EXTASIÉ

ABOUT ME MEME: [3/∞] Favorite Characters Anatole Kuragin as portrayed in Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812

@frxncaise // comeback starter call! song: ‘bad boy good man’ — tape five

“I do hope it isn’t overwhelming you. They’re all so excited to have a veritable Parisian among them for the evening to approve their French.” One would say that the young man in his gleaming military jacket and a similarly gleaming smile were striving to offer comfort but he is not indeed striving at all. His ease is perfect, and his amiability irreproachable. He’d been mingling elsewhere in the ballroom for most of the evening, but couldn’t resist the urge to make an impression of his own upon the novelty guest. This is the first moment he’s caught her alone, and his tone is kind and conspiratorial as he continues in a hushed tone, “If you ask me, it is not for your benefit at all; they are showing off for each other. It must be daunting, all the same. Not a moment to breathe! If you’d like to ESCAPE to the veranda, only let me know. Or if you should feel like dancing,” he shrugs, taking a sip from his glass, “dance with me.” And a wink to accompany a joke: “The first dance is always free.”

TO  SPITE  ANATOLE,  ANDREI  TURNS  OFF  HIS  PHONE.       he doesn’t know whether anatole sends anything more  —-  he doesn’t intend to receive it. and he has more important things to do.  to nip this hateful, dangerous connection in the bud is the best thing for them both.  it would never go anywhere, of course.  anatole is a lout, and letting him do that  (  the memory of it, the feeling of him imprinted in andrei’s skin, it pulses, and oh god ) was a mistake. so if anatole wants to be like that, so be it.  so long as anatole never tells anyone what happened between them, andrei promises himself that he doesn’t care either.  he’d made an error, done something hideous, something taboo, and he will correct it.

he’s about to go to bed when anatole comes back to their dorm, later than andrei had expected  :  at this poind, he’d learned to anticipate that anatole wouldn’t come back for the night at all.  his phone is still turned off, and andrei, reading on the couch and nearly finished this chapter, doesn’t look up.  this is how it has always been between them.  quiet, tense.  he adjusts his glasses, flips his page.  they are not friends.  they could never be more than what they are right now.  no matter what either feels, which is nothing anyways.  andrei must convince himself of this, because to imagine otherwise is to break every rule he’s set for himself.

“  i didn’t think you’d be back tonight,  ”  he says flatly, “  i was thinking that i might have a nice quiet night alone.  or did you want to scold me some more for not being nice to you? ”

Anatole manages to get through the door and throw his coat in the general direction of the closet with minimal tells of inebriation. He acknowledges Andrei with a brief, wry smile, but when he sees that Andrei isn’t even looking, his expression falls and he turns away. “Cute. But how can I be mad when you clearly stayed up waiting for me,” he replies with a cloying, slightly slurred tone. “You shouldn’t have.”

He has no more patience for Andrei’s obviously affected coldness (up reading, on the couch, at this hour? On a school night? BEG a little louder to be noticed, why doesn’t he...), but it isn’t just a loss of patience that insulates him from Andrei’s ribbing. It’s the long evening out’s reminder that Andrei isn’t special, isn’t worth it. In fact, reminders are still freshly splayed in bruising blotches across his neck that are surely visible even before he pulls his shirt up and over his head, balling it in his hand as he heads for the bedroom.

TO  SPITE  ANATOLE,  ANDREI  TURNS  OFF  HIS  PHONE.       he doesn’t know whether anatole sends anything more  —-  he doesn’t intend to receive it. and he has more important things to do.  to nip this hateful, dangerous connection in the bud is the best thing for them both.  it would never go anywhere, of course.  anatole is a lout, and letting him do that  (  the memory of it, the feeling of him imprinted in andrei’s skin, it pulses, and oh god ) was a mistake. so if anatole wants to be like that, so be it.  so long as anatole never tells anyone what happened between them, andrei promises himself that he doesn’t care either.  he’d made an error, done something hideous, something taboo, and he will correct it.

he’s about to go to bed when anatole comes back to their dorm, later than andrei had expected  :  at this poind, he’d learned to anticipate that anatole wouldn’t come back for the night at all.  his phone is still turned off, and andrei, reading on the couch and nearly finished this chapter, doesn’t look up.  this is how it has always been between them.  quiet, tense.  he adjusts his glasses, flips his page.  they are not friends.  they could never be more than what they are right now.  no matter what either feels, which is nothing anyways.  andrei must convince himself of this, because to imagine otherwise is to break every rule he’s set for himself.

“  i didn’t think you’d be back tonight,  ”  he says flatly, “  i was thinking that i might have a nice quiet night alone.  or did you want to scold me some more for not being nice to you? ”

Anatole manages to get through the door and throw his coat in the general direction of the closet with minimal tells of inebriation. He acknowledges Andrei with a brief, wry smile, but when he sees that Andrei isn’t even looking, his expression falls and he turns away. “Cute. But how can I be mad when you clearly stayed up waiting for me,” he replies with a cloying, slightly slurred tone. “You shouldn’t have.”

He has no more patience for Andrei’s obviously affected coldness (up reading, on the couch, at this hour? On a school night? BEG a little louder to be noticed, why doesn’t he...), but it isn’t just a loss of patience that insulates him from Andrei’s ribbing. It’s the long evening out’s reminder that Andrei isn’t special, isn’t worth it. In fact, reminders are still freshly splayed in bruising blotches across his neck that are surely visible even before he pulls his shirt up and over his head, balling it in his hand as he heads for the bedroom.

I don’t think that will be necessary