Chapter Text
Dolokhov had come to realize that Anatole was the sun. Bright and warm, and bringing happiness to all who were in its light. Everyone needed the sun to live, to be happy, but spend too much time around it and its heat could get too harsh, too painful. No matter how much you wanted to be around the sun, it would still sunburn you eventually.
And God, was Dolokhov burning up right now.
He watched Anatole spin gracefully across the ballroom with another woman in his arms, this time petite and dark haired, her beautiful eyes cast towards the ground in embarrassment as Anatole whispered into her ear. Most men would be jealous of Anatole, the most popular man in the room, because of the stunning women throwing themselves at him. But Dolokhov? Dolokhov was jealous of every woman who touched Anatole, because he thought Anatole was the most beautiful one of all.
Dolokhov could have stared at Anatole for hours and not be tired of him in the slightest, but he saw a figure approaching him in the corner of his eye. Helene joined him in looking at the dancing man before glancing at Dolokhov in mild concern.
"What's wrong?" Helene prodded when Dolokhov barely acknowledged her presence. Helene always knew when something was bothering him. It was both a blessing and a curse. Dolokhov let out a sigh that could rival a dying man.
"Beautiful men," groaned Dolokhov before he could stop himself. Whoops. Not a great small talk topic. To his surprise, Helene simply nodded in agreement.
"I think everybody's a little bit in love with my brother, however rash he is." Helene squinted at Dolokhov. "Besides, I knew you had a thing for him before you did. It's been pretty long, huh?" Helene had a disconcerting knack for reading people no matter how closed off they seemed to be. Granted, anyone with eyes could see the way Dolokhov was looking at Anatole.
"Helene, what do I do?" Dolokhov felt like sliding onto the floor, but he realized that would be inappropriate for such a formal setting. "He's not exactly looking to settle down, is he?" Helene looked at him sympathetically, but also shook her head, and patted his knee.
"Well, first off, let's stop drinking." Dolokhov did, in fact, have an empty wine glass hanging limply between his fingers. Helene expertly plucked it away and replaced it with her own hand. "And then we dance."
Dancing was up there in the list of things Dolokhov really didn't want to to at that point in time, right there next to watching Anatole drape himself all over beautiful people that weren't him all night. On second thought, maybe dancing was preferable. Dolokhov allowed himself to be pulled to the center of the room, a waltz beginning to play. Helene grabbed his hand and set it on her waist, then grabbed his other hand and began to move in time.
"Really, Fedya, you'd think you've never danced in your life," said Helene as they twirled past a couple staring at each other so lovingly it made Dolokhov want to be sick. "Put some feeling into it!" Dolokhov had never really been one for dancing. He'd always preferred to stay on the sidelines, enjoying the beautiful men and women while having no responsibility to 'fall in love' or whatever Anatole was always saying about his latest flings. Speak of the devil. Anatole was waltzing right past them. The newest girl was obviously not as shy as the last one, but still tentative in looking up to meet Anatole's piercing gaze.
Upon looking at the woman, Helene's expression changed from one of enjoyment to one of shock, and frankly, horror. The girl was quite beautiful, Dolokhov supposed, but he only had eyes for the one she was dancing with. He squeezed Helene's hand lightly.
"Fedya, why are we even dancing? This is stupid," muttered Helene. She suddenly looked very sad. Dolokhov took her gently by the hand and led her to the side of the room. As they sat down, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He could feel how tense she was, and he felt guilty for not noticing it before. Helene was still looking at Anatole and the girl with a look Dolokhov could only describe as longing.
"I loved her, you know," said Helene after a long pause. "Anatole never knew. Her name's Natasha. Beautiful name, don't you think? Just like her." Helene's voice cracked, and she looked at Dolokhov helplessly. Dolokhov hadn't ever been good with comfort, but even he had the brains to realize a hug would be good. He pulled his friend close to him, and she trembled slightly against his arm.
"She ended it because she thought I was being unfaithful. I guess all those 'slut' rumors really do take a toll on a relationship." She breathed out a quiet laugh that sounded more like a sob. "No, I'm not going to cry. This is all in the past," Helene said, mostly to herself. She shrugged Dolokhov off of her and quickly stood up, trying to compose herself. "I'm-going to go outside for a moment." She all but ran to the door and slipped outside, leaving Dolokhov to shiver slightly at the cold she had let in.
He stared after her, then stared at Anatole and Natasha, who were progressively getting closer and closer to each other. He grimaced, realizing why Helene had needed to get away from them. He scanned the room for a familiar face and finally spotted an acquaintance he'd met once or twice, then hurried over. Anything to get away from that sight.
"Hello, Miss Rostova!" He greeted as he approached her. Sonya smiled her sweet smile as Dolokhov bent to kiss her hand. In another world, she would've been exactly the kind of girl Dolokhov would have wanted to marry. Unfortunately, he had fallen for the one person he could never have a chance with.
"Hello, Dolokhov. It's nice to see you here," she said, her smile remaining on her face. Dolokhov noticed that it didn't reach her eyes.
"I didn't think you'd be here, Sonya. Weren't you living far from here last time we talked?" Sonya gave a small nod.
"Actually, I'm staying with my cousin and her godmother for a bit. Maybe you've seen my cousin dancing. Natasha Rostova?" Dolokhov' stomach twisted unpleasantly. Sonya didn't seem to notice. "She's always been popular at things like this. Something I envy in her." Against his better judgment, Dolokhov turned to look for Anatole and Natasha. They had left the dance floor and were sitting on the edge of the room. Anatole's hand lying protectively on Natasha's lower back gave Dolokhov a bad taste in his mouth.
"Yes, that's something I can relate to you on," said Dolokhov a bit belatedly, Sonya giving him a curious look.
"Actually, I saw her dancing with that Kuragin man over there," said Sonya, lowering her voice. "I hope this isn't too forward, but I feel a little uneasy about that. I've heard some things about him." Dolokhov had no desire to talk about Anatole at this point, but he didn't want to be rude to such a kind woman.
"I wouldn't say that there's anything bad about him. Of course he has his flaws, but so does everyone," said Dolokhov. Was he biased? Probably. But he sure wasn't going to admit that to Sonya, who was barely even his friend. Sonya's beautiful smile had been replaced with a slight frown.
"Alright, Dolokhov, if you say so. He is a good friend of yours, right?" He knew Sonya meant well, but the words still made him a bit sad.
"Of course. I'd even consider him my best friend," Dolokhov replied with a strained smile, hopefully going unnoticed by Sonya. She nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"So, how is your job going?" Sonya's genuine smile had returned, putting Dolokhov at ease. The two made small talk for a bit, which helped take Dolokhov's mind off his feelings. Why were they so strong today? He blamed Helene and her talk of love. At that moment, the heavy door opened with a creak and Helene herself walked back in. Dolokhov excused himself and went to her. Her eyes were faintly rimmed in red. Dolokhov hated to see his best friend upset, but it seemed that she hadn't cried as much as she could have.
"How are you?" He asked quietly, touching a reassuring hand to her elbow.
"I'm alright, Fedya. Come on, I want to go get some wine." Dolokhov followed her to the drinks. There were pros and cons to this idea. Pros included: they got to drink alcohol. Cons included: having a perfect view of Anatole and Natasha. Anatole and Natasha, who were currently kissing each other very hard. Dolokhov and Helene both pulled in a sharp gasp of air at the same time, but Dolokhov was the one with enough common sense to grab Helene's shaking arm and lead her away from the scene. Looking at his friend, he could see the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. He pulled her towards the door she had just come through as quickly as he could without arousing any suspicion.
Once they had made it outside, Helene stood straight against the brick wall of the building. She took deep, shuddering breaths as her hands grasped at the wall without finding a hold. She looked over at him. "I always told myself I'd gotten over her," supplied Helene, her voice shaking. "I suppose I was quite wrong." Tears finally began to fall down her face, a sight that made Dolokhov's heart hurt. He held out his arms for her. Helene collapsed against him and sobbed into his chest. He rubbed her back soothingly, his own tears starting to well up in his eyes. Why was he upset about this? He saw Anatole kissing women all the time; he'd be concerned if Anatole wasn't kissing someone at a party. Maybe it was the way they were looking at each other. Dolokhov had never seen Anatole look at a woman like that. Or maybe it was a person he cared about very much crying into his shirt.
"Fedya?" Helene's whisper was so quiet that Dolokhov almost didn't hear it. "Fedya, I...this is going to sound bad, but... please kiss me." Dolokhov tensed up. What? His shock must have been evident on his face, because Helene clutched tighter at his shoulders and looked at him pleadingly. "Please...I need- I need to forget."
Dolokhov kissed her.
She tasted like tears, and loneliness