Work Text:
Gogol rushed inside his abode, precariously throwing his overcoat onto its rack, kicking off his shoes violently, and running to the window perched beside his bed. He'd arrived home late today. Gogol lived in the royal palace of the Dazai-Nakahara Kingdom. Like all other staff, he lived in the bottommost floor. He was the king's jester, always expected to have a couple jokes up his sleeve, and always meeting expectations.
His room was small, just big enough for his needs. A rack by the entrance, a small bathroom to his right, and a bed to his left, beside a desk he didn't use. Overlooking his bed was his window, the current source of his attention. He had no kitchen, meals were served at routinely times each day.
He climbed up his bed, and shuffled over to the window. He pressed his face up to the glass and cupped his face to louden his voice, before an excited "Dostoy!" Was shouted.
Said 'Dostoy' arrived at the other side of the window shortly after. He blinked at Gogol for a few seconds, before a small smile crawled up his face.
A cheerful; "Do you like my new hat, Dostoy? Now we're matching!" Came from Gogol.
"Gogol-kun, you look better with your own hat."
At this, Gogol deflated. He had bought a new hat earlier today, which is why he arrived later than usual. He had wanted to match with his friend.
His friend, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, whom he wasn't even sure was real.
He sadly peered through the window that started this all.
--
When he had first moved in, he suspected nothing. He had set his two suitcases with his clothes on the floor, and looked around. It was a nice place to live if he made the most out of it.
He waltzed over to the window. He lived in the bottom floor, so he didn't expect anything spectacular. What he had expected, in fact, was a view of the garden that was behind the kingdom, as his room was at the kingdom's back.
Instead, he saw no foliage whatsoever. He saw a... A room?
A dark-ish, medium sized room. It had a few big computers to one side, a mini kitchen and what Gogol guessed to be a bathroom on the opposite side. He saw what seemed to be the ends of a bed perched right underneath the window, and a rack beside the bed, holding a hat and a cloak. He couldn't see an exit, but much of the room was shrouded in shadow.
He was confused out of his mind. Had he accidentally eaten cannabis cookies again? No... He hadn't eaten anything aside from the kingdom's meals today, and unfortunately, the kingdom does not serve their staff weed. A pity, Gogol thought, before he heard a voice.
"Are you going to ignore me for much longer? You're rather distracting."
Gogol jolted, trying to see where the voice came from. He realized the voice came from below, and desperately tried to tilt his head to see more of the bed below him.
He heard a sigh, before a man sat up on the bed.
Gogol saw tired purple eyes, shiny, shoulder-length dark purple hair, and the man seemed to be very pale. He was wearing a button-up shirt, but Gogol couldn't see much else from his position.
"Hmm. What's your name?"
"You can talk?! Awesome!"
"I'm not a rat, I am human. Of course I can talk. State your name."
"Why don't we have a fun quiz to guess instead?"
"..."
"...I'm Nikolai Gogol, you?"
"Gogol-san, huh? Very well. My name is-"
--
Since that day that Gogol had moved in, he and Dostoevsky became great friends. Gogol would often burst into the room, excitedly showing off new magic tricks he came up with, Dostoevsky nodding along to them, watching attentively until the very end, when he guessed how they were made. Gogol always got flustered at that, because a magician never reveals his secrets so how did you know how I did that?!?! But would always feel more determined to come up with better magic tricks anyways.
Sometimes Dostoevsky would read aloud books or poems to Gogol. I got a new book today, Gogol-san. It's called The Overcoat, I thought you might like it. Do you want me to read it to you?
Gogol would often try to challenge Dostoevsky with tongue twisters or riddles. Dos-kun! Say this really fast! Though he rarely got results he could tease the other about.
Why don't you say it instead, Gogol-kun?
Sometimes, when Gogol was having trouble sleeping, Dostoevsky would hum lullabies to help him. Hmm, he's asleep now...
Surprisingly, the panel of glass didn't mute any sound between them, but although he tried, Gogol couldn't open it. He also tried kicking it really hard, but that just resulted in him hopping around the room, holding his foot and screaming out dramatically. He even tried going around the castle, to see his window from an outside perspective, but everything remained normal.
He wasn't sure if Dostoy was real. He's asked him before.
"Hey, Dostoy, are you real?"
"The idea of reality hinges on perception, does it not? A medium might see things other people can't, but that doesn't make them any less real. On the other hand, a lunatic wholeheartedly believes that his delusions are the truth, when they're just the work of his imagination."
Gogol nodded along passionately, noting the obvious way Dostoevsky avoided the question.
"Hey Dostoy, how come I can see you outside my window?"
"Should I not be asking the same? I lived here before you did, after all."
--
Gogol's bed was perched underneath the window, a clear copy of Dostoevsky's bed.
Said bed was occupied by a slumping Gogol, very sad that Dostoevsky didn't like the ushanka he had bought to match with him.
"I appreciate the thought, Gogol-kun. But don't chase after others if it means losing yourself. You are Nikolai Gogol-kun, the jester. Not me."
Gogol straightened up again, with a small smile. "If you say, so, then alright, Dostoy. And oh, by the way-," he added, almost as an afterthought, "You'll never solve this new riddle I've come up with!"
Dostoevsky solved the riddle.
--
Gogol energetically opened his door, as usual.
"DOSTOYYYYYYYYYY!"
There was no reply.
Odd. Maybe Dostoy's tired? Dostoevsky knew his schedule by now, and usually waited by his bed for his friend.
Gogol walked up to the window after taking his overcoat and shoes and hat off.
...Wait, what?!
Gogol paused for a second, rubbed his eyes, banged his head against his door, looked back at the window, and it was still the same.
A regular window.
With a regular view of the garden outside.
With no anemic friends to listen to how loudly he made everybody laugh at work today.
He rushed up to the window and thrusted it open.
For the first time in the entirety of his life living here, the window opened. And a strong breeze hit his face, bringing along with it the realization that his friend was gone.
--
Gogol only just barely managed to get up from bed that night. He couldn't fall asleep from worrying about his friend, and said friend wasn't there to hum lullabies to him- he was gone. He sloppily got himself to his bathroom. He looked like a mess. His braid was undoing itself, his eyes had dark circles underneath, and he stood with the posture of a man whose life purpose just went down the drain.
He got in the shower and, unsurprisingly, just stood depressingly. Even the rainbows on his shower curtains and his rubber duckies couldn't cheer him up.
But alas, the show must go on.
--
"-and how did the man respond to that..? 'Do you know who you're speaking to?!' Hahahahahaha!"
He wearily flung out his arms as he finished his joke, with a forced smile on his face.
The whole courtroom stood in silence, unlike how they would usually burst out in laughter.
He could see Sigma and Atsushi-kun glancing worriedly at him. Kunikida-san never looked closer to combusting on the spot. King Nakahara looked annoyed, an eyebrow raised. King Dazai looked at him with bored, slightly concerned eyes, before speaking up.
"Gogol-san, what's wrong with you?"
Gogol quickly straightened his back and bowed slightly before responding.
"Your Almightiness, there is nothing wrong with me! I'm the same man as I was yesterday, no different."
This time King Nakahara spoke up. "Cut the bullshit, Gogol. You look like absolute shit, your usually good jokes are absolute shit, and you hold yourself like your life is absolute shit."
At that, Gogol could only chuckle.
"Gogol-san, what happened? You've been our jester for three years, and your work has always been always impeccable. You can tell us," Dazai finished off, voice slightly cold.
"... Yesterday I lost a friend very dear to me. My apologies," he said, making a quick bow.
The aura around the two kings instantly changed from mildly threatning to shocked. He overheard a quiet Gogol has friends?? From what sounded suspiciously like Sigma.
The kings looked at each other briefly before seeming to come to a tacit understanding.
"Gogol, take the day off. Actually, fuck that, take the week off. You'll get paid leave, don't worry."
Gogol stared up in shock at his two kings. They both had a glint of understanding in their eyes, and he knew they were being sincere. What happened to them, for them to understand how he felt so thoroughly, so quickly, he wondered.
He thanked them and they dismissed him.
As he left the courtroom, he thought he heard a "Well, Chuuya, guess you're back to listening to my jokes now-" "OH FUCK NO!"
He walked back to his home. Though, it wouldn't feel like home without Dostoy, he knew. He unlocked the door. Pushed it open. Took off his overcoat. Kicked off his shoes. Put his hat on the rack. Locked his door again. Walked to his bed.
Did a double take. Backed up two steps. Rubbed his eyes. Banged his head against the door. Walked up and poked his source of bewilderment. Poked it again, and again, and again. Felt a huge grin spread from ear to ear.
Because right there on his bed, in all his glory, with that smug smile and pale skin and dark purple hair and wonderful purple eyes and his coat and even his ushanka, was his dearest friend.
Needless to say, said dearest friend, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, had to fear for his bones with the almost literally bone-crushing hug he received.