With hushed whispers and glazed eyes both men crept through the front door of the Donnelly family home. It was the early hours of a Sunday morning and the sky had already begun to accommodate the first dull, orange tints of dawn. The boys had arrived back in Newcastle two days beforehand, having returned for Declan's sister's wedding; an eagerly anticipated event that was fast approaching with a countdown left of only five days. Throwing their jackets over the banister of the stairs Ant couldn't help but allow a drunken chuckle to escape his lips as lose change that had long since been forgotten came hailing from an open pocket of Dec's discarded jacket.
"Dec, man. You're losin' money all over the place!" Ant laughed, stood steady in his place, one hand resting against the wall in an effort to to keep himself upright as his other arm stretched out in front of him, pointing down at the quids and copper strewn across the carpet of the hallway. Dec was less than interested, having already made his way into the kitchen, he was currently throwing open cupboard doors and peering inside in search of the whiskey he knew his father kept hidden away for those rainy days. "What're you doin' like? Gonna make us some scran?" Ant asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
"Don't be daft man, when have you ever known us to cook anythin'?" Dec smiled over his shoulder, another cupboard door creaking as it was thrown open. "This is what I was after like!" the shorter man grinned, pulling the dusty bottle of Jameson's from behind what Dec would happily wager to be cereal older than their career. Ant caught site of the bottle and felt the first subtle pound of what he knew was going to be the mother of all hangovers. To say the boys were drunk would be an understatement; ratted, shit-faced, bladdered, arse-holed, absolutely twatted… Ant would have taken any of those over drunk because that was exactly the way both men felt and yet here was Dec, pint sized and pie-eyed, pouring himself and his best friend of twenty four years another drink.
"Haway, Dec. Do ye really think we should carry on drinkin', man? It's already…" Ant glanced down at his watch, blurred vision making it difficult to decipher the jumble of numbers. "Uh… about four in the mornin'?"
Dec giggled, a wide and mischievous grin spread across his face as he shoved a half full glass in Ant's direction. "Don't be a spoil sport, Ant. One more."
Dec hadn't intended to return home so completely and utterly smashed but a couple of drinks had turned into four and four into eight and so on; his best friend's incessant purchasing of Sambuca shots hadn't made things any better either but the booze helped. The booze helped Dec to forget the constant ache and the internal struggle he had to deal with day after day, night after night and hour after hour when it came to having his best friend so close. Dec found it easy to hide for the most part, he'd smile and laugh at the right times, play off every touch as though it was all some joke and every so often he'd turn away for a second if it all hurt a little too much but when they were out and the drinks were coming full and fast, Dec found that he could let himself go and dull the nagging pain if only for the night.
"I cannat believe your Moyra's gettin' married, man." Ant spoke with a sigh and a disbelieving shake of his head, breaking Dec from his thoughts and bringing his glass to his lips, taking a sip and savouring the subtle burn of the cold, amber liquid.
"Aye." Dec sighed, his gaze somewhat distant and pensive. "Just me to go now, like. Not that it's ever likely to happen… not after Clare." Dec took a large swig of his drink in an effort to stop the telltale lump that had suddenly begun rising in his throat.
Ant wasn't entirely sure when the night had taken such a dramatic turn for the two of them; one minute they were falling over one another and laughing like children coming down the garden path to Dec's family home and the next they were here, sat around the kitchen table, each with a VIP invite to Declan Donnelly's pity party. He could have kicked himself, Ant knew how Dec could get if he drank too much; easily irritated and over emotional. Ant should have known better. He shifted in his seat, reaching across the table to place a warm and comforting hand on his best friend's arm. "Come on mate, what's all this about, aye? You're a beltin' lad. Anyone'd be lucky to have ye."
Dec's gaze was no longer fixated on the ice cubes clinking against the crystal confines of his glass. His eyes were on Ant's, matching his friend's questioning glare. "Ye cannat go sayin' things like that, Ant!" Dec growled in frustration, pulling his arm from Ant's grasp and standing up.
"What? Sayin' things like what, Declan?" Ant was dumbfounded, completely confused and clearly out of the loop with whatever it was that his best friend was going through. Had he missed something? Said something wrong? Done something to upset the other man?
Dec leant against the kitchen counter, his head in his hands as he desperately held back tears. He drew in a long breath and spoke.
"Ye cannat just go tellin' me that anyone'd be lucky to have me, that I'm someone to want and makin' me feel like that; makin' me feel like I….." He broke off, voice cracking and the first flood of tears rushing down flushed, pink cheeks.
Ant was out of his seat in seconds, enveloping the shorter man in a warm embrace. Dec's head felt heavy against his shoulder and Ant found himself absent mindedly stroking a hand through his friend's hair, soothing him and whispering quietly that everything would be fine. "It's alright, Dec. I've got ye, mate. I'm here and I'm not gannin' anywhere, alright?"
He felt Dec nod against his shoulder as another sob wracked through his body. Ant instinctively wound his arms tighter around his friend and placed a small kiss atop his head; he was the perfect height for things like that, all the small kisses and cuddles, the sly touches. Soon enough he felt Dec pull back ever so slightly, the kiss having seemingly calmed him somewhat. "You alright?" Ant asked, now looking down at his best friend, all red eyes and a runny nose. Dec nodded and drew in a shuddered breath. "Make ye feel like what, Declan?" Ant asked.
"Like… like I'd ever have a chance." Dec croaked.
Ant looked worried, borderline panicked even and Dec couldn't blame him; it isn't every day that your best friend has a spontaneous breakdown at four am in the kitchen of his childhood home but Dec was grateful. He was grateful that Ant had been there, that without question he had pulled him close and just held him.
Ant could feel his heart racing, he could feel every pulse of blood coursing through his veins and standing there, in that dimly lit kitchen at four am, looking at Dec through drunken, bleary eyes, it sparked something. Ant wasn't sure what it had sparked exactly but whatever it was it had finally pushed him to the edge and he was ready to take that daunting leap of faith. With Dec looking up at him, concern and confusion etched across that perfect face, Ant leant down, his hands coming to rest on the small of Dec's back as he pulled him up into a kiss. He watched as Dec's expression changed from confusion to content in a matter of seconds, their mouths meeting and their eyes slipping shut as they each savoured the feeling of the other, close, warm and desperate.
Hands began to rome and Dec could feel the refreshing cool of Ant's hand slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt, allowing his fingers to dance across Dec's spine just stroking and caressing the warm skin. The house was silent now, nothing but the hum of the kitchen light and the two men exploring one another's mouths to be heard. "Are ye sure about this?" Dec asked, as he broke from the kiss, breathless and panting.
Ant smirked, gazing down at the shorter man who was all tousled hair and kiss swollen lips. "Never been more sure of anything in me life."