Eggsy is thirty-two and certain he must have misheard. There is no other way, no way this can be happening, not after all this time, not after all they've been through.
"What?", he asks, tonelessly, his voice ringing hollow in his own ears, and Harry looks so tired, so resigned, like he has been through this in his head a hundred thousand times, found an ending that broke his heart every single time.
"You're moving out. You know why, Eggsy." Harry is still holding onto his cup, like he is trying to warm himself up somehow. "Did you really think I was so dense I wouldn't notice?

"Notice what?" Eggsy can't see Harry's whole face, was too shocked to be able to move his muscles, get them to lift his legs, carry him closer, but he does so now. He doesn't sit down but at least he is standing in front of Harry, so neither of them can pretend he doesn't see what is going on behind the other's eyes. "What are you talkin' about?"
"This. All of this." He doesn't sound angry, and that is what makes it worse, Harry sounds defeated, like he has fought too many battles to even try and win this one, and Eggsy doesn't know what to do, what to say. "You and Elyan. At first I didn't believe it, then I thought maybe If you stopped… but you aren't stopping, are you? And by now I think that the best , the least hurtful way for both of us, is to just admit that we tried and we failed and for you to go…wherever you want to go. I booked you a hotel room for the next three weeks, the confirmation is in one of the suitcases, so you can look for a flat of your own, or go live with him, whatever you want. I don't need to know. I don't even think I want to."

Harry ends the last sentence like a final goodbye, like he is expecting Eggsy to turn around and leave, and he still can't think, his brain to slow to comprehend what is happening, what the man in front of him is saying. So he breathes out the only few words he can think of.
"You think Elliot and me…? You think I'm cheating on you? The fuck, Harry, I never-"

Only that he never gets to finish, because Harry lifts his head fully, chin raised high and eyes blazing with that fire Eggsy has seen a couple of times before, fuelled by righteous anger and what Eggsy is coming to understand is an intimate, all-encompassing ache.
"Oh, just spare me the part where you play dumb, will you? It's an insult to both of our intelligences." While Harry's voice had been collected, but soft before, it's got a sharp edge to it now, one meant to hurt, not just to scare away. "I did not become the head of an international spy agency by being completely clueless, no matter what you might think. Half the nights you don't come home, and when you do, you smell like alcohol and cigarettes and an aftershave that isn't yours. If you stay home, you won't talk to me, at least about nothing of import. I've tried, Eggsy, I asked and I gave you time and I asked again, I offered every kind of help I could, but you never wanted it. But Elyan, the young, attractive hacker genius, you spend hours upon hours in his office, you bring him souvenirs from your mission while you can't look at me half the time, won't touch me. I know you well enough to notice it when you feel guilty, believe me."
Harry's chest is heaving; it looks like he has been holding all these words inside for weeks at least, which might explain why, when he adds something, his voice has lost its bite. "I don't even know why you bothered to stay this long when being with me when obviously is so distasteful to you."

Those last words sound almost like before, like Harry is aching all over, but even that is not enough to calm the anger his voice has sparked inside of Eggsy. It's the strangest mixture, something in between pain and a fear that's too vast to put into words, covered with anger to make it bearable, to keep some semblance of control.
If his time at the estates, Kingsman, has taught Eggsy one thing, it's that losing control is the worst possible outcome of any situation.

He's not thinking clearly, he knows that much, still not quite able to comprehend what is happening, so Eggsy latches onto the feeling that pierces the sadness and guilt he has been drowning in those last months, holds it tightly. Reacts in the worst possible way, because it's the only one he can still see, hisses instead of speaking calmly, his eyes bright green with rage.
"Oh, o' course. Because there could be no other reason than that, could there be? No other reason than my shallowness or me wanting a good, nice fuck why I should not want to talk to the great Harry Hart, who is above fuckin' doubt and criticism, who tried his best, but still is shunned and deceived by the dirty pleb be took into his bed. That's how you see it, isn't it? As if I couldn't have problems that don't have anything to do with you."

"Well, excuse me that I thought that after more than four years of relationship I had some influence on you." Harry's voice is as lethal as his blows could be, cutting and fierce, and yet it only makes Eggsy angrier, doesn't scare him at all. It feels like nothing will ever be able to scare him ever again; if he loses this, and it seems he already has, then there's nothing he can fear for anymore. "Although, apparently not as much as your precious Elyan did. While I only made you wear suits, he changed you inside out, and that in less than a quarter of the time. You don't even sounds like you used to!"
"Which has nothing to do with Elyan and all with a girl who died because of me!"

The words ring in Eggsy's ears, echo in his mind; he never wanted to speak them out-loud, and yet it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Harry despises him already and there is nothing that could make this worse.
"Because every time I talk like I used to, I can fuckin' hear her trying to imitate my accent and it fuckin' hurts and fuck you, Harry, for thinking everything is always about you, when it fucking isn't."

It takes a moment until Eggsy realises that his throat is closing up, that there are tears prickling in his eyes, but it doesn't seem to matter, because he can't stop the words anymore, not after having everything bottled up for so long. "I can't sleep and I can't think and I can't dream because I keep seeing her face and Elliot is the only one who understands because he was there and I don't have to talk to him about it because he knows. And you come and you- you think I'm sleepin' with him, because you still don't trust me enough to know that I never fuckin' would."
He's still fixed in place, unmoving, but Eggsy's hands are clenched into fists, trying to concentrate on the sensation of short fingernails cutting into his palm so he won't get completely overwhelmed by the turmoil of feelings inside of him.

"How can you not know that?", he asks, more himself than the other man, his voice quiet again, because all the anger seems to have evaporated, because Harry thinks he is cheating on him, Harry is asking him to move out. "How can you not know that when you're supposed to be the one who knows me inside out?"
For what feels like a year, a decade, an eternity, there is no answer, and Eggsy cannot tell what the other one is feeling, because Harry's face is blank, the kind of mask he wears for official meetings, then he answers, "Was that it? The girl? Was that the reason..?"
"Yes."
"You could have talked to me. I would have listened."

The words make Eggsy smile wryly, clench his fists harder. Part of him wants to lash out at Harry again, but he simply doesn't have the strength left. Not when he is watching his life crumble and shatter in front of him. "I couldn't. You wouldn't have understood and… I never wanted you to know."
Harry is just looking at him for a few, long moments, then lets go of the tea cup to fold his hands instead, rest his chin on them.

"When I was twenty-seven", he begins, and his voice is still steady, but the tone has changed once again, every word pronounced deliberately, like it was of utmost importance. "I shot a boy. It was a decision I had to make within a second or two, someone had handed him a parcel we thought contained a bomb and he was about to board a bus, which could have been blown up easily. I had to choose between definitely killing a ten year old boy and potentially saving dozens and letting him live and risking their death. I shot him, ran over to try and defuse the bomb, only to find that it was not a bomb, but new books for school."
There is a pause, and Eggsy half-notices that Harry's hands are shaking, the other's eyes are not quite meeting his. "I almost shot myself right there. I had the gun crammed under my chin and I know I would have pulled the trigger if it hadn't been for Merlin screaming in my ear. So I would have listened and I would have understood, good God, Eggsy, and even if I hadn't, you could have at least let me try."

Eggsy is thirty-two and his eyes are red-rimmed, hurt from crying, but Harry is warm and solid next to him, and for now that is all he needs.
"Can I stay?", he asks the thin air in front of him, because he doesn't know if he could bear to look Harry in the eye if he says no; they are not okay, he knows it, no matter how much that hurts.
But there's no refusal, just an arm tightening around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Harry muttering into his hair, "Of course, Eggsy. Of course."

Eggsy is thirty-two and Harry is fifty-eight, waits for him downstairs the next morning, a cup of tea in his hands. The sight is more than just familiar and yet makes Eggsy's heart clench now, his stomach drop; he wonders if he'll ever be able to see Harry like this again without thinking of the night before.
"Good morning", Harry greets and he doesn't sound angry anymore, doesn't sound heartbroken either, just serious, almost like he does in the office. "We need to talk, Eggsy."

It might be one of the lines that make most people anxious, but if anything it makes Eggsy relax, because as long as Harry still wants to talk to him, things can still be fixed. And they do need to talk, even he can see this after last night.
He doesn't know just how badly he has hurt Harry, and he doesn't think the older man knows just how he feels yet, but they can fix this, have to, Eggsy wouldn't know what to do if they didn't. Because everything has changed, but not that he loves Harry, truly, madly, deeply.

So he nods, sits down opposite of Harry, fighting with himself if he should take the other's hand at least for a second, since he doesn't dare to press a kiss to Harry's cheek, let alone his lips. He does, in the end, even if his heart is beating wildly, and Harry doesn't seem to mind, even squeezes his fingers for a few sweet moments before letting go again.
"I think we both said things that we didn't mean yesterday, or at least didn't mean like that", Harry starts, and his voice is solemn, the words pronounced clearly, carefully. "At least I did. And I might do it again, just now, not because I want to offend you, but because I need to know. I need to hear you say it."

He takes a deep breath, and Eggsy knows, or at least can imagine what Harry wants to ask, and it hurts his heart, but if he has to, he'll answer every question the other wants to ask.
"Did you sleep with Elyan?", Harry asks and his voice sounds quiet, not yet sure, but hopeful that the answer will be the one he needs to hear.
And Eggsy gives it. "No."
"And you did not want to either."
"No. Never."

There is a pause in which Harry just breathes, slowly, and Eggsy hasn't noticed that the other isn't looking at him until Harry lifts his head, his eyes meeting Eggsy's. His expression is still guarded, his voice tentative when he asks his next, his last question.
"And yet, after all of this, you still want this."

It's not what Eggsy expected to hear, because it is nothing he ever, ever questioned, never thought that Harry would. And maybe it hurts the most, more even that Harry thinking he was cheating, because he always, always thought that Harry knew just how much he loved him.
This time, Eggsy doesn't hesitate before he grips Harry's hand tightly, needing the other to know how much he means this.
"Yes, Harry, oh God, yes, of course I do."
And there is a smile that slowly spreads across Harry's lips, trickling down from the other's eyes to his lips, curling the corners upwards; it's sincere and hopeful, warms Eggsy's core, his heart.
"Alright", he says, squeezes Eggsy's hand back. "Alright, we can do this. I don't know how yet, but we can."

Eggsy is thirty-two and they sit down that afternoon, after Harry has called off all meetings he had for the day, a pot of tea on the table between them. It feels a little like that first breakfast they had together, unsure and tense, but hopeful, and it feels a bit like the first time Eggsy has looked at Harry in more than half a year.
He has aged, and it aches that he hasn't noticed, the deeper lines around Harry's mouth, the dark bags under his eyes, the light scar that stands out less now that Harry is paler than ever before. His eyes, though, his eyes look the same, and Eggsy takes comfort in that, hopes he didn't break too much to mend.

"I know this will be hard", Harry says softly, doesn't offer a smile, but his hand to hold instead, and Eggsy takes it, holds it tight. "But you need to tell me. Everything, especially the painful parts. I don't… I don't trust you right now, not like I should, so I need to understand what happened, why it did."
Eggsy just nods, mutely, for one second overwhelmed with the other's words – I don't trust you – because this is what he never wanted. This is what he always feared, from their first meeting on, that he would somehow lose Harry's trust, his respect.
"I…", he starts, unsure how to go on, his lips feeling like they've been glued shut. "Her name was Anshi. Shiva's daughter, his – the youngest. I told you about her, I think, I don't know."

It's only when Harry squeezes his hand that Eggsy notices the tears blurring his vision. He hasn't said Anshi's name out-loud since she died, and while it should be freeing to do it now, because that is what stories tell, what movies show, it isn't. It feels like dragging barbed wire through his vocal cords, like he is drowning all over again.
"You did", Harry says softly, gives him something to hold onto. "Once or twice."
"Shiva brought her to HQ sometimes. She'd – she'd run around, with that ratty stuffed dog of hers, ask everyone questions. Reminded me of Daisy so much sometimes. And she'd try and imitate my accent, even if it never sounded-"

Eggsy stops, mid-sentence; there are tears flowing down his cheeks, the ones he held back ever since they arrived in that safe house in India, and Eggsy lets them come, doesn't even wipe them away. Instead, he just takes a deep breath, looks up at Harry, catches the other's eyes.
He doesn't know if he'll be able to say it twice, so this time has to count, has to make Harry understand.
"Shiva's flat was close to the Indian army HQ and he asked me – he asked if they were safe, if he should phone his wife, tell her to grab the children and go-" The last word comes out as a sob, wet and pitiful, and Harry squeezes his hand again, brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. He doesn't do more, though, doesn't touch and doesn't speak, and Eggsy is glad for it. It doesn't feel like he deserves even this small amount of comfort. "I said no. I said they were safe, I said they were safe and then the building exploded, everything did, Harry. I killed her, she'd be alive if not for me."

By now, Eggsy can hardly breathe for the sobbing, can't see for the tears in his eyes, but he is almost glad for it, because no matter what Harry said, Eggsy still can't imagine to see anything but disgust in his eyes.
"It should have been me", Eggsy chokes out nonetheless, unsure if Harry can even understand what he is saying, or if the words are drowned out by the sobs wrecking through him. "I should be dead, not her, I'd do anything to take her place."

There is silence and then Harry lets go of his hand, lets him break down alone for a few, endless seconds, before there is the sound of a chair being pushed back and arms wrap themselves around Eggsy's waist, pull him close.
Harry doesn't tells him that it wasn't his fault, and Eggsy has never been so grateful for anything in his life before.

Eggsy is thirty-two and feels like he has cried an entire ocean, his eyes feeling like they have been scrubbed with sandpaper and acid, his lips are dry and chapped. Harry is sitting on the couch right next to him, their hands locked in between them, Harry's thumb brushing over his knuckles again and again, a soft sensation that keeps him grounded.

The guilt hasn't vanished, and Eggsy doubts it ever will completely, he doesn't feel free, but he feels better, just a little bit lighter, because when his tears dried up, Harry had still looked at him with nothing but tenderness, understanding.

"You know, when I was younger, about sixteen, I had the worst crush on my best friend", Harry says, doesn't stop stroking his thumb over Eggsy's knuckles but also doesn't give any indication why he has brought this up, what made him think of it. "His name was Guy, he was tall and graceful in the strangest way, like a foal that would make falling over look elegant anyway. Dark hair, dark eyes and too-pale skin, but God, I was smitten. Thought I would die if he didn't love me back."
There is a pause, because Harry apparently said all he wanted to and Eggsy doesn't know what to answer anyway, not until he asks, "Did he?"

"No." Harry smiles softly, a faint, fragile thing, and Eggsy would like to kiss him but doesn't know if he is allowed to. When he will be allowed to do so again. "Or at least I don't think so. I never asked him."
"Why?"
"I was scared."
It's the answer he expected and yet one that he never thought he'd get; Eggsy grips Harry's hand a little tighter.

And suddenly he gets what Harry is doing, what this is – Harry is offering a secret for the one Eggsy told him before. None as horrible, possibly not even one that only the two of them know now, but a secret nonetheless and the gesture makes Eggsy's eyes well up with tears he didn't know he could still cry.

"Thank you", he mutters softly, because he needs Harry to know that he understands, then says, "When I was twelve, I went to this shop with Jamal, we wanted to lift some gum, but we chickened out and put it back..."

Eggsy is thirty-two and Harry informs him that they have found their new Bors, a young woman with dark eyes and darker hair still called Thelma. She was Tristan's proposal; Eggsy can't even remember the name of the young man he picked out of the databank Kingsman has of potential candidates.
Something with an A, he thinks, but doesn't have the strength to try and remember any more.

Eggsy is thirty-two and wakes up with his cheeks wet with tears and his mouth dries, Harry's hand on his shoulder.
"It's alright", the other murmurs, voice still soft with sleep, and Eggsy wants to shake his hand off, doesn't want to be near anyone, least of all Harry, who was never supposed to see him in this state. "How about you go and have a shower and I'll fix us some early breakfast?"

The refusal is already on the tip of his tongue, just needs to be spoken out-loud and Eggsy aches to say the words, but swallows them instead. Because he remembers Harry's face that night, remembers that he isn't the only one hurting.
"'Kay", he answers instead, nods for good measure. And Harry smiles.

Eggsy is thirty-two, opens the file on his desk with trembling fingers. He still isn't allowed to go on missions, and although part of him hates not being able to distract himself, he knows it's for the best, that he'd be a danger not only to himself but everyone around him as well.
Doctor Carlisle always tells him how important it is to move on, and Eggsy never knew how to, until Roxy mentioned her time in Washington during those awful months Eggsy spent in India, and Eggsy realised that he never found out just what happened to the organisation they still cannot put a name to, after they blew up half of New Delhi.

He never asked and no one seemed to think he needed to know, but maybe it'll help, maybe it'll change something.
So Eggsy forces his eyes to focus on the first sentence, forces his brain to read the words.

The first report is from Merlin, a synopsis of what they could find out from Lamorac's feed, Roxy's notes scribbled into the margins, right across the printed letters.
It speaks of dozens of members of Parliament replaced or recruited, of the Ministers of Health, Interior and Defence being compromised, of a careless transmission on Lamorac's part that got picked up by the wrong people, revealed a little too much of Kingsman and far too much about their plan to stop them.

No buildings were blown up, or at least none of them are mentioned; the report just mentions two Ministers dead and more than twenty members of Parliament imprisoned, then, like an afterthought, the shot that killed Lamorac and the death of the woman holding the gun at Roxy's hands.
There are no details and Eggsy has been writing these reports himself for long enough to know what that means – there can't have been much left of the shooter once Roxy was done with her.

Eggsy sits back, blinks once, twice, to keep the tears that always want to be spilled these days back. He doesn't feel better, but he doesn't feel worse either; he keeps reading.

Eggsy is thirty-two and the sun has long since set when he finally looks up from the file again. His eyes are burning and his stomach growling and yet he can't find the strength to get up and find something to eat.
It wasn't easy to find the end goal the organisation was working for, neither for Merlin nor for Eggsy, but he thinks he might understand it now. A group of people in the right positions to fire off nuclear weapons, provoke a war, all while the others bought up land that would be spared of the radiation, high in the mountains, deep in the deserts, built bunkers and stored away supplies.

It reminds Eggsy of Valentine in the most cruel way; they built an arc, just like Valentine did, to keep enough alive to continue the human race, only that these people didn't choose and pick, instead intended to sell off their land to the highest bidder, keep alive who would abide their rules.
Eggsy can hardly suppress a shiver at the thought of what could have happened, closes the file, knowing that he won't ever open it again.

And yet, while peaceful is too heavy a word to describe what he feels, he is calmer now. Anshi's death doesn't mean less now, isn't put into perspective by the knowledge of what they prevented from happening, but it's easier to bear what he has done to that bright little girl when he has saved a million others.

Eggsy is thirty-two and hardly manages to Harry's office before the tears come, overwhelm him.
The other is alone, thank God, jumps up and crosses the space between them so he can catch Eggsy when his legs seem to give out under him. He doesn't talk, doesn't ask, just holds him, and Eggsy hides his face in Harry's shirt, lets himself break.

Eggsy is thirty-two, eyes swollen and lips cracked, wrapped in Harry's too big jacket, and they kiss for the first time since that night, Harry's hands cupping his face and holding him steady. It's a soft, gentle kiss, meant to reassure, not to entice, and Eggsy sighs into it, curls further into Harry.
His own hands snake around the other's waist and Harry chuckles into the kiss when Eggsy slides close and closer, until he's all but perched on Harry's lap.
"Are you feeling better now?", he mutters against Eggsy's lips, who nods, even if he isn't quite sure if it's the truth, or just what he wishes the truth to be.

"Do you want to talk?"
It's clear that Harry wants him to, but for now Eggsy has to refuse him that, just shakes his head and melts further against the other, wondering when exactly it got this easy to be close to each other again. If he could have had the relief of Harry's arms around him the entire time.
"Later", Eggsy mutters, and feels the air around them change; Harry fears that he's being cut out again, he knows it, so Eggsy pulls back, no matter how hard it is. Looks Harry in the eyes, and adds, "I promise. "Just…let me stay? Like this. For now."

There's a second in which Harry's face remains the same frighteningly blank slate, then his eyes soften, his lips curl ever so slightly. He pulls Eggsy closer again, lets him burrow his face in the crook of his neck, the older man's arms tight and warm around him.
"Of course. I'm sorry, Eggsy, of course."

Eggsy is thirty-two, making tea for both Roxy and him when Elliot enters the kitchen, lips curling into a smile when he notices Eggsy.
"Oh hi, haven't seen you around in some time", he greets and Eggsy feels almost uncomfortable with how easily he smiles back, how it feels good to talk to the other again. It feels like cheating, although the closest they ever got to each other was hugging, half-asleep and completely drunk.
"Hey", he greets back anyway, because Elliot is his friend and doesn't deserve this. "Spent some time at home, sorting things out. But good to see you too."

"India, huh?", Elliot asks, and his voice is concerned all of a sudden, his eyes earnest. It's that what Eggsy missed the most, what drew him to the other in the first place; Elliot knows, Elliot cares.
"Yeah. Always. Are you alright?"
Elliot hasn't killed a little girl, and yet Eggsy knows that he has nightmares of his own, fears and guilt and anger laden on his shoulders. And he doesn't have Harry to wake him up, doesn't have arms that wrap around him and a kind voice to beckon him away from the edge; all the things Eggsy had forgotten he had before.
"Dunno", Elliot answers, shrugs, and Eggsy knows it means no. "Sleeping is fucking hard. Being awake is, too. Harder now that you're not drunk next to me every other day."

The words seem to hold some meaning Eggsy cannot decipher so he ignores it, just like he ignores the hint of guilt when he puts the tea bags he's holding down, reaches out to pull Elliot in a half-hug instead. "'s gonna be fine. Eventually."
Elliot returns the hug, tension leaving his muscles within seconds. "I hope so, Eggsy. I really do."

Eggsy is thirty-two and gets Doctor Carlisle to ask Elliot to come and see him thrice a week instead of just two times.

Eggsy is thirty-two and slowly learns how to talk when his mouth feels sewn shut; Harry is fifty-eight and learns how to trust him again.

Eggsy is thirty-two and Jonathan, his proposal for Lamorac's position is a young man he has never seen in person before. He's twenty-eight, from a good family and a posh school and Eggsy never thought he'd pick him as a candidate, but Jonathan is clever and ruthless if needs be, kind under any other circumstances.
His eyes light up when Eggsy takes him to the bullet train and for a second, Eggsy believes he knows how Harry must have felt, showing him all this, taking in the excitement he can hardly feel anymore after he has seen so much.

It's not just nice because seeing someone happy is, but because it gives Eggsy some of that joy back, no matter how small that bit is. This is what he fights for on every mission, people like Jonathan, who have their whole life still ahead of them.
So he slaps a hand on the other's shoulder, gives him a smile and ushers him into the barracks, winking at Merlin when he catches the older man's eyes.

Eggsy is thirty-two and Albert asks, "So what's going on with you and Harry? I've been wondering for some time now, but I didn't get to ask before I went to Nicaragua and Merlin won't tell me anything because he is a mean little prick sometimes."
Half of it is hard to understand because the older man is talking around a mouthful of Shepard's pie, but Eggsy gets enough to know what Albert wants to know, even if he'd rather he didn't. It's the one thing he never really thought about when they first started dating, that everything between them would affect the rest of Kingsman as well.

"It's… I dunno. We had a fight, like a big one", he starts to explain, wishes he had finished the beer sitting in front of him already; it would make this so much easier. "He thought I was cheating on him. With Elliot, that kid from tech. Asked me to move out, all that, before I could convince him that I didn't."
"Ah." Albert nods, puts another fork of pie into his mouth and it's not at all the reaction Eggsy expected.
"You don't seem surprised. "
"That's because I'm not." Albert takes another bite, then sits back, looking at Eggsy. Usually, he's all cheeky smiles and sunshine, but not today, not now; his expression is thoughtful, almost blank. "You see, most of us were wondering what was going on with you and Elyan. It was obvious you were getting on well before that mission, but ever since… and I never doubted that you love Harry, but the kid's got a pretty face and he wasn't really making a secret of the crush he has on you."

At first, Eggsy is sure that he has misheard – there can't be any other way, right? – but Albert looks at him, doesn't seem to want to add anything.
"What? You must've gotten something wrong there, mate, Elyan having a crush on me? No way."
His answer makes Albert laugh, which isn't at all the reaction Eggsy was looking for. "Oh please. You can't be that blind, can you? He's utterly infatuated. It'd be cute if I didn't know it wouldn't turn out well."
He seems utterly convinced, and although he doesn't want to, Eggsy takes a moment to consider. And it makes sense.
Elyan is friendly to everyone around here, but he's always been more than just that to Eggsy, he makes him tea, listens to Eggsy talking or his silence for hours, sends him more texts than Eggsy can answer, tries to spend as much time together as possible. Takes him out to bars and lets him crash at his place, hugs him when Eggsy can't even sit upright anymore.
And if he's so obvious, like Albert suggested, then Harry must have seen it too, must have noticed.
"Oh shit", Eggsy breathes out, and Albert just nods.
"Exactly."

Eggsy is thirty-two and Daisy is ten, looks just as uncomfortable as Eggsy feels. It's a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sense of dread, because he doesn't know the boyfriend his mother has chosen and he could be… well, he could be as bad as Dean was.
Still, he tries not to jump to conclusions, tries to be happy for Michelle like he still hopes that his mum will be for him one day, no matter how long he'll have to wait.

"Jack'll be here any second, I'm sure", Michelle mutters although it's just three minutes past seven, and Eggsy tries his best to smile at her, as reassuringly as possible.
"Yeah, sure. I mean, he's a busy man. Ya said he worked at a Sainsbury's, right?"
"He's the department manager, even." She sounds proud and Eggsy thinks it's a strange kind of adorable, and really, she deserves someone who she can be proud of.

He just hopes that Jack will be that man.

It only takes another few minutes until the doorbell rings, and although Eggsy wants to get up, get a quick look of the man who his mum decided to love, he stays put, watches her sigh in relief and leave the room to let him in.
She comes back only a minute later with a man in tow, who looks like any other. He's about the same age as Michelle - in his early fifties – with a receding hairline and a faint stubble, a bit of a gut that makes his shirt a little too tight, but his eyes are a soft, slightly nervous blue, his smile just the same.
He looks absolutely average, and God, Eggsy is more than just happy for it.

Dean, when he first stepped into their life, had been charming, handsome, almost a little too understanding, and anything like that would have made Eggsy wary within seconds.
But Jack smiles at them, slightly awkward when Eggsy stands up to shake his hand. "You must be Eggsy. I've heard so much about you."
"Nice t' meet you", Eggsy replies, makes himself smile even if he doesn't quite know if he means it yet.

Eggsy is thirty-three and Jack leaves them with a kiss to his mother's lips and Michelle comes back to the living room where Daisy and he are still sitting on the sofa, a hopeful smile on her lips.
"And?", she asks, doesn't have to say more for Eggsy to know what she wants to hear.
"He seems nice?", Daisy answers before Eggsy can even start, fiddles with the hem of her skirt. "I mean, he's a bit borin', but he ain't too bad."
"That's…good, isn't it?"
"'s okay, I guess?"
Michelle looks fairly pleased, not having expected anything better from her younger daughter, who fortunately doesn't remember anything about Dean, something Eggsy thanks every possible higher power.
"And ya, Eggsy? What d'ya think?"

She sounds nervous again, and Eggsy takes a moment to think about everything – dinner was pleasant enough, Jack seems to be nice, but slightly less exciting than he expected him to be – then slowly nods, watches her light up. "He's alright, I guess? As Daisy said, he doesn't seem to be the most exciting bloke, but he seems stable. Safe. And that's what you need, isn't it?"
Michelle looks gentle, almost touched, folds her hands in front of her. She keeps turning one of the rings on her fingers, something Eggsy has seen her do a hundred thousand times before. "Yeah, it is. He is."

Eggsy is thirty-two and takes a sip of the tea he brought down to the tech department, looks at Elliot in front of him. Says, "Listen, mate. There's something I think I should tell you about, or rather, should have told you about before."
Elliot perks up, scared and hopeful at the same time, tilts his head a little. "Yeah?"
"You're a great guy", Eggsy says, and means every word. "And I enjoyed every second we spent together, or rather, I know that it would have been a lot worse if you hadn't been there. But I love Harry."

He watches Elliot's face fall, and it hurts, because he's the reason for it and because he never ever wanted to hurt the other. But it's for the best, he tells himself.
"We haven't been too good together lately, but we're getting there, and I know that- well. I would love to stay friends, I really would. Because you're a great friend. And I hope that you'll find someone who will be better for you than me."
He tries to reach out and put a hand on Elliot's shoulder, but the other jerks away, no tears in his eyes, but that doesn't make him look any less heartbroken.
"Do you want me to leave?", Eggsy asks, although he'd rather stay, he'd rather try and comfort Elliot, and the other nods jerkily, bites his lips.

"Okay." Eggsy gets up, takes his mug with him. "If you need anything, Elliot, just tell me. I mean it, I'd like to help. I'd like to stay friends."

Eggsy is thirty-two and sees Elliot when he leaves HQ, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen; Eggsy's heart aches for him.

Eggsy is thirty-two and wakes up, drenched in sweat and heart beating wildly, scared of everything and nothing at all.
"Eggsy, Eggsy, darling, you're safe, everything is going to be alright…" The voice is soft with sleep, but familiar, gentle, and it takes Eggsy far too long to recognise Harry is speaking, the other's face in the cold light of morning trickling through the gaps between the curtains.

They haven't touched as much as they used to in the last weeks, neither of them sure how much physical affection would be wanted, how much would be considered too much, but now Eggsy latches onto the other, clinging to him like Harry is the only thing keeping the nightmares at bay.
And Harry doesn't seem to mind, shifts closer willingly, wraps his arms around Eggsy's waist.
"Nightmares again?", he asks, and sounds more awake, but just as gentle, just as understanding; Eggsy nods against his chest and Harry adds, "Want to tell me about them?"

Speaking about Anshi is still the hardest thing in the world, even if it used to be even worse, but Eggsy nods again, slowly, as if he couldn't believe that he agreed to tell Harry anyway.
He spends a few more moments just soaking up the other's warmth before he manages to push back, look at Harry with determination in his eyes. Things have gotten better since he started talking to Harry, for both of them, and he doesn't want to risk that.
"Don't remember much, which is dumb as fuck because it's always the same three or four dreams, but when I wake up, they just stay for a few minutes an' then they're gone, y'know?"

He sighs, and Harry puts a hand on his hip, squeezes it, but doesn't say a word; Eggsy is glad for it. "It's… she's callin' me, trying to get me to help her, but there's flames everywhere, all around us, and although I'm tryin', I can't get to her. And so I just watch her burn, slowly, still crying and begging me to come and help her… As soon as she stops, I start to burn instead. And that is when I usually wake up."
It's strange how something so terrible can sound so tame when he says it out-loud, but it does, it sounds like something out of a bad soap, and somehow it takes the memory its horror, somehow Eggsy is glad for it.
Almost as glad as he is for Harry's hands on him, not quite as glad as for the fact that Harry doesn't tell him it's not his fault, instead says, "It'll get easier, you know? Give it time, Eggsy, let yourself heal."

It sounds like something Harry has told himself a hundred of times and that is what gets Eggsy, what makes him believe it, because if Harry could beat this, then he has to at least try.

Eggsy is thirty-two and wakes up to an empty bed, but with the birds singing and for the first time in months, there is a little note on the pillow next to him.
Good morning, it says, I hope the nightmares let you sleep a little longer than work me. Take your time, I'll see you at the office later. Love, H

It's not much, not even especially touching, but it makes Eggsy smile, because he got so close to losing this and has somehow got it back.

Eggsy is thirty-two and Roxy is thirty-three, says, "I'm going to have a baby."
She has just come back from the bar, a mojito in each hand, sits down while Eggsy looks at her with wide eyes. "What?"
"I'm going to have a baby", Roxy repeats, slides one of the glasses over to Eggsy, who takes a sip immediately, groaning at the taste in pleasure. "I'm not pregnant, not yet, but I'm going to have a baby and I am going to have it soon."
"Does Haz know that?", Eggsy asks, and Roxy drinks, then shakes her head.
"Not yet. I'll have to tell him at some point I guess, but I wanted you to be the first one to know."

"Thanks." Eggsy smiles, lets himself feel a bit more affectionate than usual for the girl who easily has become his best friend, his confidante, over the past years, who he couldn't imagine life without anymore. "But what brought on the change? Last time I checked, you still weren't sure what you wanted."
"I almost died", Roxy states bluntly; she might be exaggerating a little bit, but not too much, she got shot through the shoulder during that mission, through the thigh, stabbed in the stomach, the fingers of her left hand got crushed by someone's foot. "And I realised that I don't have time forever. There's always going to be things I can't control – maybe Harry and I are going to stay together, maybe we are going to split up, maybe I can get pregnant soon, maybe I am going to die tomorrow, maybe I'll die with eighty, surrounded by my loved ones. But the point is that I don't know, and I shouldn't let that stop me, should I?"

Everything she says makes sense, but Eggsy didn't expect anything else, just smiles, holds up his glass for a toast.
"To kids, then", he suggests, and Roxy's lips curl into a relieved, happy, breath-taking smile, then she clinks her glass against Eggsy's.
"To kids."

Eggsy is thirty-two and Harry is fifty-eight; he might be awake, might be asleep, Eggsy doesn't know and doesn't want to either. Because Harry looks peaceful like this, eyes closed and wrinkles smoothed and Eggsy's heart aches because he loves him so much, because he hurt Harry in a way he never thought he could, because he'd do anything to take it back.
The covers around them are too hot and yet Eggsy doesn't push them back, just scoots a little bit closer, lets his gaze drop from Harry's face to his neck, his chest.

"I love you", he mutters and his voice sounds hoarse even to his own ears, as if he hadn't used it for a century. This shouldn't be hard to say and yet it is, so Eggsy keeps his eyes away from Harry's face; he doesn't want to know if the other man wakes. "Sometimes when I look at you, everything just- it falls away, somehow, and there's just you an' it's enough. It's all I ever wanted, you are all I ever wanted and I just can't believe I almost ruined all of it."
There are tears prickling in Eggsy's eyes, making them sting, out of pain and relief and shame, but he blinks them away, ignores them. "I never wanted to. Never, if you believe anythin' I say, believe this. When I saw you down there, with the suitcases and all that, when you told me to go, it was like my heart had stopped. Like the one worst thing in the world had happened, the one that made everything else pale in comparison, because-"

It's hard to find the words, because this is something Eggsy doesn't know if there are words for, that feeling of right and safe and warm and love that has become associated with Harry, that all-encompassing affection, so in the end, he uses those he knows, even if he knows that they don't quite fit, only get close to it.
"Because you're it for me, Harry Hart. Like in the movies, in the songs, you're all of those lovers to me. You're Mr. Higgins and I'll be your Eliza as long as you'll have me."

Eggsy turns thirty-three and Harry is fifty-eight. They don't celebrate, just like they never do, but for the first time since that night, they sleep together, make love.
It's not like it used to be, not that easy and not that familiar anymore, but it's good anyway, makes Eggsy's toes curl and his eyes flutter shut when Harry pushes into him, breathing heavily against his neck. He has missed this, more than he ever thought, to the point where there are tears in his eyes, spilling over when Harry kisses his lips, his cheeks, his throat.

Eggsy is thirty-three and Harry is fifty-eight, winds his limbs around him, pulls Eggsy close enough he can almost taste the sweat on the other's skin.
"I wanted to do this for a long time", Harry mutters, drags his lips over the side of Eggsy's neck, making him shiver. "You don't even know."
The words make his heart flutter, his skin flush, and Eggsy touches his fingers to the side of Harry's neck, brushes them down over his shoulder. "Me too. Missed this. Missed you…missed how we used to be."

For a second, he isn't sure if he's said the wrong thing altogether, but then Harry nuzzles his neck, leaves a few, open-mouthed kisses on his skin. "As did I, my heart."
The term of endearment makes Eggsy freeze for a second, his heart beating hard and fast all of a sudden. "You haven't called me that since…y'know."
"I haven't?"

Harry seems surprised, even pulls back a little so he can look Eggsy in the eye again, his lips pink and slightly swollen from the kisses they shared before. The other's brow is furrowed, and Eggsy knows that he is smiling, beaming even.
"You didn't. I thought maybe you wouldn't anymore."
There's a slight pause, and Harry's expression softens, just before he leans in and presses a kiss to Eggsy's lips. "Oh Eggsy…"
His voice is soft and sounds like a promise and Eggsy drinks it in, loves it more than he maybe should. "I never stopped loving you", he continues, brushes his fingertips over Eggsy's side, slowly, from his ribs to his hip. "I'm not sure if that is what you thought, but I never did. Not for a second."

Eggsy is thirty-three and drives through a village just behind the border of Myanmar and almost crashes the car when he, for a moment, thinks he saw Anshi looking at him from behind one of the windows.

Eggsy is thirty-three and Harry is fifty-eight, presses a kiss to his temple, and Eggsy marvels at how easy this has become again, how familiar.
He's draped across Harry's chest, fingertips brushing across the other man's collarbone and over his shoulder, down his arm until they reach black the lines of Harry's tattoo, something that still surprises him every time he sets eyes on it. Although it's terribly done, ragged and uneven, he likes it, the thought that his prim, proper Harry used to be just as wild as Eggsy was.

It's just half an idea, but the words are out of his mouth before he can think about them again.
"Maybe I should get one o' those as well."
"A shitty circle A tattoo?"
Seeing that Eggsy did his best to suck Harry's brain out through his cock just minutes ago, the other sounds far too composed, far too calm, amused, brushing his fingers through Eggsy's hair.
"Exactly." Eggsy rolls his eyes, even if Harry won't be able to see, traces the other's tattoo. "No, a tattoo."
"If you'll get my name tattooed, I don't think I'll ever be able to look at you without laughing again", Harry warns, his tone teasing and light.

"Oh sure, because I totally want to get ya name tattooed. Ya vain prick." Eggsy nips at the other's chest as punishment, but Harry just hums, cards his fingers through Eggsy's hair again, once, twice, thrice; that's as long as it takes for Eggsy to break. "Okay, okay, I kinda want to get your name tattooed."
"You absolute sap", Harry replies and Eggsy bites him again, a little harder this time, making Harry yelp. "Alright. I'd get your name too."

Eggsy is thirty-one and Harry is fifty-seven, squints down at the newspaper, although all the lights are on. With his feet still resting on the other's lap, Eggsy sits up, brushes his fingertips over Harry's cheek, up to his temple.
"Harry, love", he starts, tries to think of a way how to say this without offending Harry's vanity, which is harder than it should be sometimes. Without making him think of things which Eggsy would very much like to forget ever happened. "Maybe ya should go and get ya eyes checked?"

"What?" Harry looks up, doesn't look offended, even if there is a shadow of that old doubt that Eggsy knows so well, that old insecurity. By now, he has stopped trying to convince Harry that it is futile, that Eggsy is well aware of his age and still doesn't care, but that hardly makes it any better. "For reading glasses, you mean? I can assure you, my heart, I'm not that old."
He says it with a raised eyebrow and incredulity tinting his tone, as if he had never even considered it before. Knowing Harry, he might not have.
"That's not what I meant. I mean, the old part, I did mean the thing with the glasses. It's just that ya seem to have trouble reading sometimes and they could help with that. There's no shame in it."
"Of course there isn't." Harry turns back to his book, his voice allowing no disagreement. "Doesn't mean I need them."
Eggsy lets his hand linger for a few more moments, then pulls it away, rolling his eyes. "Sure thing, babe. Whatever ya say."

Eggsy is thirty-three and Harry is fifty-eight, comes home with a new pair of glasses; Eggsy makes sure to kiss him deeply, sweetly, putting his hands in Harry's hair.
"Hello handsome", he greets as soon as they have parted again, and means it – the glasses look vaguely like the Kingsman standard version, but with a thicker frame, the edges rounded. "You look like a college professor. The very sexy kind, of course."
"Of course." The sarcasm is impossible to overhear, but Eggsy doesn't mind it, is just glad that Harry didn't react like he feared he would, by going all soft and quiet, defeated, almost. "You're just feeling smug because you were right."

It makes Eggsy grin, then he shrugs, "Not just, but it does play into it, old man."
And that is all it takes for Harry's eyes to go dark, bordering on dangerous, for him to pull Eggsy closer again until they are pressed flush against each other. "I'll show you old."
Which is just what Eggsy wanted to hear.

Eggsy is thirty-three and Harry takes him apart with his mouth and hands and cock until he's nothing more than a gasping wreck. It feels like heaven.

Eggsy is thirty-three and Harry turns fifty-nine, without a word, without any kind of acknowledgement. And after so much time, that is okay.

Eggsy is thirty-three and finds Harry, who is fifty-nine, on the sofa when he gets up in the morning, wanting to be at HQ sooner than usual to complete the paperwork Merlin won't shut up about. The other must have fallen asleep while still reading whatever files he has brought home – they are scattered all over the floor, some of them still on Harry's lap.
Although he knows that the older man will have a horrible crick in his neck all day, Eggsy can't help but smile, ignore the need for coffee for a moment in favour of getting a blanket from the bedroom and taking it downstairs.

"There ya go", he murmurs, puts the blanket over Harry to make sure he's warm and safe, but can't resist kissing his cheek. It's hardly a touch, but Harry's skin is so warm, his scent so familiar; it's still dark outside and surely it wouldn't hurt to curl up next to the love of his life for another few minutes, just enjoying Harry's presence.

Eggsy is thirty-three and wakes up with his back aching and Harry's arm slung around him, keeping him warm.

Eggsy is thirty-three, says, "An' then Albert got us another round of those Jägerbombs and I swear, Roxy almost- are ya even listening, Harry?"
They are having dinner at home for the first time in almost a week and Harry shakes his head with an apologetic smile, answers, "No, I didn't. Sorry."
"The story wasn't that boring, was it?"
"Not at all. It's just… I don't know if you noticed, but you sound like yourself again. Not always, but most of the time, and I just love hearing that."

"I do?" Eggsy furrows his brow, trying to remember, and maybe Harry is right – it's been quite some time since he last made a conscious effort to make his lips and tongue pronounce everything crisp and proper, just like Harry's do. "Oh. I never realised that."
"That's even better, I think", Harry answers and lays his hand on the table with the palm facing upwards, waiting until Eggsy takes it. "You're getting better."
And Eggsy takes a moment to think – it's been more than a week since he last been woken up by a nightmare, even longer since he last had the urge to just walk away, not talk to anyone for days – and maybe Harry is right.