Cold Water

The Aftermath

They settled into something resembling a routine.

Simon was still in Dec's bad books though, and Ant's too. The older man had helped his own case by changing the format of the audition days to create a two-hour break that happened to coincide with the hospital visiting hours but still it was only Ant and Dec who ever took advantage of this time. They mentioned other people coming to visit only once to Stephen before the look on his face persuaded them to wait for the younger man to make those decisions for himself.

He had already miraculously managed to convince his parents to stay abroad, despite what had happened. Via text, Dec was sure, although it still seemed absurd that he'd got away with promising he was going to be fine. It was clear he couldn't deal with the idea of his mum and dad having to visit him in hospital, to see what had happened for themselves, and like most things surrounding the accident, Dec didn't have the heart to push him to talk about it.

Another weekend crept around eventually, bringing a Sunday that wasn't full of work and, at last, a chance to breathe. During that week of auditions, they had started going through the same motions every day: ignoring anyone who spotted them visiting and decided to stare; signing in at the reception desk and growing accustomed to the familiar smiles they were met with; learning the new ways in which they could help Stephen without making him worry they were focusing far too much of their attention on him.

That day, Dec tapped on the half-open door as he slipped inside the room, the hand in his pocket feeling the deck of cards he'd thought to bring with him. Stephen was, quite predictably, lying in bed, his head tilted back and eyes wandering over the ceiling with a distinct sense of boredom.

"Another day in captivity?" Dec interrupted what he imagined was the mind-numbing activity of counting ceiling panels, pleased to be greeted with a wonky smile and not a soft frown.

"I'd s-start scratching a tally into the – the w-walls if I ever g-got any-anything sharp to u-u-use," Stephen retorted, his tone of voice starting to sound stronger even if the contents of what he was saying still wavered.

Dec was pleased to note the lack of bandages around his wrists for the few seconds it took to drop into the seat beside the bed, at which point he got close enough to see what the wraps had been hiding for the last few weeks and his stomach started to turn over alarmingly.

He blinked out of his distraction when one of Stephen's hands covered over his other wrist, obscuring the still healing skin from his view. He looked up guiltily before realising Stephen merely looked sympathetic and far, far too kind; like he wanted to do Dec a favour for once.

"They're healing well?" Dec eventually asked, skirting around the subject slightly. Stephen settled for a nod, enough silence passing to make it clear he wasn't trying to reply vocally. Dec tried to shed the weight of the room and immediately steer them back to lighter topics. "I brought something."

Stephen raised his eyebrows expectantly, again opting for the non-verbal where he could. This was one of those things Dec had adapted to. Stephen had always been quite talkative or, at least, up for a good chat with anyone he knew well. They'd never had a silent moment in the past, always tripping over one bout of ribbing and into another. Now, Dec almost enjoyed the comfortable silence that formed the basis of many of their interactions.

"I thought you might want to play a game," he continued, quick to state his intentions as he pulled the deck of cards out. Like a lot of things, he'd overthought this one too; images of Stephen feeling hurt because he thought Dec had been trying to convince him to do some magic (something he certainly didn't have the dexterity for at the moment) had made him determined to say that he just wanted to play snap or something.