Author's Notes: I honestly am not sure where this idea came from-it may have been sparked by something I read a while back, I really can't say for sure as I read too much to remember everything. In any case the idea of a friendship-based Milo and Camus fic wouldn't leave me alone. I'm just sick of seeing everyone pair them off. I mean, can't two people just be friends without being lovers? This is my first attempt at an on-going fic, so please be kind, but honest. I guess that's all. Enjoy!

"Now all the blessings of a glad father compass thee about!", the voice of Aquarius Camus could be heard at the entrance way of his temple. "Arise and say how thy camest here..."

"Oh wonder!", Scorpio Milo called from the entrance way, a smirk playing on his tanned features. "How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! Oh, brave new world that has such people in it!"

"Milo?", Camus called, stepping out into the Scorpio saint's line of view. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a white tank-top, his sleek black hair spilling over his shoulders. In his hands he held a copy of William Shakesphere's The Tempest.

Milo threw his own long hair over his shoulder and smiled at his friend. Camus had a habit of reading out loud when he thought no one could hear him. Actually, Milo and Camus both had a strong passion for books, something that usually surprised people about Milo. People automatically assumed because he liked to flirt shamelessly with girls and party he was stupid. His intelligence shocked people.

It was this passion for reading that slowly shaped their friendship. For a gold Saint, reading was really the only escape they had from the sanctuary they where bound to. They tried to meet often to swap books. At one point, it had been hard, and their meetings where once a month, if they were lucky. Now that things had calmed down, they where able to meet a few times a week to swap books or just to chat.

"You can have this atrocity back", Milo said, holding out a copy of Angels and Demons. "After reading The Davinci Code I had such high hopes for that book."

"Well, Angels and Demons was written before The Davinci Code. It's not the sequel.", Camus said, stepping aside and allowing his friend entrance into Aquarius Temple. "Put it back. You know where it goes."

Milo walked past him, to Camus's bookshelf, and scanned the shelf for the spot the book belonged in. Camus had everything on his shelf neatly arranged, in alphabetical order-Author's last name, and then the titles by that author. It was a far cry from Milo's bookshelf, on which he had the books placed haphazardly-some where even backwards-and crammed so close together it was difficult to to slide them in and out.

Camus rose his eyebrows at Milo's outfit. "Going clubbing?", he asked, hoping returning the book hadn't been Milo's excuse to come down and invite him to go with him. The Scorpio Saint had asked him in the past, but Camus was pretty sure he knew him well enough to know he just didn't care for that sort of thing.

Milo glanced down at the tight black jeans he was wearing paired up with a button-up blue top that was hanging completely open. "No", he said simply, brushing his hair from his eyes. He felt the chill of Aquarius temple against his bare stomach and stopped his search so he could button up his shirt. "I was going to, but I'm not in the mood."

"I see", Camus replied, waiting for Milo to continue. If he wanted to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him-and there was something bothering him-he would bring it up himself. To try to pry the information from him before he was ready to give it was like handing a loaded gun to a two-year-old. Milo hated anything that compromised his image and had the tendency to freak out when things made him look bad.

No, there was no mystery with Milo, unlike Camus, who was called an enigma. Milo was an open book. He would start by bringing up something casual. In a round-about way, he would then direct the light-hearted conversation to the serious talk. Camus would give him something to drink-when they'd been younger, it had been a can of soda or a glass of water, now the drinks took on an alcoholic nature. Milo would sip at whatever it was he'd been given and talk. Camus would sit and listen, sometimes for over an hour, and offer advice only after his friend was done talking.

"You know...", Milo said slowly. "A heater isn't a bad thing, Camus."

Camus glanced back at him. "I like it cold. You know where the blanket is."

"The blanket" was a gift Camus had presented Milo on his eighteenth birthday. Interestingly enough in the two years since then the royal blue blanket that bore a huge gold scorpion on it had never left Aquarius temple. It remained folded neatly on Camus's couch so when Milo came to visit he always had something to keep him warm. Very few people where able to stand the coldness of his temple.

Milo picked up the blanket and plopped down on the couch, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Camus, who was like an older brother to him, was the only person he permitted to see him like that. After all, Milo was sure twenty-year-old Casanovas didn't impress the girls by curling up on their friends' couches with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They would probably laugh at him. Camus never did.

Camus set two glasses of deep red wine on the table in front of them along with a plate of chocolate cookies and sat down beside his friend.

"What's this?", Milo asked, pointing at his glass.

"Pinot Noir", Camus replied. "It's from France."

"I thought you didn't like drinking."

"I don't like drinking that beer you and Aiolia seem to be fond of. Wine is just fine to me." Camus took a generous swig from his glass, watching Milo out of the corner of his eye.

The younger man picked up his glass and tried not to wince as a strong, complex combination of berries assaulted his palette. Camus's wine was far too sweet for his tastes.

Milo glanced at Camus, who was munching contentedly on one of the cookies. The black-haired man loved chocolate above all other foods-if chocolate could really be considered a food. Milo took a second sip of wine, hoping the taste would be more pleasant than the initial one. No such luck.

"If you don't like it, don't drink it", Camus said suddenly and smirked at the surprised look that crossed Milo's face. "You're very easy to read."

"I can't help it if you're a cold-hearted snake", Milo retorted, taking another sip. He would finish the cursed sweet substance or die trying and he wasn't ready to die yet. Besides the fact that an epitaph reading someone was killed by a glass of wine would look really stupid on the grave of a Saint.

Camus didn't reply to Milo's remark or even bat an eyelash at it. He just set his now-empty glass on the table and reached for another cookie.

Milo sighed. Camus wasn't really cold-hearted. Far from it. He seemed cold to the people who didn't know him because he wasn't very talkative and didn't like showing his emotions.

"Camus...", he said, setting his own glass down even though it was still more than half full.

"Hm?" Camus didn't even bother to look at him.

"Do you ever miss France?"

So that was it. Milo was homesick, but probably felt too ashamed to admit it since he was still in Greece. Camus wasn't sure where exactly it was that Milo had spent the first few years of his childhood, but he was sure it was nothing like Athens.

"I miss it sometimes, but I don't remember it too much. I remember where I'm from is called Chamonix and it was very cold. A lot of people would come to go skiing off of Mont Blanc during the winter season..." Camus closed his eyes as though trying to recall exactly what his childhood home had looked like.

"It sounds nice", Milo said, and he supposed it did. The only things he knew about France where the things he learned reading and that it seemed like the French people enjoyed drenching poor, unsuspecting grapes and berries in pure alcohol, blending them up, and calling it wine. He was just thinking about how nice it would be to go there when Camus interrupted his thoughts.

"What about you?", he asked.

"Oh. I'm from a place called Mikonos. It's not really too far from Athens, but it's as different from Athens as night is from day. Mikonos was always bustling and busy, people everywhere, especially in Mykonos Town. Mikonos also has really nice beaches..." Milo stopped, realizing Camus was staring at him.

"I've never been on a beach before...", Camus said thoughtfully.

"You wouldn't like it, it would be too warm for you", Milo said, sounding a little more cheerful.

"Unless the water is really cold.", Camus replied, hiding a smile.

"We should go one day", Milo's eyes glazed over and Camus could tell he was already imagining it. He knew Milo was already imagining himself back in Mikonos, though he had no idea what Mikonos might look like, chatting with pretty girls and enjoying the sand and the sun.

"You know very well we couldn't do that.", Camus said finally. He knew his blunt words would hurt his friend's feelings, but it was best to bring Milo down now before he got too carried away.

"We could", Milo answered back. "We could take a week or so and go back to our homes. Athena said we could leave, as long as we come back when we are summoned."

Camus regarded Milo for a second.

"Please, Camus", his friend continued, looking like a kid. "I don't want to go by myself."

The look on Milo's face reminded Camus how young they really where. Only twenty, and yet they had shed more blood than most people would ever shed, had walked at death's door more times then they could count, had more deaths on their consciouses than they should. It was easy to forget your youth when your whole life is dedicated to protecting someone.

"Alright", Camus agreed. "But we have to go at Christmas time."

Milo looked at him. "Why Christmas time?", he asked.

"Because Chamonix looks truly stunning in the winter months. If we're going to do this, we're going to do this right."

"If you insist", Milo replied, but he already had an amazing smile on his face, his eyes glowing. He rushed forward and hugged Camus, and action that totally surprised the black-haired man. Milo had never hugged him before. He supposed it was his way of showing how happy he was.

Camus yawned and realized he was very tired. "We'll talk about the vacation closer to the time, OK? I just want to go to sleep right now."

Milo nodded. It was getting late. He supposed he could still hit the clubs if he wanted, but he found he wasn't interested in that. Instead he pulled a book about France off of Camus's book shelf, smiled at his friend, and bid him goodnight.

As Camus watched the last blue curl of Milo's hair vanish from sight he couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into. A vacation with his best friend was going to be interesting to say the least. Running his fingers through his hair and stifling a yawn Camus decided he wouldn't think about that just yet. Instead he went into his small bedroom, changed into sleeping clothes, and fell onto his bed.

Within moments he was out.

End Notes:

I know Camus is supposed to be dead, but hey, that's what fanfiction if for.

Also I appologize if I am wrong about Chamonix, I know little about France and am doing research for the sake of the fic. I will have all the facts straight before I write about them going there.

That's it, really. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a review.