Bergiet Vs. the World

Luca adjusted the strap connected to the messenger bag slung across his chest. It was cutting into his shoulder and pressing down uncomfortably on his chest, and he made a face in his displeasure as he waited for the light to turn green. The bag's contents were heavy, something that he hadn't expected when he had first seen the paper backed comics that Bergiet had shoved at him. Of course, Luca also hadn't expected her to stuff the bag until it bulged, the hard corners of the spines poking him in the leg, and the buckles BARELY making it to one another. WHY she didn't just box them up and drive them over, he didn't really know. She had said something about the planet dying and saving the walruses, or whatever, but as far as he knew, buying twenty million pounds of paper backed books wasn't really helping out that much either, but that was just Bergiet. Because of this, Luca had been back and forth between her apartment and his nearly three times now, and he was momentarily grateful that his cousin lived so close (Most of the time it was pure torture). Her apartment was right around the corner from the downtown street where he and his boyfriend, Alecsander, happily rented their own nice enough flat. This was his last trip  and he was eternally grateful for THAT.

About five minutes later, Luca paused momentarily in front of his apartment door to wipe the sticky, disgusting sheen of sweat from his forehead, it had been hot out there. He tightened the half up half falling down mess of a pony tale that was his long reddish brown hair. Usually he wore it in a loose 'braid', but today he had allowed himself to be lazy. Once he was satisfied, he put on his best miserable martyr face, just to add some dramatics that Bergiet wouldn't buy, but that was ok. They weren't FOR her to buy, and Alecsander was a sucker. Taking a breath, Luca unlocked the door and stepped into the sweet, sweet air conditioning.

Both Alecsander and Bergiet gave a little cry, jumped up off the couch and were on there feet, rushing to great Luca as he swung the door shut behind him, though their reasons were seasons apart. Alecsander, who almost never moved from the couch unless he was getting food, going for a jog, or cleaning (Yes, yes, he slept there sometimes as well, much to Luca's dissatisfaction.), had been successfully roused by the faint look on his lover's face and the slight sway in his layden step. Alecsander needed to be there in case he fell, lest he risk Luca becoming angry with him for just sitting around. Again. Then Alecsander would have an actual REASON for sleeping on the couch. Bergiet, on the other hand, knew it was a load of crap, and had only gotten up because she saw the strap slipping off of Luca's shoulder. Her cousin was going to DROP her precious books on the GRUOND.

"Oh my god, are you ok? You look like--Death?" Luca supplied the word for Alecsander, a dry yet still lyingly faint tone to his voice, as he let the bag fall to the floor. It hit with a thump.

"Y-yeah…" Alecsander answered back as he watched his boyfriend step around Birget who was now crouched on the ground fussing and worrying over that stupid bag of books, blond bangs hanging in her face, not paying one single ounce of attention to her ailing cousin. Not even a fraction of an ounce Alecsander didn't get that, in animate over family, or even friends, but both Luca and Birget always seemed to regard each other with complete and total indifference or, mainly in Luca's case, hate. Perhaps it was the fact that they had lived half of their life times with an ocean between them, Luca having come to live in the States all the way from Germany when he was fifteen. He still had his accent, too, which Alecsander thought was extremely cute, but Bergiet had been born in America, just like Alecsender. Still, he couldn't fathom why that would matter, but it was the closest thing he could come to a real reason, and whenever he asked, Luca would just grunt in reply. He glanced over at Luca who had, by now, flung himself onto the dark blue couch, an arm tossed dramatically over his face and one of his legs dangling off onto the floor. Alecsander sighed. He was going to have to take care of him for the rest of the day, not that he cared. Actually, he kind of looked forward to it, but Bergiet would make it hard. He had found out quickly in the past four days that she had a way of getting under foot.

"Bergiet," he addressed her, looking down at where she was sitting. She had started to take the books out of the bag, and was strewing them all over the place, and Alexander groaned inwardly, but he forced a gentle enough face. "Why don't you take those into the other room for me, yeah?" Bergiet looked up and shook her hair out of her eyes, staring at Alexander for a moment as she registered his request. Her eyes lit up finally at the chance to prove that she could follow his directions and she nodded vigorously.

"Sure, ok," she chirped and hopped up. She brought what was left in the bag with her as she trotted into the small spare room that she was staying in until she left for the Peace Corp, her skirt swishing around her knees.

"Do you HAVE to take them in there? Couldn't you take them back to your apartment?" Luca called irritably after her.

"No, I don't live there anymore. I got rid of it." She answered happily as she reentered the room, smiling at Alecsander, and otherwise ignoring Luca.

"But why?" Her cousin wined twisting on the couch as though something were jabbing him from all sides, suddenly afflicted with way to much prickly energy for someone suffering from a heat stoke.

"I'm going away, Luca, you know that, too," Birget answered as she examined the back of one of the comics she was gathering into a pile, "And if I'm going away to some foreign country to be in the Peace Corp, I may as well get rid of a home I can get sick for. You see?" When Luca didn't answer, she bit her lit, and settled her hands in her lap. "I just want to be able to help those people to the best of my ability, that's all."

Alecsander grinned, and walked over and pushed Luca's feat of the couch so he could sit down. The little fake could bare to spare some room, especially after making his cousin feel like an idiot when she was only trying to do what she thought was right.

"You know," he said to Bergit, "You're going to do just fine."

Bergit smiled. Those were the first genuine words of encouragement she had gotten about her decision to devote her life to starving countries and war scarred people  in third world countries where murder and other worse offences ran rampant that she had heard, and they were like a drug. She felt as though she could do anything.