kh_drabble | Challenge 198

Challenge: [198] Exchange
Title: Exchange
Word Count: 362
Notes: An old piece I've touched up on; pertaining to self-destructive behavior. Some alcohol and profanity. Presumably shortly after the apprentices lose their hearts.

Xigbar winced as he gingerly pressed a bag of ice to his throbbing head. The others would be expecting him soon, and he would rather they did not see him in such a sorry state.

"And what, may I ask, were you thinking last night?"

He glanced over his shoulder to find Zexion standing with his arms crossed, a disapproving frown upon his face. He grinned. "How did you find me here?"

"That revolting stench has left a trail from here back to the castle," Zexion retorted. He peered over the railing at the streets below, avoiding the ever-steady gaze of Xigbar. Finally, he dropped his shoulders and sighed, before asking softly, "What had you hoped to accomplish by drowning yourself in liquor?"

Xigbar shrugged. "I was feeling a bit down. Thought I'd cheer myself up."

"We don't have feelings, Xigbar."

"I don't believe in that crap."

Zexion made no comment as the two sat in stony silence, watching the lights flicker on the screen of the skyscraper. The world felt still, save for the light rain that showered down, forming reflective puddles that only further illuminated the dark alleys.

"Do you ever think," Xigbar asked suddenly, "that existence is merely an empty void? That we live because we're damned to be punished for eternity, shunned by both realms? We don't belong. The world goes on whether we're here or not. We're insignificant.

"It's empty, so much that it hurts," he sneered. "And you search for a way out. Anything. Just to make it stop. You make an exchange."

"And that exchange is... this?" Zexion held up an empty bottle by two fingers at arm's length, as if it were hazardous. "I don't see how--"

"It's a small price to pay." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "See, physical pain instead of all that other crap. This pain, I can deal with."

"Or, this is your drunken stupor speaking nonsense; you're crazy."

"Batshit crazy," he grinned.

"Right." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the bottle over the railing, and turned to leave. "Physical pain for emotional pain. In the end, it's still pain."

Xigbar shook his head. "No. You can get ice to fix up debilitating headaches from hangovers. Nothing can fix up a wounded soul."