[ Gogol stares, and stares, and as much as he would like continue gazing in wonder at the view of each syllable being mouthed he looks upwards and away. His eye catches the storefront of each establishment they pass with feigned interest. How profound. The mild compromise, mind-game or not, is more believable as something more genuine than if he'd just parroted the phrase.

They'll have to part ways one day, such is Gogol's wish. Dostoevsky must know that he'll fight against these binds again in an unpredictable way someday. Still, what shall the future hold? Something as exciting as it is dreadful, he thinks, if this new start to a different arrangement is any indication.]

Ha-ha! Haven't I got such a considerate friend? You're so underrated! Just look at you agreeing to things that could end up being problematic for you later.