An unexpected love || Ant x Stephen

The Date - Chapter Six

The clock on the mantelpiece struck six, the chime echoing through the house like a starting pistol. Upstairs, Ant was in a state of absolute, uncharacteristic disarray. He had prepared for live broadcasts in front of millions, navigated high-pressure awards shows, and handled every technical glitch imaginable, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer, bone-deep panic of a Tuesday night date with Stephen Mulhern.

"Dec! I'm serious! I've tried on four shirts and I look like a geography teacher in all of them!" Ant's voice drifted down the stairs, tight with anxiety.

Dec, who had been comfortably sprawled on the sofa with a bag of crisps, let out a long, dramatic sigh. He tossed the bag aside and trudged up the stairs. "Honestly, man, if you're this bad now, just calm down mate."

He walked into Ant's bedroom to find the bed buried under a mountain of discarded fabric. Ant was standing in front of the full-length mirror in nothing but his boxers, looking genuinely distressed.

"Go on, get in the shower," Dec ordered, pointing toward the bathroom. "Scrub the panic off. I'll sort the threads. You're overthinking it because it's Stevie, but that's exactly why you should relax. He already likes you, you muppet."

Ant nodded, offering a small, grateful smile. As he stepped into the steam of the shower, the warmth started to settle his nerves. He looked at his reflection in the steamed-up glass and traced a smiley face. He was forty years old and felt like he was sixteen again, waiting for his first crush to notice him. The best part? His crush finally had.

When he emerged, smelling of cedarwood and nerves, Dec had laid out two distinct options on the bed with the precision of a high-end tailor.

"Option A: Classic black trousers and a crisp white shirt. It says 'I'm sophisticated but I'm not trying too hard.' Option B: The pale blue shirt. It brings out the green in your eyes, which, according to a very drunk Stephen Mulhern, are 'pretty.'"

Ant laughed, the tension finally breaking. "Option A. Let's keep it classic."

Ten minutes later, Ant walked down the stairs, checking his watch for the tenth time. He looked sharp—clean, modern, and undeniably handsome.

"So? Do I look like a man who knows what he's doing?" he asked, adjusting his cuffs.

Dec looked up from the TV and actually paused. "You look amazing, mate. Seriously. He's going to be a puddle on the floor."

"Thanks, Dec." Ant grabbed his jacket and keys from the hallway console. "Are you staying here? I don't know how late I'll be."

"I'm staying," Dec said, settling back in. "I'll be right here with a bottle of wine and the remote. Good luck, lover boy! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

The walk to Stephen's front door felt like an eternity. Ant arrived three minutes early, a cardinal sin in the world of dating, so he stood on the porch for a moment, fidgeting with his sleeve. He practiced a casual "Hey," then a more formal "Good evening," before settling on just being himself.

He knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and there stood Stephen. He wasn't wearing a suit or a tuxedo; he was just in a soft, dark jumper and jeans, but to Ant, he looked spectacular. The smile on Stephen's face was so wide it seemed to light up the entire hallway.

"Ant! You're actually here!" Stephen beamed, stepping back to let him in.

"Well, you promised food," Ant teased, stepping into the warmth of the house. "I wasn't going to pass that up. You haven't burnt the place down yet, have you?"

Stephen rolled his eyes, taking Ant's jacket. "The fire department is on standby, but I think we're safe for now. Make yourself at home."

As Stephen retreated to the kitchen, Ant wandered through the living room. He'd been here a dozen times, but tonight felt different—intimate. He found himself looking at the photos on the walls with fresh eyes. There was a young Stephen in a Redcoat uniform, looking skinny and full of mischief; photos of his parents; and shots of his siblings. It was a life built on performance and family, much like his own.