(Thanks for the support, here's Courf's point of view. Hope you like it!)
Courfeyrac didn't really know how to feel or what to think when he climbed up the stairs towards Grantaire's apartment. Combeferre's call earlier had shocked him to his very core. If there was one couple of whom he had always thought they'd never betray each other, it had to be Grantaire and Enjolras. The two of them loved each other so fiercely, so completely and so boundlessly. Of course, they could argue and scream at each other over the smallest of things - that had never changed - but they were so devoted to each other that if someone pointed out how they disagreed or dared to upset one of them - in the others presence or not - then may God have mercy on their souls, because they surely would not have.
And now Combeferre was telling him that Grantaire cheated on Enjolras? Grantaire cheated on Enjolras? It was too ridiculous to be true... But then why had the medical student sounded so worried and so fearful? His friend would never make something like that up. Apparently Enjolras had been with Combeferre, so Courfeyrac could only assume that their blonde friend had told Combeferre the story. Well, then the only explanation had to be that Enjolras was wrong. He must've misunderstood; must've drawn the wrong conclusions. He must've gone to Combeferre without giving Grantaire the chance to offer a perfectly reasonable explanation. That had to be it...
There was just one problem with that theory... Enjolras was never wrong. Courfeyrac knew that Enjolras never accused someone of something unless he was a hundred per cent sure that he was right. He lived by the rule 'innocent until proven guilty'. So was Grantaire guilty? How could he be?
Courfeyrac's heart felt heavier with each step. Combeferre's words echoed in his head. Enjolras is a mess. I'm worried about Grantaire. When he finally arrived at the front door, his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists and knocked a few times. There was no answer. The usually so bubbly student frowned worriedly and knocked again, this time a little harder and calling out Grantaire's name at the same time.
Still nothing.
"Grantaire! Listen, if you don't open up, I'm coming in with your spare key. I know where you keep it..."
Still nothing.
Courfeyrac cursed under his breath, turned around and reached behind the fire extinguisher next to Grantaire's door where the spare key hung on a small hook. It wasn't the best hiding spot, but Grantaire needed it to be in an easy place so that he could find it whenever he was too drunk to remember where he kept his own keys. With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Courfeyrac unlocked the door and stepped inside. The sight that met him knocked the air out of his lungs.
Grantaire was lying in the middle of the living room in a pool of his own vomit, a nearly empty bottle of vodka still loosely held in his hand. His eyes were open, yet not seeing. They were glazed over and stared blankly at the ceiling. Courfeyrac was frozen in place for a few seconds before he bolted forwards and dropped on his knees next to Grantaire. He shook his friend by the shoulders and slapped him in the face a few times, desperate for a response, but getting none. He let out a relieved sob when his trembling fingers finally felt a faint pulse. He's alive. He's still alive.
Courfeyrac forcefully rolled Grantaire on his side - away from the vomit - so that he could breath more easily and carded a comforting hand through the mop of messy black curls. This wasn't good. This was so not good. What on earth had happened? How could this have happened? Courfeyrac didn't understand and he could cry. He fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed the three numbers he hated dialing.
"I need an ambulance, right now"
TBC.
(I think Enjolras will be the next pov. Please review! Ideas are always welcome!)