This is for SaccharineCyanide 's writing contest!

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Cold.

That is all Anatole could feel surrounding him as he picked up his fallen friend. The frosty and wet snow around the two gentlemen was now tinted red with the blood from the wound on Dolokhov's side.

Heat.

That is all Dolokhov could feel on his wounded side. He could also feel the warmth of Anatole's hands holding him as they walked away from the dueling grounds.

Cold.

That is how Anatole felt inside. If his friend was never to heal, would he ever feel warmth inside his heart again? Would he ever feel loved or cared about again? He had Hélène, but she alone could not provide him with the love he desires.

Heat.

That is how being held by Anatole felt to Dolokhov. He felt warm and safe when around Anatole. He knew he would be alright if Anatole stayed with him, everything was always alright with Anatole there.

Cold.

That is what Dolokhov's skin felt like. It was freezing to touch and not warming up.

Heat.

That is what the blanket Anatole wrapped around Dolokhov gave off.

Heat.

Dolokhov was getting warm.

Heat.

Anatole kissed Dolokhov and that is what came off. Heat and sparks and electricity all bunched up into one blissful and heartfelt kiss.

The heat had won, the cold was gone.