Work Text:
Grian had woken up at 4 AM again. Most mornings went like that, waking up far too early, unable to sleep. It didn't make much sense, seeing as he was exhausted all the time.
When Scar arose around 7, sometimes he'd crawl out after him, clinging to his husband like he was scaffolding holding him up. And other times, he wouldn't get out of bed for a few hours, scrolling on his phone and waiting until Jellie jumped on him and demanded attention, or some other important task presented itself.
And sometimes on the days Scar had work, he'd stay in bed all day.
It wasn't good. Of course it wasn't. But health and enjoyment were put on the back burner. He was just too tired.
It was even worse on the days he had work. Sometimes he'd just call out, hoping Scar wouldn't be too worried when he didn't see him at his station or in the break room.
Technically, nothing was wrong. He should've been happy with a fulfilling job and a husband he loved. But he wasn't. He was tired and numb and sometimes felt that it would be better if he could just die in his sleep.
Like every morning, it was 4 AM, far too early to get up. Especially on a workday. It'd be a miracle if he were able to get anything done. Assuming he didn't just chicken out and take another sick day.
Beside him, his husband stirred in his sleep, muttering something before stilling. Grian turned around and pressed his face into Scar's back. He could hear the gentle step of a cat on the hardwood outside the bedroom door. The sound of a few cars out on the street below hummed through the walls, driving through dark city streets on their way to or from a destination. Or maybe just driving aimlessly. Sometimes Grian thought about doing that, running away and wandering for the rest of time, getting lost on purpose. But he'd miss Scar too much to do that.
He knew trying to fall back asleep was fruitless, yet still switched his sleep playlist on to the quietest setting, breathing in the scent of his husband in an attempt to relax. Even when resting, his heart still tried to flutter out of his chest, perceiving a threat where there was none. Sometimes he thought he was going crazy. Sometimes he thought he was dying. Sometimes he hoped he was dying.
Hearing Scar's slow breathing helped stop some of those thoughts. Carefully, he wrapped an arm over his side, careful not to wake up the man beside him. His knees curled against the back of Scar's knees.
Marrying a living furnace had been a good decision. He was always cold, with clammy skin pale as snow. At least Scar provided warmth, like a human heated blanket with the added benefit of also being handsome and caring.
He lay like that for a while, listening to Scar's slow heartbeat and burying himself in the comforter. Eventually, the music ended, meaning there were no distractions to drown out the sounds of the apartment settling. Each creak and groan could be an intruder, or the floor could be collapsing under them, swallowing him into the pavement and gravel. His anxieties were a bit dramatic, but nothing was impossible.
Grian turned his head towards the window, catching a glimpse of orange along the sliver of horizon visible from behind the city's buildings. Though he'd lived there for years, he never really considered the city to be home. There were too many uncomfortable aspects of it; the crowds, trash, and traffic, to name a few. But even through the apathy he felt toward the skyscrapers and sidewalks, he could appreciate the beauty of the sunrise through the skyline.
As always, the hesitant peace couldn't last forever.
He jumped as Scar's alarm went off, some horrifically cheerful jingle that roused him out of sleep every morning. Scar grumbled, pulling away slightly to turn it off. Grian let go of him quickly, making sure not to inhibit his movement.
He pulled the blanket up over his head, keeping only his eyes visible as Scar lay on his back with a sigh. He checked something on his phone, straining the charger cable as he tilted it away from the plug. Grian rested his head on Scar's chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
During nice moments like this, his brain loved to remind him of the fragility of his life. It'd show vivid images of Scar going to work and never coming home, or dying painfully, or a multitude of other scenarios to torture him. No matter how often he'd seen them in his imagination, he could never get used to the images of Scar's body, bloody and mangled, or empty and cold.
But Scar wasn't cold. He never was.
A hand patted his tangled hair, warm and heavy with fatigue. It was longer than it usually was, with dirty blond strands brushing down his neck, almost long enough for a ponytail. He didn't have the energy to cut it, letting it grow mangy and messy.
"Hi," Scar hummed, voice raspy in a way that made Grian's heart flutter.
"Morning," Grian mumbled with his face pressed into his husband's shirt.
He allowed his head to be tilted as Scar put a hand under his jaw and looked down at him with a fond smile. His eyes were still puffy from sleep, but otherwise bright and unblemished. At least one of them was lucky enough to be rested.
"Did you sleep okay?"
Grian didn't know why Scar kept bothering to ask when the answer was always the same.
"No."
Scar rubbed his thumb along Grian's cheek with a worried frown.
"We'll figure it out," He answered after a lengthy pause. The same thing he said every morning.
Grian didn't know if he believed it anymore.
"You know you can always talk to me, right?" Scar said when he didn't answer. "I want you to be okay. Things have been hard recently, and you deserve support."
Grian leaned into his warm palm, pressing his mouth to Scar's calloused skin. Guilt curled in his stomach, heavy and unrelenting, at the care he kept receiving. He shouldn't need help. Nothing was wrong, and yet Grian felt like living was some insurmountable challenge he struggled to cope with every day.
"Don't worry about me." He settled on, trying to sound reassuring but sounding more dull than anything. It'd been harder to manage his tone and inflection.
"Impossible," Scar answered, smiling but still with that anxious furrow to his brows. "You're all I think about, Grian, my love, light of my life, most handsome man in the world, best husband I could ask for—"
"Okay, sap," Grian chuckled, face warming. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Scar's lips. Scar smiled into it, sunlight streaming through the window and shining on the back of Grian's neck. It was fond and sweet, one of those moments in the day that could distract Grian from the exhaustion and his fear, and just appreciate that he had Scar.
Until Scar pulled away and glanced at his clock with a sigh.
"I should probably get up," He said, stretching his arms above his head.
Grian felt a pit form in his stomach at the thought of having to get out of bed and face the world. He'd already called out once this week; it probably wasn't good to keep staying home, but it was easier than trying to muster the energy to talk to his coworkers. The university library wasn't the most populated place, but he still had enough people stopping in for it to be overwhelming.
"Alright," Grian finally answered, taking his head off Scar's chest and thumping it on the pillow.
"Do you want me to make you breakfast?" Scar asked in an attempt to subtly get him up.
"No. I'll probably have some on the way to work." A lie. He'd been doing that a lot lately, lying to Scar with far too much ease. It made his stomach curl in almost the same way as the thought of food. Nothing was appetizing, and eating was just another chore that took too much energy. Scar would be doubly disappointed when he realized Grian wouldn't be at work. So it was just easier to pretend to go through the motions and call the university once he'd gotten in the car.
Scar stood up, hovering beside the bed like he wanted to say something, but decided not to.
Grian turned around and covered his head with the comforter, blocking out the sunrise, Scar, and the bleary chore of existing.
—
It was 11. Maybe. Grian wasn't sure. Time had been moving strangely; in great bursts and then dragging so that each minute felt like decades.
Scar would be finishing up one of his classes by that time, lecturing students and doing something meaningful with his life. Grian's head hurt. His body cramped, but he was unwilling to move as the cat on top of his legs purred like a motor. It was welcome company. He scratched Jellie's head, watching as her eyes closed to little black slits.
So far, it had hardly been a productive day. Instead of getting up or even attempting to do something helpful, Grian remained buried under the covers, wallowing. He'd restarted his sleep playlist, spending a bit adding more songs. Then he scrolled through photos, deleting accidental screenshots and favoriting the important ones. Then he'd stared at the ceiling for a few hours, half-aware of his surroundings yet still bothered by the constant itching anxiety under his skin. It was miserable, but easier than facing reality.
Jellie stretched out on top of him, her small body taking up even more space as she lowered her head and easily fell to sleep. Grian tried to stay as still as possible, hardly breathing. Disturbing her peace felt like a betrayal. There was nothing more heartbreaking than the wounded look of a cat who, with a minuscule movement, had awoken from a deep rest.
A few more minutes of quiet music played before his phone started buzzing wildly. It startled Jellie awake, ears perked up in surprise. Grian answered the call, knowing avoiding it would be worse.
"Hey Gem."
"Out sick again?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
"Don't apologize to me," She said, something rustling through the phone speaker. He heard beeping in the background, probably from the microwave. It was about time for Gem's lunch break, as well as most of the other staff. He usually shared a table with her, trying to pick at some cold noodles or a stale sandwich and have a conversation. But mostly he just listened as she and Scar talked, never quite knowing what to say.
"Is Scott mad?" He asked, wincing at how groggy his voice was. He'd called pretty early, promising Scott that this would be his last sick day for the week. Scott was forgiving as always, but it didn't help the guilt that came with dropping out so often. Each week, the days off just kept growing. Quitting was becoming increasingly appealing— but so was the prospect of simply sleeping and never waking up.
"Of course not. He'd never be mad at you for not feeling well. Plus, there's always a handful of students who work at the library, able and willing to cover for you." She paused for a moment. "They do need their head librarian, though."
"I know," He sighed, rubbing his eyes. The students were very competent, but still, without fail, something was always amiss when he came back. No one quite understood his file-organizing system. They'd probably be better off with another head librarian. Someone who showed up on time and actually knew how to run things. The staff would deny it, but deep down, he knew they'd agree.
Slowly, he shifted his stiff legs, jostling the cat on them. Jellie jumped off, giving him an affronted look. Oh well, at least he got to bend his knees.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired. It's fine, I'll probably be in the rest of the week. Work shouldn't be too affected."
"I'm not asking as your coworker," Gem responded. He could imagine her pursing her lips in the way she did when she was concerned, honing in on his emotions through the phone call. "I'm asking as your friend."
Grian sat up against the headboard of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh. Well— I've been struggling to sleep, I guess."
"Yeah?"
"I can't fall asleep, and I wake up in the middle of the night. I'm getting like 5 hours of sleep on a good night. Scar's great, of course, trying to find all these solutions for me. But I hate how worried he is."
Gem hummed. "He's your husband. He wants to help you."
"That's what he said."
"So listen to him. You— Oh, speak of the devil..." She trailed off, turning away from the speaker.
"Someone wants to talk to you," She said after a lengthy pause.
Grian smiled slightly.
"Hey, G!" Scar's voice sounded bright but a little hoarse.
"Hi, Scar." A warm, fond feeling spread through him, driving out a little bit of the constant cold.
"Are you staying home again?" Scar asked apprehensively.
"Sorry," Grian replied, quieter than he'd meant to.
"No, no, it's fine! I'm just… I don't know. When I get home, we'll do something fun together, okay? Get out of the house a bit, maybe have a picnic in the park?"
The thought of leaving the house, let alone the bed, seemed impossible. The blankets were like heavy rocks holding him down, crushing out the air in his lungs. Every day, whether he was exhausted at home or even more exhausted at work, he was breathless and suffocating.
"…Maybe." No.
"Have you eaten anything today?"
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. It was pathetic how incapable he was of taking care of himself. His husband had to monitor him and waste his time just to make sure Grian wasn't slowly killing himself. Shame simmered with the multitude of other numb frustrations directed to his own mind.
"No."
"Have you gotten up at all?"
"…"
Scar took his silence as the answer it was, sighing but not in a cruel way. "Can you try to, please? Maybe water the plants? I forgot to earlier. "
Watering the plants could never make up for the dismissed chores and work. However, it was a start. Something small, a simple task to at least stop rotting under the comforter. Scar preached inertia often: 'An object in motion stays in motion.' A Grian in motion would probably give up and collapse in a corner. He owed Scar so much, and even though watering a few houseplants couldn't make up for his inability to complete the most basic necessities, it was something. Something was better than nothing. Probably.
"Yeah, I can do that."
"Thank you. I have to give Gem her phone back now, but call me if you need anything. I love you." His voice dripped with sincerity, making Grian's chest squeeze with conflicting guilt and love.
"Love you too." He waited a few seconds before hanging up. Gem's voice had just barely come through the speaker, promptly stopping her from being able to continue their conversation from earlier.
Pulling one of the blankets up over his head, he placed his feet on the cold wood floor. The fluffy cape helped a bit with the chill, draped around his shoulders like a monarch, but it didn't help with the exhaustion. Though nothing helped with that.
The curtains remained mostly closed, keeping the room dark and dreary except for the small sliver of midday sun peeking past the fabric. Grian pulled the curtain back, disturbing some of the dust on the windowsill. It swirled like dancers in the spotlight.
Jellie walked beside him as he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing against his ankles and chirping happily when he patted her head.
Blinking blearily out the window, he watched the city street below their apartment. Joggers, people in suits, kids running along the sidewalk; people living their lives, not rotting away inside.
He filled a large glass with water from the tap, taking a few sips before replenishing it for the plants. A few tablespoons were poured into the pots of each leafy plant basking in the sunlight. Scar had names for some of them, especially the older ones. Gloria got more water than Spider because she'd been accidentally neglected for a few days. Grian's favorite was the one called Boss, a big Boston fern with numerous vibrant leaves. The overflowing fronds and bright green exterior made it look far too tropical to come from Boston. He couldn't help but envy the way the flora of the apartment thrived with so little.
How strange it was to be jealous of a plant; it could exist peacefully with sun and water, flourishing and alive. Grian felt like the dying plants Scar would try and fail to nurse back to health. Months spent doing everything he could to save them, always ending in a morose burial in the compost bin of the rooftop garden. When, he wondered, would Scar decide he couldn't be saved?
Once the plants were sufficiently watered, the empty cup was put in the sink. Staring at it for a few seconds, he decided that it didn't really need to be washed. The glass was left in the drying rack, and so began the battle of getting food.
Hunger made itself known with a dull ache in his core, but the effort to cook or make something didn't seem worth it. In the fridge, there was a container of the remaining pasta Scar had made two nights ago, but he'd probably want that for his lunch. Because of how busy work had been the past week, getting groceries should've fallen on Grian. Except he'd been too tired to go, and now they had barely anything. Another brick to add to the pile of guilt and growing responsibilities.
What was the point of cooking? The endeavor was hardly worth the final product, seeing as it was consumed in half the time it took to make. Pulling half a sleeve of salty crackers from the red box on the counter, he retreated to the bedroom, eating them on the floor so he at least didn't get the crumbs on Scar's sheets.
Rotting away in an empty apartment wasn't the life he'd wanted, but it was the one he'd resigned himself to. It seemed easier to hope he'd fade away than to face the giant monstrosity that was existence. Why did everything have to be scary? Where had he gone wrong? What had led him to this life of exhaustion and anxiety? It felt like it would never end, darkness and fear coiling around his neck like a noose, forever tightening until he'd finally snap.
He closed the curtains and tried, once again, to fall asleep. As expected, it was to no avail.
—
The slam of the front door and a subsequent apology were the things that brought Grian out of his hazy staring contest with the ceiling.
Time was something he could never understand. It would slip away in what felt like seconds, when in reality, hours would be spent zoning out at the wall. He probably should've been more worried about the way he kept losing time like water through a sieve, but it didn't seem that big of an issue. Scar was worried about it, whenever he'd lose track of time while watching a movie or not answer any attempt to get his attention. In all honesty, nothing seemed to be worth worrying about, not when there was the looming threat of the world taking up his awareness.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and shutting his eyes at the resulting head rush. A quick look down did indeed remind him that he'd been wearing the same pajamas for three days in a row, and meeting his husband after a long day in ratty flannel pants and a faded t-shirt wasn't the best look, but Scar never seemed to mind.
Pulling Scar's gray oversized sweater off the chair in the corner, he exited the bedroom, being met with more crashes and Jellie yowling sharply.
"Sorry! Sorry— Jeez, you were right under me!"
Grian laughed quietly as he rounded the corner to the entryway and saw an affronted Jellie glaring at Scar, who seemed to have stepped on her tail while struggling to juggle his work satchel and two other plastic bags. Grian rushed over and took the bags from him, placing them on the kitchen island.
"Thanks," Scar said, panting dramatically. "What would I do without you?"
"What'd you get?" Grian asked, peering into the white plastic bags, not waiting for his response.
"I see how it is." He felt a hand on his waist, turning him around. "You care more about Chinese food than your poor husband." Scar teased.
"Ooh, we haven't had takeaway in forever," Grian placed his hands over Scar's shoulder, staring up into those wonderful green eyes. They looked tired and still a bit worried, but content.
"I know. Also, I didn't feel like cooking." Scar leaned forward until his breath was ghosting over Grian's mouth, bumping their foreheads together.
"Hi," Grian said dumbly, and rather breathlessly.
Scar pulled away with an evil grin. "Hm. Later."
"Nooooo," Grian groaned, burying his face into Scar's shoulder. "I haven't kissed you since this morning. I'm dying out here, Scar."
"You'll manage," He replied, tilting Grian's face up to his. He softened when he looked at him, something unreadable coming over his features.
"How was today?" He said more quietly, teasing edge lost. His hands found purchase under Grian's chin, rubbing his thumbs over his cheekbones tenderly.
"Same as always."
Scar pursed his lips, continuing to hold him reverently. "You look so tired. I wish I could help."
Grian leaned into the touch, looking away. "It's fine."
"No, it's not."
With a weak smile, Grian pulled the hands off him, turning back to unpacking the food. Boxes of rice, egg rolls, and his favorite noodles greeted him, while the other bag held a new plant for their collection: a little green succulent.
"What are you going to name this one?" He asked, holding it up. He felt disconnected; something about Scar's worry mixing with his own anxiety made him feel detached. The thoughts in his mind grew in volume, ringing and demanding.
Scar frowned at the topic change but didn't push it. "I don't know. Maybe something sun-related."
Grian hummed, putting the little pot on the counter and grabbing two plates from the cabinets. They trembled in his grasp as his hands seemed unable to still. It was a common physiological reaction, yet feeling the tremors spread through his body made him even more aware of the sensations and growing unease.
Thinking about it always made it worse. The panic would come quickly and overwhelmingly, building like the dark clouds of a storm. Hearing the thunder was more unnerving than the lightning strike.
His heart felt fluttery in his chest, but not in the pleasant way it did when he was held by Scar or they flirted, in a more urgent and pained way. He dug his fingers into the soft fabric of the sweater's sleeves, trying to focus on anything other than the rising adrenaline.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" Scar asked, piling a plate with fried rice.
"Sure," Grian responded. He took a deep breath. It didn't feel like enough. The warm kitchen lights were beaming onto him, drawing every eye onto the mess of a man slowly suffocating from anxiety.
Then Scar was looking at him weirdly. Looking at him as if there was something on his face broadcasting his every feeling and wrong thought. His body felt light and airy, his head spinning like a tornado.
"I'm— gonna wash my hands." He gestured to the bathroom, stumbling past the perfectly fine kitchen tap and shutting himself into the small room.
He stood for a few seconds before curling up against the wall. The rug underneath him was shaggy and a cloudy gray, but it cushioned his fall as his shaky legs lowered onto the floor. Gasping breaths quickly filled the room, far too loud. It reverberated through his mind endlessly. The lights were too bright and too dark at the same time. Covering his ears only made the pounding of his heart worse to listen to, loud and commanding like a drum.
Burying his head into his knees, he continued to try to breathe, gasping for air like it would run out. His hands trembled as he scratched his arm and pulled at his hair, attempting to feel anything other than misplaced adrenaline. The pain was delayed and dull, just like his dampened senses.
It was only a few seconds before the bathroom door swung open. Gaze directed at the ground, he didn't acknowledge anything outside of his bubble of panic. The disappointment that would surely be on Scar's face was too intimidating to even consider glancing up. Burying his head in his arms, he blinded himself to the outside.
"Hey— it's okay, it's okay, I'm here," Scar tried to reassure, kneeling in front of Grian. The words sounded murky and muffled, but the message wasn't lost. He peeked through the cage of his arms, wiping away the wet drops that clouded his eyes. Though he was unsure of when he'd begun crying, it became apparent that he was sobbing in great heaves. Removed from his body, he noticed slowly and numbly that he couldn't catch his breath, and he felt like he was going to pass out.
"Um—" Scar held his hands up, frozen in an outstretched position. "Can I touch you?"
Grian nodded rapidly, crawling into Scar's open arms. Scar moved so he could lean against the wall, enveloping Grian with a hug, patting his back, and combing through his hair while he cried. With trembling hands, Grian gripped the sides of Scar's shirt, squeezing and releasing over and over. He cried freely, unable to stop the gasping staccato of his sobs.
"Can you breathe with me?" Scar asked, voice rumbling through his chest and into Grian's. "In for four, out for four." He demonstrated with exaggerated inhales and exhales. Grian tried to follow along, but most were still ragged and frantic.
They continued to breathe for a while. Scar kept trying to ground him, asking him to focus on his senses and the room around them. Once he was able to gain control of his breathing, Grian let go of Scar's shirt and wound his arms around his side, hugging him tightly. Scar hummed something soft, returning the embrace.
The food was probably cold by then. Scar's exhaustion rolled off him in waves. Someone's phone in the kitchen rang unanswered. Everything was out of sync. Of course, he'd ruined their evening, panicking over nothing.
"Are you okay?" Scar asked quietly, pulling them apart so he could look at Grian. "Please be honest."
Grian stared at him, mouth glued shut. He wasn't sure how to answer, mind empty and still recovering from the adrenaline dumped on him. But more importantly, he didn't trust himself not to lie.
Scar stared back before giving him a sad smile. It was supposed to be comforting, but his eyebrows furrowed in a way that made Grian wilt with guilt. "Can we move to the couch?"
Grian nodded, standing up on shaky legs and giving Scar a hand. He winced as his knees popped from the cramped position, face briefly flickering with pain. Grian couldn't help but mirror Scar's worry, making a note in his mind to ensure he had his cane with him more often.
Once they reached the living room, Scar didn't hesitate to grab a large blanket and cover both of them as they sat on the couch. Grian lay down across his lap, and a hand came down to rest on his head.
He turned over so he could look up at Scar. The light from the lamp on the end table made him look ethereal. Golden brown strands of hair framed his face, contrasting with the pale scars along his nose and cheek. His eyes sparkled like the sun through the tree canopy, a bright window into his soul.
"What's going on, G?" Scar murmured, taking Grian's hand and rubbing the back of it.
He gave a shuddered sigh. "I don't know. Nothing even happened today, I just started freaking out—"
"I meant, more in general," Scar interrupted, silencing the beginning of his rant. "I've been trying to give you time, but I'm really worried. You're missing work and not taking care of yourself." He paused, becoming quieter. "If it's because of me, then—"
"No! No, Scar, you're the best thing in my life," Grian exclaimed, squeezing Scar's hand. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's just been hard. Everything's been hard. I can't sleep, eat, or socialize— I'm just so tired."
Scar wilted with concern. "What about the panic attack?"
"Those just happen sometimes…" Grian looked away. "Usually when you're at work. I just get stuck thinking about how you could get hurt or what the future might be like and then— well, you saw what happened."
He sat up, pressing his knees to his chest and turning towards Scar.
"It feels like this will never end. I don't know how to get better."
Scar thought for a moment, continuing to rub circles into Grian's hand. "I don't either. But someone else will. We don't have to tonight, but could we look at some therapists?"
Grian froze with fear. Meeting someone new and sharing with them his pain and vulnerabilities sounded terrifying. He imagined them dissecting his mind, peeling back the carefully constructed walls to reveal the mess buried deep down. Scar noticed his apprehension.
"I'd go with you, and we could leave at any time. They'll be able to help."
"…We can look." He conceded, smiling gently as Scar broke into a grin.
"As long as you're trying, I'll be happy. And even if you didn't try, I'll still love you," Scar added.
They rested on the couch for a few more minutes before Scar got up to grab their (unfortunately cold) food. He put on a comedy movie that Grian ignored, preferring to eat his noodles and zone out while staring at the gray plate.
When they were finished, Scar collected their dishes and left for a bit. He returned with a cat in his arms and a book in hand. Grian lifted the blanket, releasing the warmth but creating an opening for his husband. Jellie immediately jumped off Scar's lap when he sat down, trotting over to the other side of the couch and watching from afar.
As soon as he got the chance, Grian lay across Scar's lap and looked up at him as he opened his book and placed a hand on Grian's hair.
"Going to sleep?"
"Hopefully."
"You'll be okay," Scar leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Grian's cheek. He smiled. "Sleep well."
He was warm and safe with Scar. He was alive and wanted to try to live. Maybe everything would be okay.
Grian closed his eyes and let the slow sound of Scar's breathing and pages flipping lull him to sleep.