Chapter Text
There are two things you need to know about Fedya Dolokhov:
1. He's in love with Anatole Kuragin.
2. Anatole Kuragin doesn't love him back.
It shouldn't be a big part of his identity, but it is; he's been in love with Anatole since the third grade, practically. He's been in love with Anatole since the very first day of third grade. He's been in love with Anatole since his birth. He's been in love with Anatole since the beginning of time. He's been in love with Anatole since—
Well. He's been in love with Anatole since the very first day of third grade. His flaw: he likes to exaggerate things. It feels like he's been in love with Anatole since the big bang. Since the creation of this universe.
Another flaw: he can't do math. Not anymore. He used to be good at it, but somehow he stopped being able to understand it all. He can't do math. This shouldn't be relevant, just like being in love with Anatole shouldn't be relevant. It is. It always is. He can't do math and he's in love with Anatole Kuragin and the world in general is fucking horrible.
He has the same math class as Anatole, sits directly behind him. This has no correlation to the fact that he's failing math. They are two completely separate things.
If they were connected, though, it would make sense.
It's a really good thing that they aren't and the world continues to torture him in the way that it always does.
Anatole doesn't love him back.
This is just a fact, okay.
A simple, true fact.
There are two things you need to know about Mary Bolkonsky:
1. She's in love with Natasha Rostova.
2. Natasha Rostova doesn't love her back.
It shouldn't be a big part of her identity, but it is; Natasha is everything that she isn't: beautiful, kind, popular, loved.
Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.
Mary has Dolokhov, her dear best friend who she loves with all of her heart. He's fierce and kind and caring and he loves Mary. Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.
Mary has Andrey, her dear brother who she loves with all of her heart. Andrey is a light in the dark, the man who protects her. Keeps her safe. She loves Andrey with all of her heart, and Andrey loves Natasha with all of his heart.
Mary has flaws, just like Dolokhov does.
Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.
Not in the way she wants to be loved.
Leave it to Mary to fall for her brother's girlfriend. Leave it to Mary to fall for the most unattainable girl in the entire world. Mary could have fallen in love with any other girl, but her brain chose Natasha and the world in general is horrible. Her luck has never been the best.
Natasha doesn't love her back.
This is just a fact, okay.
A simple, true fact.
"I haven't seen you eat lunch in two days," he notes.
"They've served us nothing but fish sticks for the past two days," Mary tells him. "Or have you not noticed?"
Dolokhov hadn't noticed.
He's been eating lunch with Mary at the same table since freshman year. Buried in the back of the cafeteria where no one can bother them. There's still the embarrassing F+A carved into the plastic side of the table by fourteen-year-old-and-hopeless-romantic Fedya Dolokhov. There's still the embarrassing love poem written in pen by fifteen-year-old-and-hopeless-romantic Fedya Dolokhov on the top of the table that will probably be there until the end of time because apparently no soap is strong enough to wash away Dolokhov's infatuation. The hearts that Mary doodled on her side of the table are still there. The gum that Dolokhov stuck underneath the table on the very first day of school is still there. He's been eating lunch with Mary at the same table since freshman year, and he almost forgot about these things.
There are many things that Dolokhov forgets nowadays. There are many things that Dolokhov doesn't notice nowadays.
And it's all Anatole fucking Kuragin's fault. Damn him and his beautiful smile.
Every day at lunch he counts his food. Three days ago he had fifteen french fries. Three slices of lettuce on his hamburger, one slice of cheese, two tomatoes. The day previous to that his macaroni and cheese consisted of forty-three macaroni and twelve chunks of hot dog.
And he didn't even notice what he was eating for lunch. Didn't count any of it. For two whole days.
It's all Anatole fucking Kuragin's fault.
The soda in the cafeteria is flat and has no carbonation. It makes his stomach hurt. This is also Anatole Kuragin's fault. Somehow.
(He drinks it anyways.) (Because fuck Anatole Kuragin.)
"I guess I didn't," Dolokhov replies.
"I understand," Mary says, because she's Mary and amazing and the nicest person on this earth. "I'm just worried about you."
"You don't need to be worried about me," Dolokhov says. "I'm completely fine."
"You haven't been doing your usual routines," Mary says back. Mary, on the other hand, notices everything and it's almost a little bit creepy. "You always do your routines."
"I appreciate that you're worried," Dolokhov says, "but really, I'm fine. I've been distracted lately, that's all."
Mary's eyes shift across the cafeteria and Dolokhov knows instantly who she's looking at.
"Not because of him," Dolokhov says quickly.
"Then why?"
"I'm failing math class," Dolokhov says. Sighs. He shoves a fish stick in his mouth and looks away.
"Aren't you in Marya Dmitrievna's class?" she asks. "I thought it was impossible to fail any class she teaches."
"I thought so too," he says, "but here I am. Failing."
"Do you need a tutor?" Mary asks suddenly. "I'm not the best at math, but Sonya's quite good, I can probably get her to help you—"
"No, no," Dolokhov interrupts, "I don't need a tutor."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. But — but thank you for the offer. I really appreciate it."
Mary smiles her kind, wonderful smile.
Dolokhov would be lost without her.
They've been best friends since Dolokhov found her crying outside of the classroom in fourth grade. She muttered something about her father, and Dolokhov threatened to beat him up, and their bond was born. Dolokhov threatened to fight anyone who hurt Mary, and Mary in turn held onto Dolokhov tightly as his only friend.
A timeline of the Marykhov friendship, a name-smash created by Mary and scribbled down in her notebook:
- November Fourteenth (roughly), Fourth Grade
Mary's father yells at her for the first time. She starts crying in class and has to leave, and Dolokhov, the wonderful Fedya Dolokhov who sits in the front row and is the funniest kid in class, comes up to her.
"Mary," he says. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replies, instinctively. She can't let anyone know what happened. She can't - she can't - she just can't.
"Who do I need to fight?"
Mary looks up. Wipes her tears.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'll fight whoever hurt you," Dolokhov says. No one has ever been this nice to Mary before.
"Can you fight my dad?" she asks.
"Absolutely," Dolokhov says. He doesn't ask any questions, only holds his fist up in the air.
"Thank you."
- December Eighteenth, Fourth Grade
Mary remembers this day vividly.
It's Natasha's first day.
Dolokhov is pushing her on the swings at 8:03 in the morning. Natasha walks onto the playground with shaking legs, she tucks her hair behind her ear and goes up slowly to the teacher, and it's love at first sight.
Mary falls off of the swing.
Later Dolokhov passes her a note during a very boring lesson about prefixes and suffixes. It says:
What do you think of the new girl?
Mary replies:
I don't know. She seems nice. Why?
The next note is barely legible. From what Mary can understand of it, it says: saw you staring at her. You fell off swings. Do I need to?
What? she replies.
Do I need to fight her too?
No!! She's not mean!! Just I think she's cool. Also I can handle myself, Fedya, but thanks.
Dolokhov turns around and stares at her. Smiles.
He doesn't reply.
- January First, Sixth Grade
They both come out to each other at the same time.
"Happy new year," Mary says into the phone. "Wanna meet at the mall? I have something to tell you."
"Um, sure," Dolokhov replies. "I, actually, um, have something, uh..."
"Are you okay?"
"I have something to tell you, too."
"I'll be there soon," Mary says.
She waits for Dolokov to arrive on a bench outside.
Many things run through her mind:
Someone died. He doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. I'll be alone. He's moving away. He's sick and dying or something. He has a girlfriend and she doesn't like us being friends. He's dating Natasha. Something bad happened. Something really really bad—
He pats Mary on the shoulder.
"Hm?" she says. She turns around and Dolokhov is behind her, hands shaking.
"I'm gay," he says, fast but confident. Everyone around them turns to look, but the same fearlessness remains on his face.
I'm gay.
"You're..."
"Gay."
"But—"
"I'm gay."
"So you're—"
"Gay."
"You like—"
"I'm gay and I like guys. Yes."
"Oh."
"You're not okay with it, are you?" he says. The expression on his face turns to terror. "You're the only person who matters, I should've never—"
"Me too," Mary says softly.
"Wait," Dolokhov says. A smile lurks at the corners of his mouth. "You're—"
"I'm a lesbian," she replies. This is the first time she's ever said the word out loud. It feels weird but in a good way — she's sure of herself. She knows who she is. For the past twelve years, she didn't know who she was. Now: her best friend understands.
Dolokhov is smiling full now. "This is amazing," he says. "We're alone together in this very heterosexual world."
Mary laughs, buries her head in her hands. "Yeah," she says, "we are. We really, really are."
"I have a proposition for you two," says Hélène as she takes a seat next to Mary.
"What is it?" Dolokhov asks. Hélène is always a calming presence; being near her makes Dolokhov feel warm inside. Hélène was the first one to figure out Dolokhov's crush back in elementary school, and she's always been extremely supportive - being Anatole's sister, she knows almost everything about him, which has lead to some interesting conversations in the past. Conversations that involved Hélène telling Dolokhov every single one of Anatole's secrets and everything that Anatole likes and dislikes. Yeah. Ever since that conversation happened, Hélène has been trying to get Dolokhov to talk to Anatole but to no avail.
It's not that Dolokhov is scared. Dolokhov is fierce.
It's just that Hélène is - well. Hélène is a senior and a little bit intimidating and she knows a lot about her brother. It's extremely confusing.
Also: Every time Dolokhov tries to speak to him, he gets an uncontrollable urge to touch Anatole's unnaturally blond hair. It's so beautiful. It's perfectly styled and always so soft looking and it has to be dyed, because there's no way that someone can naturally have hair that's that blond.
(Hélène told him that Anatole spends half an hour on styling it in the morning. Which makes a lot of sense.)
The senior class doesn't have the same lunch period as the juniors do, which means that Hélène skipped class to come and talk to Dolokhov and Mary about this very important thing. Dolokhov loves her for it.
"I am writing to the principal about starting an LGBT club."
"You mean a Gay-Straight Alliance?" Mary asks.
"Well, that's what I'm calling it on the official application, but all of the posters and stuff are going to say LGBT club. I was talking about it with Sonya and we decided that we need to find other people in this hell of a school that aren't straight."
"Okay," Dolokhov says. He gives a slow nod. "What do you need us to do?"
"I just need you to come," she says, and bites her lip, "at least, to the first meeting, so the principal knows that people are actually interested in it. Marya D. has already volunteered her classroom and supervision."
"That's nice of her," Dolokhov says. He sighs; he really doesn't want the entire school knowing, but Hélène is so charming. She's so hard to say no to. "Okay. I'll come. Mary?"
"Um, well, I don't..."
"You don't have to come if you're not comfortable with it," he says, "and you can just go and say you're an ally if you want. Regardless, I'll support you in whatever you do."
"Oh," Mary says, and looks down at the floor, "um. Okay. I guess I'll go as an ally, then."
Hélène smiles and pats both of them on the shoulder. "Thank you guys! Knew I could count on you. Anyway, so if everything works out, we should be ready to go by... Thursday, I think? After school. See you there."
"See you there," Dolokhov and Mary say in unison, and when Hélène leaves, they both let out sighs. Again: Hélène is so charming that no one can ever resist her. She comes in and everyone falls into a trance.
There's something very interesting about the Kuragin family.
Anatole does it, too. The charming thing. He's just more subtle about it; it's easy to resist him for a while, until you spend enough time around him and then he starts seeping into your entire being.
Sometimes you're never able to resist him. Sometimes he's as charming as his sister. Sometimes you're Fedya Dolokhov and he's your entire identity.
It doesn't really matter.
Dolokhov finishes his final fish stick and grimaces.
"Did we really just—"
"We sure did," Mary finishes.
"I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be very interesting."