soul searching

i. someone who has locks that fit our keys

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2023, London: Saturday Night Takeaway

It happened one too many times during rehearsals.

Dec wasn’t an idiot. He knew when his best mate was doing something out of the ordinary, more than thirty years of working together does that to you. 

The first time he brings it up, he expects Ant to brush it off. Which he certainly did.

Dec spares a glance toward his right side, a hand still fiddling with his script with the other casually resting on the temples of his glasses. He tries to continue reading through his lines, but the taller man’s movements have been so distracting lately. Slowly, his gaze follows the action Ant has been repeating since they started rehearsing for tomorrow’s show.

Ant is none the wiser, talking to one of the crew members about the camera positions. He does it again.

“What are you doing?” Dec blurts out, probably a little louder than he intended.

In a brief moment, Ant turns to look at him. His arms are still crossed protectively over his chest. “What?”

“I just– ‘your arm okay?”

Those deep blue eyes fix on Dec’s own before looking down to follow his friend’s gaze. Ant doesn’t even realise it, but he’s been scratching at his very own left arm. “Is nothin’.” He replies, simply.

Dec quirks an eyebrow at him. But before Dec can make another comment, Ant begins to relax, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, shooting him a kind smile before turning back to re-engage in the conversation with the crew.

It was subtle enough of a movement, nothing too distracting to any normal person watching Anthony McPartlin move around the set (and maybe on the telly). But it was horribly distracting for one Declan Donnelly, who knew way more than the normal person.

“Alright gentleman, can we have a little run through?” A booming voice comes from the speakers.

Plucking his glasses off his face, Dec looks up to the camera, scanning the auto-cue briefly before replying. “A’ight!”

Ant slips into the space beside him, such a natural thing for them to do. “Ready!”

The second time Dec brings it up, they’re walking towards the dressing rooms backstage.

By the second half of rehearsals, Dec managed to get a semblance of focus as Ant doesn’t rub or scratch at his arm as often as he did before Dec asked. It still happened, and Dec makes a note of it every time it does. Nevertheless, they continued to exchange lines and banter along with the flow of the show. The producers seemed to like them today, a testament to how unbothered everyone else was while Dec’s head was running a million miles an hour.

They’re exchanging short anecdotes as they walk backstage. Ant talks about how his stepdaughters have been doing all sorts of activities after school, that he’s excited to see them engaging in dance lessons. Dec comments that his and Ali’s little boy has been crawling around and that he’ll probably be tottering around the house sooner than later. It’s a casual, domestic discussion. It’s downtime for the two, who have found common ground as fathers.

When they stop in front of Ant’s dressing room, instead of heading for his own, Dec lingers by the door.

“You coming in?” Ant asks, pushing the door open and letting himself in. Ant looks back, expecting to hear a cheeky remark from his best friend– only to be met with the man’s worried gaze.