Oneshots and Other Things

Small Spaces ~ Part 3

The author does not know where this series is going but it keeps getting longer and more angsty. This time, for a change, feelings have been taken out on Dec mostly (set in January 2019) but apologies to fictional Stephen for projecting onto him again. One day, I might let him be happy for a chapter.

Contains a panic attack.

(*~*)

There had been an air of tension backstage all day. Stephen had known not to bring up the NTAs that evening, having to watch several other people who didn't know that wish Ant and Dec luck as both of them looked progressively uneasy about the ceremony later that day.

It was Dec who was going through it the hardest though. No matter what Ant said, it seemed almost guaranteed that he would blame himself if they didn't win it for the last year of work he had done largely on his own. And every well wish from an oblivious crew member was sending him closer and closer to translucent.

Stephen had been doing his best to offset the intrusions from other people, making a bigger fool of himself than normal to try and get them laughing. And it was working, even if Dec's expression slipped back towards poorly masked worry as soon as he wandered away again. Not that Stephen beat himself up too much over that – if Ant couldn't stop the older man from looking like that, no one could.

Everything seemed to come to a head in the early afternoon. Stephen had just finished interviewing a contestant for the next batch of auditions, happy to hear that they were heading into another filming break. He circled back towards the judges' room via Ant and Dec's wing of the theatre, ready to do something else a bit stupid to keep them going for another couple of hours, only to find that just one of them was there.

Dec was perched on one of the stools shoved against the heavy curtains of the stage, clutching an empty water bottle and fussing with the cap between restless fingers.

"Alright, mate?" Stephen greeted, instantly frowning when Dec didn't react. "Dec?"

He got closer, glancing around to make sure they were the only ones there. Dec still didn't respond, eyes glued to the lid of his bottle, fingers trembling against it. Stephen recognised a lot of the signs he relied on to sense his own panic attacks coming, normally using them as a barometer to gauge when it was best to get out of sight of as many people as possible. He'd never coached anyone else through one before though.

"Declan," he softened his voice slightly, now stood in front of Dec but unsure of how to proceed. It was clear the other man wasn't about to respond to a verbal cue though so he reached out a tentative hand, resting it on Dec's shoulder and squeezing slightly.

"Huh?" Dec snapped out of his preoccupation, seeming to feel every symptom his body was displaying at once, his eyes focusing on Stephen and then drifting further, evidently looking for the one person who actually knew what he was doing. Stephen also wanted to look over his shoulder for Ant, although the other man had inconveniently made himself scarce.

"Are you feeling okay?" Stephen asked, knowing the question was pointless. There was a sheen to Dec's forehead, his lips a paler pink than normal. He looked ill, to be perfectly honest, but Stephen knew he wasn't.

"Y-yeah," Dec murmured, flashing the world's worst excuse for a smile and trying to take a steady breath inward. "Yeah, I'm fine." His eyes darted away again, sheepish this time rather than actively seeking out Ant. Stephen wondered how long after the panic attack he would leave it before accusing the other man of being a hypocrite.

"Trying my own tactics on me?" he asked in return, pleased when Dec's mouth flickered slightly. He closed his eyes soon after though, tilting his head towards Stephen's chest.