Athénaïs's P.O.V.-

"Why is everything you read mind-numbingly boring?" Raphael was scanning over my bookshelf when I returned with a bowl of popcorn in my hand. I set it down on my bed and came over to him. "None of these are boring. These were written by great literary minds of history. Jane Austen, Albert Camus, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Plato…. Heh, not a lot of Aristotle on my shelf though," I chuckled to myself. Private joke; I wasn't a fan of his philosophy. Raphael peered over at me before rolling his eyes unimpressed. "No wonder you're so boring."

"You think I'm boring?" I actually laughed, raising my hand up to my chest in a good-humouredly offended fashion. "Have you ever had a conversation with yourself? You talk like you're from the eighteen century." "Really?" This ironically pleased me; I loved the way characters in my beloved books spoke. It was a real compliment to hear that I sounded at least a little like them, but I doubt I could ever sound that eloquent.

But I saw an opening here. If I wanted to get Raphael over onto my side, I'd have to play to his ego and pride. He watched me as I smiled naturally and put my novel onto my desk. "I forgot, you're an American teenage boy. I couldn't expect you to understand any of this literature anyway," I said while not looking over at him. An inward grin blossomed as his face morphed to one of offence.

"What'd you mean you couldn't expect me to understand it? You callin' me stupid?!" His tone was defensive. "Certainly not, Raphael. But Americans aren't like Europeans. You're sense of romance, and good literature I dare say, is very different than ours." "Oh really? You think you're "sense of romance" is soooooo superior 'cause you're from Austria?" His arms folded over the front of his chest. I stared at him blankly. "You really want me to answer that?"

He scoffed, darting his eyes away. I chuckled softly, giving my head a gentle shake. "Don't take it personally, Raphael. You wouldn't like this type of literature, never mind understand it." "What's there to understand?! Anything you can understand, I can understand!" His broad thumb stuck into his chest. "That's simply not true. I was raised with this; I've been reading it my whole life. And European writing- their romance and philosophy in particular- is its own style. Americans don't like that style; there's nothing wrong with that." "Yeah? What's this style you're talking about? Heh, I don't think even you understand it, Austria." He smirked as if to metaphorically catch me.

I contemplated the best way to describe it for a moment, lifting my forefinger up to my lip in a pondering manner. "Well, European literature is more…. soulful and intense. Have you ever read "War and Peace"? It's an emotional roller-coaster. And it's more than just that. Let's take romance, for example. Here in America, romance involves a lot of physicality- not that that's bad or anything. But in European novels, particularly the old works which I like, it's strictly emotional. Writers use their words to describe great love scenes; scenes evoking nature and the human condition. In most of these stories there's never even usually a kiss, yet they are still more romantic, more sentimental, and more passionate than any modern narrative. I believe that Americans cannot appreciate such sentiment because it is so alien to their own version of romance. In a sense, it's a Platonic love- the idea that the highest and purest form of love doesn't involve sexual contact. It's a fascinating and deeply unmodern idea; one which I think cannot be understood by minds not already acquainted with the ancient European philosophy of love."

Raphael ogled at me like I was speaking a foreign language. His dumbfounded expression almost made me burst out laughing- almost. See? I knew he wouldn't understand what I was talking about. He's an unread teenage boy; how could I expect him to know this? But to my shock, he didn't say anything snarky or make a rude remark or retort. Instead he blinked as if he was seriously considering what I just say, even if it didn't make sense to him. His lips parted a sliver, but it took a minute for any words to come out of his mouth. "Show me," he instructed in a calm tone.

I blinked repeatedly, nearly not believing my ears. Show him? He wants me to show him what I'm talking about? Well, this was unexpected! Unexpected but welcomed. With a grin, I picked up my German version of The Sorrows of Young Werther. Quickly I found the part where Werther describes his affection for Charlotte. I should also note that this is right before he says that "all lust is stilled in front of her presence" as she is a sacred being to him. I cleared my throat.

"No, I am not deceived- I can read true sympathy in her dark eyes. Yes, I feel… and here I know I can trust my heart… that she…. dare I, can I express heaven in a few words? That she loves me. Loves me. And how precious I have become to myself, how I… I can say this to you, who have understanding for such emotions- how I worship at my own altar since I know that she loves me! Is this presumption or fact, I ask myself? I am experiencing the kind of happiness that God dispenses only to his saints. Whatever is yet to come, I shall never be able to say that I have not felt the great, the purest joy life can hold. You know my beloved Wahlheim. I have moved there bag and baggage. From Wahlheim I can be with Lotte in half an hour, in Wahlheim I can be myself and experience every happiness known to man."

I paused to glance up to see Raphael's reaction; he had been oddly silent until now. To my astonishment, I found him quiet, staring meditatively out of my bedroom window. His expression was stoic; a face I'd never seen him make before. His hand rested under his chin where his thumb ran repeatedly over his jawbone. For a while I didn't say anything, merely observing him. I wasn't expecting this either, and it made me extremely happy.

Eventually I cleared my throat once more to get his attention. He immediately flinched and shot his head my way. "Why'd you stop?" I think he was surprised as I was that he asked me this so genuinely, organically….. "Raphael? Did you… like that?" I asked utterly gobsmacked. His spine stiffened. "No! It's stupid! And overly dramatic! He sounds like a loser, being fascinated by some girl. What a sissy!" But before I could say anything, his head turned back around to face out the window. I could see his eyes lower in the reflection. "He sure makes love sound… not horrible," I think he said this more to himself than me. Raphael… My own eyes grew wide.

I set the book aside and smiled warmly at my dear, green, mutant friend. "How 'bout we watch a movie?" I suggested. In reality he only had about forty-five minutes left to stay, but I thought it might lighten the mood. As planned, Raphael perked right up and joined me on my bed. We sat side-by-side with the popcorn bowl in between us. I offered to let him pick the movie, but to my disbelief, he said I could choose; so long as it wasn't something dull. I picked The Grand Budapest Hotel- my all-time favourite movie. I was excited to watch it with Raphael but was admittedly getting a little tired. He looked at me when my eyes fluttered shut for a minute.

"Hey! You better not be falling asleep on me. This lousy movie was your idea." "S-Sorry, I'm awake," I reopened my eyes but not for very long. The last thing I remember was Zero going to meet Agatha halfway through the film. Slowly my mind drifted off to a distant place without consciousness. I felt to sleep without realizing it; I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't a night owl.

Raphael's P.O.V.-

My whole body flinched so hard at the sensation of Athénaïs's unconscious head landing on my shoulder. With gigantic, terrified eyes, I blinked to see this stupid human girl asleep beside me! Oh God, why me?! S-She's…. she's touching me! Her head's resting against me. Heh, the great irony is that Athénaïs would probably be mortified if she was aware of what she was doing.

But where the hell did this leave me? Should I move or get off the bed? She'd likely wake up if I did. It was ten minutes to midnight anyway; I'd have to head back home pretty soon. So there was really no point in us staying like this…. with her awkwardly asleep on my shoulder. I should get up….

My mind ordered my limbs to move, but my body didn't obey. Ok, so maybe if I'm being totally, completely honest with myself, I don't wanna get up just yet. But it's not because I was enjoying this or anything! I knew it; Athénaïs didn't understand a word of what she read to me earlier. The weird Werther book…. All that talk about Platonic love and "the idea that the highest and purest form of love". Ha! Yeah right. And here she was, sleeping so soundly at my side. Who does that?

My eyes couldn't help but drift over to her snoozing face again. She wore such a peaceful, content expression. I'd never seen anyone sleep so…. so…. gracefully before. If I had a poetic, wussy side, I'd say she had this angelic air about her. Like a human work of art; a real-life painting or marble sculpture. Loveliness personified; the most sincere and accurate description of grace. The purest creature to walk the planet….. Course I was no poet and didn't think any of these things.

I yawned and weighed my options. I could get up and head back to the lair now. Or I suppose I could stay here until the movie ends and let her sleep on me for a little longer. This had nothing to do with my being super comfortable and unspeakably happy right now! Cause I wasn't! That's not what's going on here at all! I just thought it'd be a pain if I woke her up now; she'd probably be upset and give me an earful. Yeah, that's it… That's why I was gonna stay here for a bit longer.

My back relaxed even more against the wall behind us. My own eyes started to feel heavy as I watched the laptop screen; Athénaïs didn't have a tv in her room. Since her head was right there and it was super convenient, the side of my head rested against hers. An unconscious smile broke across my lips. Yeah, all that stuff she said about European literature and romance earlier- what utter nonsense. Leave it to an Austrian to overcomplicate something so idiotic as "love".

I still wasn't convinced that love was for me; especially the European version of love. I could live without all that; I have so far, after all. It only muddled the brain and made one sound pathetic like that Werther fellow. I still didn't know what kind of relationship Athénaïs and I had, but love played no part of it. I didn't…. love Athénaïs; I wouldn't let myself love anyone romantically. Seeing Athénaïs just made me incredibly happy and her voice was quickly becoming my favourite sound. What about that could be mistaken as the feeling of "love"?