For @zzalina, i hope you enjoy this ficlet. (listen to the playlist in order for optimal Vibes.
TW: Suicide attempt, suicidal ideation
“You came,” Grantaire said, his tone deadpan despite the surprise he felt. The fatigue had wormed its way into his bones, weighing him down like rain sodden clothes, and he could not be bothered to add inflection to his voice.
Jehan tilted their head and smiled, “You called me at 3:15 in the morning and then didn’t answer when I called back. Obviously, I came.”
Grantaire looked down. The city looked beautiful from here. The wide expanse of it, quiet and still. Lonely lights flickering where people were still up. He didn’t look up as he felt Jehan take a seat next to him. The warmth of their closeness was a welcome thing. He hadn’t thought to bring a sweater when he climbed up to the roof.
He watched their dangling legs. Their teal pajamas next to the worn-out jeans he had had on for two days now. “How’d you know where to look?” he asked, avoiding Jehan’s gaze that was boring into him.
“I did a location spell,” they said, awfully chipper.
Grantaire shot them a wan glance, and judging by the smug look on their face, that was exactly what they had wanted, saying that.
“Find my Friends,” they said, “I shared your location with me, Joly and Boss last week when we met at Courf and Ferre’s for dinner.”
Grantaire inhaled shakily. “Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Jehan shrugged off the cardigan they were wearing, draping it over Grantaire’s shoulders. He sighed despite himself, relishing in the soft warmth. “We’re your friends, Grantaire, we notice when something’s going on with you.”
Grantaire put his face in his hands, a heaving sob tearing its way out of him. It felt a little like his body had been waiting for the slightest shred of affection, and his face felt hot with shame from it. Jehan sat in silence beside him as he wailed, one hand steady at the small of his back.
“I wasn’t going to do it,” Grantaire said, finally, roughly swiping his face clean.
Jehan gave him a thoughtful look. They had a way of looking right into you when they looked at you, and Grantaire had the strangest urge to put more clothes on. After a long pause, they asked, softly, “Weren’t you?”
“I-“ Grantaire shrugged, “I wanted to. I always want to. I always get scared and back out.” He laughed, and he hated the ugly sound a little. “I would have chickened out this time too.”
“What are you afraid of?” Jehan asked him, after a beat, “Are you scared it’ll hurt?”
Grantaire shook his head. His eyes were welling up again, and he ignored them steadfastly. “No. No, that’s not it.”
Jehan hummed, encouraging him to go on.
“It’s just- what it-“ he said, “What if I don’t want it anymore halfway down?”
“Good,” Jehan said, firmly. Grantaire looked up in shock, only to find them smiling at him.
“Why is that good?” Grantaire said, tugging at his hair and letting the sharp pain of his scalp ground him, “How is good that I’m a sniveling fucking coward who can’t even kill himself properly?”
Jehan gently pulled his hand away from his hair, encasing it in both of theirs. They swiped their thumb softly over Grantaire’s hands. Callused, rough hands that felt entirely too large and beastly in Jehan’s kindly ones.
“As long as you’re scared, you aren’t sure this is what you want, R.”
Grantaire inhaled sharply, letting that reality pour over him like warm water.
Jehan leaned their head on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Do you remember being fourteen years old?” they asked.
“Shit fucking time,” Grantaire laughed.
“You were living with your parents. Still closeted. Barely any friends. Enroute to a math program you had no interest in doing.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember how horrible it was, J, I don’t need a refresher.”
“Do you remember how entirely inescapable that felt?” they asked, twining their fingers together.
Grantaire felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. He nodded.
“Whatever it is you want to be free of right now, R, whatever you want to escape and feel like this is the only way to do it, you are wrong,” they said, their voice firm with conviction. “Fourteen-year-old Grantaire could not have dreamed of this life; being out publicly, studying art and classics, having friends who love you for exactly who you are. Fourteen-year-old you really, truly, in his little heart believed that his only options were being a closet case math major who would end up in a job he hated and a loveless marriage or death.”
Jehan paused, lifting their head from Grantaire’s shoulder and dropping his hand in favor of firmly grabbing his chin to make him face them. “There are other options, R. There are no circumstances so entirely inescapable that you cannot try to change them, especially when you have so many people rooting for you to find a life you think is worth living.”
Grantaire shook his head, hot tears falling down his cheeks, “I’m not- I’m scared, Jehan.”
Jehan’s fingers slipped, cupping his cheek gently in their warm hand. “What are you scared of?” they asked, their voice so gentle that Grantaire wanted to take refuge in its embrace.
He leaned his head down, hiding his face in their shoulder. “I’m scared I will try my best and still want to die.”
Jehan sighed, standing up and extending their hand towards Grantaire. He grabbed onto it, and they pulled him up, away from the edge. “For tonight, all you have to be is more afraid of regretting it halfway down than of trying and failing to be happy, does that sound doable?”
Jehan smiled. “We can work our way up from there.”
