PRE FIC RANTINGS AND A SPRINKLE OF DISCLAIMER: Oh, lord, I wrote this forever ago. So long ago, in fact, that I forgot about it. Oops. I scribbled it down in my notebook (I suppose you could say it was a play diary of sorts) after watching the end of the first disc of XSII for the first time. It's... short, but I decided that I liked it enough to post.
Because I like Jr. And I like writing drunks. Really, don't ask. -whistles innocently-
I'm not even going to attempt a witty disclaimer. So, yeah. I don't own Xenosaga.

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Cephied Variable

Guignan didn't say a word when Rubedo sat at the end of his desk and began to drink. He usually would have chided him around the fourth shot, politely reminding his associate that although he was certainly legally old enough to consume alcohol, his body was still that of a child and could hardly be expected to hold it. However, this was a unique situation and Guignan forced himself to bite his tongue. Instead, he pushed back his chair, steepled his fingers and watched with a detatched interest as Rubedo's shoulder's drooped and his cheeks reddened. He listened as Rubedo spoke and heard names he hadn't heard in nearly a decade- Citrine, Sakura, father. Then came a silence as Rubedo stared into his drink sullenly, slowly sloshing the amber liquid back and forth as he swayed in his chair. When his voice came, it was broken and dry, cracked with a depth of pain Guignan wasn't sure he'd ever felt in his life.

"I can't feel him." Rubedo didn't look up but his hands had stilled, cupped around his shot glass. He was shaking slightly and Guignan wondered what it would be like- the severing of a physical bond you weren't even conciously aware of. When they were younger, Guignan had not understood the way Albedo's entire world had revolved around the axis that was Rubedo. He had understood less the reason self sufficient Rubedo would occasionally allow the white haired boy to curl up against him during the night, arms and legs entwined so close they could surely hear each other's heartbeats. It was a kind of need Guignan could not comprehend. He'd felt Albedo's prescence fade through the mental link, and some small part of him had grieved but it was nothing like the soul wrenching agony he was watching twitch through Rubedo's small body like an electric current.

Rubedo rose, stumbling and unsteady, only to fall after three and a hald steps. Guignan caught him by the wrists and steadied him as he crumpled to his knees. Rubedo rested his forehead on Guignan's knee and took deep, laboured breaths as his arms hung loosely at his side.

"Nigredo..." he muttered, so quietly Guignan almost didn't catch it, "Let's go to the beach."

Because Rubedo couldn't walk, Guignan carried him. The sand on the beach was cold and wet in the simulated night air, but they laid on their backs anyways, not touching or talking but simply watching the fake sunrise underneath the endless blanket of stars.

fin.