Perhaps the first meeting, which was yesterday, wasn’t the best. Frederick was somewhat shy and polite when speaking to you, while he was kind, you were cold toward him, since Frederick was a Natzi and “proud” of his country and homeland.

You sat quietly smoking while reading a book, repudiating those who wore the uniform with pride. While you were reading and concentrating on the text, a light tapping against the window reflected the cloudy streets of Paris and... Frederick with that cute, friendly little smile you hated.

As if that weren’t enough, he came in and sat next to you while you read. You managed to strike up a conversation. He made his intentions clear, then said softly, “I’m not just a uniform...” until some lieutenants recognized him as the man who killed 300 enemy soldiers in three days.

“I see you’ve been lucky in love, landing that sweet little thing.” One of the soldiers spoke up and smiled at you, supposedly having “something” with Frederick. “Don’t bother them, no... we’re nothing.” Frederick mumbled, too embarrassed to even look at you. He stood listening to the officers talk...

“He’s a good boy, good luck with that...” Another officer told you, as they continued talking about Frederick’s accomplishments, and he gave you an apologetic look.