5.
The first thing Eggsy does, after he sees Harry's body fall onto the cold, hard ground, is slam the laptop shut with a bang. The second thing he does, or rather, feels, is his blood rushing out of his face, and his stomach dropping out and onto the floor. It's not a comfortable experience- he feels like he's going to vomit all over Harry's expensive desk, and if he does, surely, Harry will scold hi-
Except, no. Harry won't be able to scold him. He's dead.
Oh god. Harry's dead. It hits him like a truck running at 1000 kilometer per hour. Harry, his mentor, his savior, and his fuckin' love of his life is dead.
Dead.
Harry won't be able to ever smile at him again- that soft, soft smile that Eggsy knows is reserved only for him.
Harry won't ever hold him again- and the same, vice versa. He won't ever smell Harry's cologne: sandalwood and just a hint of peppermint, ever again.
Harry won't ever scold him, and remind him to take care of himself, that he won't ever hear variations of Eggsy, if you spend all your time training, and never resting, your muscles are going to shred, mutilate, and never be useful. You need to rest once in awhile, sweetheart, again.
He doesn't even notice when hot, scalding tears drip-drop down his cheeks. He only notices when his hand rises, and covers his mouth to hide the hideous, and almost gut-wrenching sobs that come out of his mouth. Once upon a time, Eggsy would have cared. Once upon a time, he would have never ever cried so much that his nose would begin to drip, that his fists would become clenched and form half-moon marks on the palm of his hand. But it no longer mattered.
Harry was dead.
4.
His phone rang, once- twice- maybe even eight, times.
He was too busy downing all of Harry's liquor cabinet to care.
3.
Merlin found him passed out on Harry's armchair, with an empty bottle of scotch dangling from his fingers.
He doesn't remember much of it- only a heavy hand on his shoulder, a severe frown, and a We need you, lad. Harry, his death, dinnae let it be in vain.
He doesn't tell anyone, but in truth, he remembers sobbing into Merlin's warm cardigan, a warm, comforting kiss on his brow, and a hand rubbing up and down his back.
He also doesn't tell anyone, not even Roxy, and certainly not Merlin, that if he had just arrived just a few minutes later, the empty bottle of scotch would have been broken, and the remaining pieces of glass used to end his own, worthless life.
He doesn't tell anyone, but he knows Merlin probably knew.
2.
The first time Eggsy took a life was when he left the girl - Amelia, and let her drown. He knows that he didn't actually kill her per se, but he did, in a way. If Eggsy had just been a bit quicker, just a bit more observant, than he wouldn't have forgotten about the girl. If he didn't forget about her, than she wouldn't have drowned, and she certainly wouldn't have haunted his dreams for the next few weeks.
He remembers them. Some of them are actually nice - in some, Amelia lives, and Roxy, Amelia, and him become the best buds and absolute kills the shite out of Charlie and his clique during training. However, some are the complete opposite, with Amelia, eyes sunken and clothes still dripping water onto the floor, crying Why Eggsy? Why didn't you save me?! You could have!, and some, even worse, where they're all doing it again, but this time, Amelia, with eyes like the haunted, drag him down and makes him drown.
These are the worst because sometimes, before he proves that he actually can become something, he actually thinks he deserves to die, that he actually deserves to feel this much guilt. Afterall, he was only a pleb with a shitty past and probably a shitty future, while Amelia was a girl who probably went to Oxford or Cambridge, and had a future as bright as the polished forks that he had to learn to use.
He feels none of this guilt, and absolutely none of the fear that is warrantied when making a first kill, when he switches the two glasses of bourbon while Arthur is looking somewhere else.
Harry was dead, and now, so were his feelings.
1.
No, actually, that wasn't the truth. His emotions weren't necessarily dead, it was just that...he could only feel certain things now. Gone was the happiness that used to rush through him, when he saw Daisy and his mum. Gone was the pleasure that used to course through his veins when his Harry would touch him, would smile at him.
Gone was the sadness that he first felt when he saw Harry die.
It was only numbness, now.
He was numb when he killed the men in Valentine's lair.
He was numb when he felt a bullet pierce through the fabric of his bespoke suit, and into his arm, his calf, and his abdomen.
He was numb when Gazelle, sharp, and fierce, and reminding him so much of Roxy (in another life, maybe) fell because of the poison from the tiny blade in his shoe.
He was numb when he killed Valentine, the murderer, the family destroyer, in more than one way.
He was numb when Merlin clapped a hand on his shoulder, and proudly stated Good job, lad.
He was numb when they had the funeral for him.
He was numb.
He
Was
Numb.
0.
Harry...you have to let him go. He's just suffering, now. His body may be here on this hospital bed, but his mind...his mind is long gone.