepless nights were no longer as rare as they used to be.
And he couldn't handle them as well as he used to.
No matter how many cups of tea he had, how many books he read or manuscripts he wrote, or even how many sheep he counted, Fyodor Dostoevsky could not fall asleep.

He had tried peaceful ways of falling asleep, but without success.
He was beginning to think of more brutal ways.
Perhaps if he hit his head hard against the wall, a harmless poisoning...

He even considered simply not sleeping, adding that night to the long list of sleepless nights.
But he was worried that his weak worldly body would not tolerate such actions.
Finally, he decided to play the cello.

Minutes passed and Fyodor heard footsteps approaching down the hall and before the door even opened he already knew who it was.

- Dos-kun! - An excited voice said his name.
Nikolai Gogol entered without knocking.

- Hello Kolya.

It was almost two in the morning, but Nikolai's strange mood of mind remained untouched.
He walked through the room, as if it were his own, messing up books and removing papers from their places, almost breaking a teacup leaning against the foot of the bed.

- I heard music - he observed.

- I was just passing the time. What are you doing awake?

- Oh, you know. The night is made for doing things that are not allowed in daylight!

Fyodor glared at him.

- Ah, it's a secret, but I can tell you if you want.

- Let's let it remain a secret.

Nikolai smiled.

- What about you?

- I can't sleep.

- I see.

It wasn't the first time Gogol had walked into that room expecting to find it completely dark and silent, but instead found it with the lights on.
They remained silent until Nikolai broke it.

- Dos-kun, let's go for a walk! It's a nice evening outside.

Fyodor looked out the window, the temperature outside was below freezing, cold enough to kill a man.
Suddenly his white room seemed too warm and the cold seemed attractive.
Definitely more attractive than the insanity of insomnia.
He exchanged his sleeping robes for winter robes and they both set off into the night.

They walked slowly, the streets silent and empty for the late hour.
Except for the barking of a dog here and there, and a clatter of a tyre sliding through the snow.
The icy wind cutting his face and shimmering th scarves.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the winter. The cold air purifying his lungs.
He was already feeling much better.

The path they took was known to Dostoevsky, he had walked it countless times on different nights and different days.
It had been a few years since he had settled in St Petersburg and of all the walks, this was his favourite.
It was the only way he could see his old friends.
Not people, of course.
But those dearest buildings.