Ant and Dec One Shots

In The Shadows Of Friendship

The distance had crept in slowly, in a way that almost felt calculated in its subtlety. It started with small moments-Dec and Stephen staying back at the studio a little longer, plans being made without Ant's knowledge until they were already in motion. He would look up from whatever he was doing and see Dec and Stephen sharing some private joke, something that would make Dec throw his head back in laughter. For a while, Ant tried to join in, to make himself part of the trio that had, at one point, seemed so natural. But as weeks passed, he found himself lingering on the outskirts of conversations, barely getting a word in before they drifted off into their own world.

Ant wasn't sure when the laughter left him. It felt as if his voice was slowly being silenced, like every time he tried to make a joke or add to the conversation, it just... fell flat. Dec would glance at him and smile, but it was a half-hearted kind of warmth, one that he'd pass along to Stephen in full once Ant had stopped talking. And that look, the way Dec's eyes sparkled when he looked at Stephen... It was something Ant had once been on the receiving end of, something he treasured.

The weeks turned into months. In that time, Ant's appetite dwindled until eating felt like just another chore. His sleep turned restless, and though his body screamed for rest, his mind wouldn't let him relax. It would replay memories of his and Dec's best times together, only to twist them cruelly, taunting him with the thought that he was no longer the one Dec wanted around. Ant deflected any questions they asked, dismissing their occasional concerns with "I'm fine," said in the most convincing way he could muster. And even when Dec would throw a brief, searching glance his way, Ant would smile back tightly, doing his best to seem like he was coping.

The toll of it weighed him down, making every day feel harder than the last. Still, he carried on, showing up to rehearsals, filming, doing his job. But his heart wasn't in it anymore; it was all just an endless loop of going through the motions. On particularly bad days, he could barely keep up with the routine, but he forced himself through it. When Dec glanced at him with the slightest hint of concern, Ant managed a feeble grin before retreating once again into silence.

Finally, the inevitable happened. They were in the middle of rehearsal, going over a segment for what felt like the thousandth time, when the room started spinning. He felt his legs wobble and tried to steady himself, but before he knew it, his vision went black, and he felt his knees give way.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, blinking up at the harsh studio lights. A medic was crouched beside him, checking him over with gentle hands and a steady voice. He was aware of Dec and Stephen nearby, Dec's face twisted in a mix of horror and confusion as he knelt beside Ant, whispering his name.

"Low blood sugar and exhaustion," the medic explained softly, handing Ant a bottle of water and a small packet of biscuits. "You need to eat, mate. Really eat. This kind of thing doesn't just happen overnight."

Ant's eyes flickered toward Stephen, who was watching him with a worried, almost haunted expression. Dec, though, looked shattered, his hand gripping Ant's shoulder in silent apology. But as they tried to speak to him, to ask him why he hadn't told them, he deflected it all with a weak smile.

"I'm fine, really. It's... it's nothing."

"Nothing?" Dec's voice was edged with a mix of anger and pain. "Ant, you just collapsed in front of us! You're not fine, and don't say you are." He took a shaky breath, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

Ant laughed, but it came out bitter, almost a scoff. "No, Dec. It's not. But you should've known that." The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, and Dec visibly flinched.

Ant pushed himself up, ignoring the dark spots that danced across his vision. He could feel their eyes on him, their silent shock, and something in him snapped. Maybe it was the weight of nearly a year's worth of loneliness, or the despair of knowing how long he'd felt invisible, but he couldn't stop himself.