It was sort of comforting to have Franz with us that night. While we were curled up falling asleep on the pavement, he kept a close eye on us, guarding us. I wanted to take advantage of the chance to get some rest, but I had far too much on my mind to fall asleep. Instead, I just relaxed with my head on his knee, closing my eyes and trying to block out my thoughts and the sounds of the city for a moment.
Suddenly I heard a voice over the noise. "I wonder does he know? Has he ever felt like this?" Franz thought out loud. As he softly kept muttering, he gently ran his fingers through my hair. I couldn't make out much of what he was saying, as he was speaking partially in German, and when he wasn't, his accent was even harder to decipher in the hushed tone, but he sounded worried. I wanted to look up at him or say something, anything to let him know that I believed in him, but I couldn't. I couldn't let him know I was eavesdropping. I just kept listening with my eyes closed.
A cool breeze suddenly swept past. I didn't notice my own shivering, however, until I felt the denim of his jean jacket being draped over my shoulders. You're a good guy Franz, my own words echoed in my mind. I felt a little guilty for judging him like I did, but ever since the day he told me about his dreams, we had been the best of friends. While lying here close by him, though, I wondered if we could ever be anything more. It seemed so unlikely; in a few days, he'd probably be on his way back to Germany, and besides, I probably wasn't "his type" anyway. But there's always hope. Isn't there?
