oh the snow in the moonlight (great comet; danatole)

meteor

It seemed as if Dolokhov stood there for an eternity. Anatole looked to the ground, where the letter lay, then back at Dolokhov's terrified face. Anatole's mouth opened, then closed again, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"Is it- Fedya, is it true? What Helene said?" Anatole's voice was soft, too soft.

Dolokhov couldn't look up at Anatole, couldn't speak. He didn't realize he was crying until the tears dripped onto his collar. This wasn't supposed to happen. Anatole should have been kissing him right now, telling Dolokhov that he'd never let him go, that he'd never leave him. Anatole should have been holding Dolokhov close to him, his eyes alight with happiness. This Anatole was shifting from foot to foot, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He wasn't smiling in the way Dolokhov had always imagined. He looked scared. Dolokhov angrily swiped a hand across his face, but the tears persisted. Anatole was still staring at him, his eyes wide and questioning. He looked too small; too nervous.

Dolokhov nodded.

Anatole was silent.

Dolokhov knew, then. He knew that it was never meant to happen, that everything that had transpired since the attempted abduction of Natalya Rostova was leading up to this, this inevitable heartbreak; that he shouldn't have ever bothered. He felt the cold wrap around his heart, crawl up his throat, close its fingers around his mind and soak up the tears, leaving him eerily calm. Calm, and empty. 

"Fedya, I- you know you're my best friend, but- how, I don't, I can't..." Anatole trailed off, looking distraught. Anger flared in Dolokhov's chest. What right did Anatole have to be distraught, when he was standing here ripping Dolokhov's heart from his chest? Anatole cleared his throat and tried again. "Fedya—I-I can't say that I feel the same way. I don't feel the same way." Anatole reached toward his arm, a misguided attempt at comfort, but Dolokhov pulled away.

"You're awful," Dolokhov spat, backing away from Anatole. "I can't believe wasted my time on you."

The eyes that glittered with an unspoken apology lingered in his mind as he blindly stumbled away from Anatole, finding his way downstairs to the only kind of comfort that had never failed him. He lost track of the hours as he sat and stared at the wall, his heart numb by the bottle he clutched close to himself.

~

Everything was wrong. Anatole hadn't said a word to Dolokhov since four days earlier, the exchange Dolokhov wished he could wipe from his mind. His chest still ached, an unwanted reminder of his unwanted feelings. The Kuragin estate seemed far too large again, Dolokhov's every step echoing through the towering ceilings, the ornate decorations leering in his face. It was all too much. He sulked in his room, disheartened; despondent. He felt pathetic, really, but it was better than the prospect of a confrontation with Anatole.

He was finally cornered the next day as he was trudging through the halls to find something to eat. Anatole at least had the decency to look guilty as he chewed on his lip. He thrust two envelopes at Dolokhov and opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.

"Save it," said Dolokhov harshly, snatching the letters from his hand. As he stalked away, he pretended the brief touch of Anatole's hand on his elbow hadn't been comforting.

~

Dearest Fedyushka,

I am so sorry. I don't know what to say. I was terribly misguided in what I did, and I am not sure you'll ever forgive me. I would not blame you if you didn't.