I would start a riot

It Never Ends ~ May 2015

"Declan!" Ant's cheerful call rang down the corridor, pulling his focus from the phone screen as he forced down the sudden wave of overwhelming anxiety and turned to face the other man. "Six seconds, you dafty? Just as bad as last time."

Dec forced a laugh, shrugging his shoulders and pocketing his phone. It weighed heavier than normal in his back pocket, the message trying to taunt him. He started to wonder who it was from and then immediately aborted that thought when it prompted a roaring rush of blood to cascade through his ears.

"As soon as he says go with that game, the only thing I can think of is yes and no," he retorted with a grin. "Anyway, you only did one second better at the auditions."

"Makes all the difference," Ant replied cheekily, catching him up and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Another year over, eh?"

"Yeah," Dec said, swallowing the lump in his throat and wondering if his sudden fear was palpable in the small gap between them. "I suppose you're having your pre-party nap, then?"

Ant nodded, stretching his arms behind himself with an exaggerated yawn. "What about you?"

"Toilet," Dec replied on autopilot, "I've been desperate since the end of the show."

"Don't let me hold you up, then," Ant said with another grin. Dec was amazed he could keep up any pretence around his best friend. He was amazed Ant hadn't taken one look at him and lost the glow of energy he was currently carrying around with him.

As soon as he reached the toilets, every inch of pretence gave way. His legs shook so dramatically that he rested a steadying hand on the nearest sink. His fingers buzzed with static. He couldn't breathe. His phone seemed to almost pull at the seams of his trouser pocket.

See what happens when you choose to keep secrets.

He didn't realise he'd been sick until he registered the sound of his own retching. He glanced behind him, glad to note that every cubicle was empty, and washed away the evidence in a single stream of water. His face burned with the heat of yet another secret and no amount of cold water seemed to wash the guilt away.

He was certain in that moment that the only thing that would make everything better was Stephen coming straight in through the door. He'd be unable to lie to the other man then, left at his most vulnerable and forced to explain Martha and the text and the fact that he was far less okay than he kept pretending.

But Stephen was still working in the studio down the corridor. And Dec had let Ant go without telling him his chest was crushing in on itself. He cupped his hands beneath the tap again, frustrated when the next cold splash of water barely registered against his face. His skin was numb and buzzing beneath the surface, prickly when he rubbed his hands over his cheeks.

Eventually, leaning against the basin, he persuaded himself to check his phone again. Part of him hoped that the stress had merely got too much, that maybe he'd hallucinated the entire thing. It would be concerning if that was the case, but at least the message would be fake.

It was still there, registering as a blocked number. He kept trying to remind himself that it could have been anyone but whatever he did, only one name kept echoing around his head.

Martha.

He stood for far too long trying to get her out of his head, startling when the time on his phone proved that Stephen would at last be finished. He wondered if Ant would have noticed his absence or if his nap was long enough to save him from fabricating some sort of explanation.

On the way back to the dressing room, he inevitably bumped into Stephen, trying to chase the dull sense of pride he felt at the sight of the younger man's cheerful expression. The moment of desperation to see the other man deserted him though and he immediately wanted to return to putting a brick wall between himself and Stephen. Anything to keep that slight positivity on his face.