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It’s been a spectacularly bad day, bad week, bad year; an all around suck-fest, and Grantaire doesn’t even want to drink like he normally aches to do on bad days. All he wants is to lay down and stop breathing altogether.
He’s laying on the floor, having gotten up a couple hours earlier and just… gave up. The floor is cold through his pajamas, the winter outside colder, but he doesn’t care. His chest is in a vice and he can barely move enough for his breath to hitch, and the world is bearing down on him with a vengeance.
He had things to do today. He had class to go to and a job he’s probably lost this time and the thought of having to go outside makes his heart pound so hard he gives himself a headache.
So he stays in, and he stays on the floor, occasionally beginning to cry again, but mostly praying to die here, on the floor, so he doesn’t have to face tomorrow.
Grantaire doesn’t even know what time it is anymore, and his phone in the bedroom has been going off every now and then, but suddenly it’s blowing up and he’s not surprised when Marius shows up at his door using his spare key (Cosette’s spare key, really, because Cosette keeps Marius’ keys for him most days).
He doesn’t say anything when he find Grantaire on the floor, just checks his pulse (a little fast) and his breathing (unrestricted but for the anvil on Grantaire’s lungs), and he lays down behind Grantaire, and pulls him into his arms, and they just breathe together.
Grantaire turns into his chest with a sob, and Marius strokes his back and scratches his scalp through his hair and hums, and tells Grantaire to shut up when he starts apologizing.
They lay together on the floor for the rest of the evening, and Marius stays with him, even though the floor is uncomfortable and even though with Marius’ class schedule he probably hasn’t eaten since breakfast and must be hungry and even though he had a date tonight with Cosette and Courfeyrac, Marius stays and Marius keeps Grantaire breathing.
The night is well fallen outside and the flat is black with it when Marius asks if he wants to move to the bed, and Grantaire nods. Marius sits up first, drawing Grantaire up off the carpet, and Marius stands, hands sliding from Grantaire’s shoulders to under his arms and lifting him off the floor. He practically carries him to the bed, laying him out on the mattress, one hand in Grantaire’s, the other stripping himself of his shoes and jacket, switching hands to get both arms out.
They curl around each other, and Marius send a message on his phone, no doubt Cosette or Courfeyrac, or both. He sends a message from Grantaire’s phone, too, but Grantaire doesn’t ask to whom, and he shuts them both off.
Marius kisses Grantaire’s face, his neck, his eyelids. He strokes his hair and holds him. He murmurs happy things, bits of song Cosette sings or poems Jehan likes. He kisses him and kisses him until he gets a smile. He quotes Grantaire’s favourite bits of epics, about the heroes facing impossible foes, and tells Grantaire that just like them he’ll overcome his demons. Reminds him the part Grantaire thought hardest, thought would never happen, did. That Grantaire is sober and alive past twenty-six, in the middle of his doctorate, and surrounded by friends and so very very loved.
And when Grantaire starts crying again, Marius doesn’t shush him, just kisses his face again and again and wipes away his tears and gives him his handkerchief (the only person on earth who still keeps them, Grantaire thinks).
They fall asleep together, and Grantaire wakes up in the morning, still a little down, but glad the sun rose and he’s here to see it.