People talk. People talk about the relativity of time, of the weight of a feather, of the way the world shall end. People talk so much about things they know so little of, and so little of the things they should know more of. My eyes are fixed on the television screen as the news anchor talks about the Israel-Palestinian conflict like it's just another story; her hands remain poised as she drops her eyes from the camera to the paper in front of her. She looks back to smile and informs me that I should 'stay tuned to find out more about the economy of China'.

People talk, and they do not think correctly. If not her, another. If not Israel and Palestine, Gaza, or somewhere else. People talk too much, and do too little.

"How intent are you on crushing that mug?" Loki asks me, coming into the living room with a smile playing on his lips. I turn around and I smile back, glad that he doesn't look as pale as he used to. He sits down on the couch beside me and he looks to the television, on which a commercial about a new musical is showing. Something about a large, green monster, I think. I wonder how much set design had to be-

"So what's it this time?" Loki asks, carefully both solemn and interested. Although I know he doesn't care as much about what's going on as how what's going on affects me, I appreciate the concern.

"The Israel-Palestine conflict." I say, earning a slow and knowing nod about the issue. I said that he didn't care that much, not that he didn't know.

"What are you going to do?" He asks, placing a hand over both of mine, which I have unknowingly intertwined together tightly. Even my knuckles are white. I relax, and feel the warm rush of blood flow into my hands.

"I don't know." I reply truthfully. We've already spoken about my options, and still, I can't decide between the two. On one hand, if I take the Fine Arts scholarship at Rhode Island School of Design, it'd be a dream come true. On the other, I can't just sit back and watch human disasters happen, I have to do something and yet what can I do anyway?

Loki sucks in a bit of air, a pensive look on his face. He isn't quite sure if he should say what he is going to say next, and he starts off very slowly.

"The arts.. can wait."

"Rhode Island won't-"

"There are others, Steve." Loki is more firm now; he believes more in his own words.

I become silent, and I know that he is probably right. What he doesn't know is something I have not yet told him, another reason I put against myself from going back to America and enlisting in the military.

"I'll survive on my own, Captain Rogers." Loki says directly to me, doing a salute with his fingers.

I laugh. Well, okay, maybe he does know the reason.

"You sure?" I ask, already knowing that Loki won't let himself stand in the way of something I want. I wish he'd be honest with himself before it gets too late. It's probably his greatest flaw.

"Of course. You've been away from America too long, anyway. Only thing is," Loki's face falls a little, "I don't know how you bear with those ugly uniforms." Loki says, convincingly disappointed.

We both laugh and I pull Loki in for a hug. He returns it, resting his head on my shoulders.

"When you come back, I want you to tell me all about it."

"Might be sooner than you think. I'm not exactly the strongest of men."

Loki rolls his eyes. "I'm sure by American standards.." His eyes glint with mischief.

I grin, and I glance Loki up and down quickly. He'll be fine, I tell myself.

"Go, Steve." Loki urges like it's the most obvious thing.

"Thank you."

"You're ridiculous, you know that."

"Thank you, Loki."

"You're welcome, Steve."

People talk. People talk about so much. But I'd never heard anything talk about the way it feels when your best friend flies all the way to another country for the first time just to see you off to the army. I knew nothing before of the way it feels so bittersweet to truly say goodbye for the first time, and to watch someone fade so far from view, and yet know they are grinning so much and tearing at the same time. I still see the outstretched hand that keeps on waving to me – Loki's white, pale, untanned skin decorated undoubtedly by new designs he thought of. I keep telling him to buy a sketch pad..

People talk, and they don't say enough. But one day, I know people will say the world about Loki Laufeyson.