"You think I've got anythin' to lose?" Eggsy asks Harry's reflection.
The man who's just revealed he's a spy working for an international intelligence agency called Kingsman (and has offered him the chance to become the same) seems to take that as a yes, placing his hand on the mirror and turning the dressing room into a slowly descending lift.
It was a rhetorical question, yes, but it has an answer. Much as he might not want to admit it, Eggsy does have something to lose. Two somethings.
One is the reason he hauls himself out of bed in the middle of the night to fetch a bottle out of the fridge, or hunt down the beloved stuffed animal that got tossed somewhere out of reach.
The other is the reason he's woken up sore and bruised because he got in the way of the fists meant for her, or said a sharp word or two in her defense that Dean didn't like.
Both are the reason he falls in with the rest of the candidates and listens through Merlin's spiel, firmly resolved to make it through to the end and take up the mantle of Lancelot.
He supposes the question was fine after all. He doesn't have anything to lose. He has anyone.
