As we fall apart

Hold On ~ May 2014

He'd not thought about seeing Stephen for the first time that morning. He'd not thought about who might be around to watch it, that they could all stop and stare as if something exciting was about to happen.

But when he did, when some of the admittedly well-meaning crew in their vicinity looked on curiously, it seemed that his immediate instinct was to burrow himself into the younger man's chest and hopefully never emerge again.

As it turned out, when he couldn't do that without being uncomfortably scrutinised, he merely fell into step with him. They didn't need to exchange words in order to find somewhere private – somewhere he could finally shed the simmering tension that clung to him with a heaviness that made him worry he might suffocate under the weight.

The first empty side room was enough and he sank into Stephen's waiting arms with a trembling sigh. His face was turned into Stephen's neck but when he lifted it a little, his nose no longer pressing against skin, he could smell Stephen's shampoo for the first time in months. It mixed intoxicatingly with the scent of laundry detergent, threaded between the stitches of Stephen's jumper. And it was easier – so, so much easier – to overwhelm himself with that, than it was to face their new reality.

He could still feel the eyes of the press on his back. He'd barely taken twenty steps on the way to the car under their scrutiny and yet it lingered with him now. He didn't know how he'd cope with filming, with a live audience, the judges, everyone.

He couldn't face hearing whispered conversations following him around. It was as bad as the shouted questions that had crowded against his back when he finally made it to the car door.

Can you confirm or deny the contents of the story published in The Sun today?

Have you seen the news this morning?

Have you spoken to Stephen?

When were you planning on coming out?

"It's alright," Stephen whispered eventually, making it impossible to tell who out of the two of them he was comforting. It was the first time either of them had spoken or, at least, the first time it had registered with Dec.

His breathing was a more pressing issue, one that he'd barely noticed for himself. Too heavy and too shallow simultaneously. Loud in the silence of the empty room.

They were on their own. It was fine.

"It's just me and you," Stephen echoed the sentiment.

Dec slumped against his chest, not quite calm but heading in the right direction. His brain was moving too quickly for him to keep up so he stopped trying, letting the carousel of thoughts spin on without paying too much attention. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache but he preferred that to the stress he felt when he actually paid attention to his own overthinking.

He'd barely looked Ant in the eye that morning, knowing he'd crumble under the sympathetic gaze. Ant hadn't asked either, bad at hiding his anger towards the crowd of journalists. The air had been heavy in the back of the car but his hand had tentatively covered Dec's on the middle seat, a quiet gesture that managed to drown out everything that had been shouted on that short walk.

As soon as they'd exited the car at the theatre, the comments had returned, buzzing around his head on an instant loop. Journalists who were complete strangers wanting to know how much of the article was accurate, if he was happy with Stephen, why they'd never come out before.

The last might have made him laugh, if it didn't feel like the world was collapsing around him. The reaction that morning served as a perfect justification for why they had never felt comfortable telling everyone. It was a media storm, centred on an area of their lives that was completely irrelevant to their work. Who Dec was and wasn't attracted to had no impact on his ability to present a TV show but suddenly it was the most important facet of his personality.