Apart from the tie, Eggsy gets into the suit on his own without incident. He finds his arse looks spectacular in the mirror, though he's not entirely convinced about going commando for the sake of the suit as suggested per instruction. Everything about the suit is surprising: the feel of the silken lining on his bare skin, the way the jacket practically licks at his figure, the discrete glimmer of the cufflinks at his wrists. Then there's the tie. He's got a WikiHow page open on tying a proper, more formal knot than the one his mum had taught him one rainy afternoon before his cousin's wedding a decade ago. Attempt number four is less crooked, but still too short and Eggsy sighs.

He's about to complain to JB when there's a knock on the front door and the pug goes flying out of the room barking his head of. "Oi, shut it," Eggsy tells his dog as he hurries after him to open the door. Unsurprisingly, Harry stands on the other side with a dripping umbrella in one hand.

"Oh good, you're up. I was rather worried I would have to drag you out of bed."

Eggsy huffs, "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm late, but let's get one thing straight; you're the one practically married to the mattress. All I've got troublin' me is this stupid tie. It keeps knotting crooked."

Harry arches an eyebrow. "This is what kept you? You should have just come down." He holds out his hand. "Let me."

Eggsy hands him the tie and lets himself be manhandled into higher society. Harry tips his chin up, pops his collar and loops the tie around his neck. His fingers press into Eggsy's skin for short moments at a time, slivers of fabric brushing him here and there, and then Harry's done, saying, "There we go," angling the tie right and flipping the collar of his shirt back down. "What a handsome young man I've got," Harry murmurs and presses a kiss to the corner of Eggsy's mouth.

He's invariably silly like that and Eggsy pushes at him gently to get going, because the last thing he wants is to be late for Terridge's. Harry takes hold of his hand somewhere between the front door and the street, drawing away briefly to open the umbrella above them fro the walk to the taxi. Eggsy isn't entirely sure what he's being maneuvered into through car doors politely held open and an innocent hand placed over his on the backseat of the cab, but he's more than willing to go anywhere Harry is.


The restaurant is exactly as intimidatingly posh as Eggsy feared it would be. First thing through the door, someone says, "Good evening, sirs," with two menus clasped under their arm and Harry's umbrella gone in an instant. The sheer fluidity of it makes Eggsy dizzy and he clings to Harry's arm. Even in his beautiful, less beautifully priced suit and groomed to perfection, he feels out of place in the way he always does with Harry. Somehow Harry still always remains right.

They're shown to a table toward the back of the restaurant in a corner by the window and Eggsy notes the tables are just far enough from the pane for them to spectate the world beyond without being on display themselves. He wonders if this is what the cut out bits in movies of people dining at the Ritz are like: the chink of metal on porcelain, murmured laughter as people's' smiling, translucent reflections dance in the windows like a trick of the mind, the lights from within the restaurant glittering among the people walking by with their briefcases and their trilbys tipped forward to fend off the aggressive sleet raining down on them.

"Sir?" their host says with a firm touch to his voice and Eggsy snaps out of his own thoughts. The man is holding out a chair for him while Harry gives him a curious look from across the table.

Eggsy clears his throat and takes a seat, saying, "Thank you," in the same polite way he's seen his mother do for years whenever she was embarrassed but too proud to let the flush in her cheeks get her down. The host hands them each a leather bound menu and pours two glasses of water before he disappears with a fraction of a bow. Eggsy relaxes into his seat and he notes they're sitting in firm armchairs instead of formal high backed, ornately carved hardwood chair.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, eyeing the menu nonchalantly. He glances up briefly, says, "You seemed a bit vacant there."

"Yeah, it's just this is all new to me. It looks and feels a lot like… an old circus: simple and yet full of mystery. In town for one night and one night only," Eggsy says and wonders if he sounds crazy.

"It does indeed, but I've always liked the air of someone performing tricks in the shadows while you follow the spotlights. There's a charm to it."

"We're only missin' the white gloves now," Eggsy says, cracks a smile at Harry's chuckle.

"By the way," Harry says, sobering up, "A little something about expensive suits. You open them to sit down and rebutton them."

Eggsy stares at him blankly for a moment, then sets his menu down and does as he's been told. "You lot are insane sometimes with all your rules."

"It makes for smoother lines. Why get a suit tailored, if you don't have it fit perfectly at all times?"

"Why not live with a few lines? And more importantly, what's the point in making weird rules about how to eat bleedin' peas?"

"Are you referring to the practise of mashing them against the back of one's fork?"

"Yeah, that. I mean, they're difficult to scoop up and it ain't exactly graceful, but Christ. That's a bit extreme," Eggsy says with a bemused expression. Harry only smiles at him fondly like he's realising all sorts of things, realigning his perception of the world and all the peas in it because of something Eggsy's done.

Eggsy clears his throat and opens the menu, noting the pages are made of thick paper held to the back of it by a red ribbon down the centre. Even something so subtle seems to be worlds away from the worn plastic pocket menus he's ordered from for a lifetime, dried ketchup stains stuck to the pages and the faint scent of beer clinging to the malforming cardboard covers. Eggsy supposes a smudged page here would simply be replaced without the blink of an eye, little wine tainted mistakes soaked up in pristine white napkins that blend in with the white tablecloths, the careless meals of the rich vetted and removed by a miraculous laundry lady. Harry looks perfectly at ease while Eggsy's never been so uncomfortable.

"Is the french section worth considerin' or can I skip that based on a lack of linguistic qualifications?" Eggsy asks.

Harry lifts his gaze from the menu and examines Eggsy's face and the barely disguised defensiveness in it. "Skip it," he says, "Do you know why I chose this restaurant?"

"What's that got to-"

"Just answer me."

"No," Eggsy admits warily. Harry lowers his menu by a fraction, looks like he's about to sigh.

"I thought so. This particular place at this particular time is something I think you would enjoy, if you let yourself. Now, remember when I told you nothing could ever beat fish and chips?"

Harry pauses like he actually wants an answer and so Eggsy says, "Yes." He knows he's missed something crucial and his hands are sweating, the absorbent pages of the menu sticking to his hands.

"Good, because that statement still stands. Nothing ever beats the common foods: the crabcakes and the onion rings, the vinegar chips and the apple cider. But you can upscale it." Harry pulls himself up straight in the seat. He must've had his legs crosses, Eggsy realises, because he shifts from one side to the other and leans forward with his eyes boring into Eggsy like he's really considering the man in front of him. "London has many places where you could spend half your rent on dinner and champagne, but I didn't bring you here for the francophiles' beloved à la carte; I brought you here for the season special."

Eggsy flips through the pages, scanning the headers, until he reaches number ten. "Street gastro," he says. The selection ranges from a pulled pork burger with pickled red onions and gorgonzola cheese chips to deconstructed veal kebab to a haggis club sandwich with a side of assorted salads. "Harry?" He only says the one word but what he asks is, "Why are you doing this?"

"All I want is to give you a taste of what are supposedly the finer things in life, simply because I can. I did not and do not ever mean for that to come at the cost of your comfort zone," Harry says, genuinely sorry.

"That ain't the problem. I don't mind you treating me to things. Three dozen flower shop roses is a fun thing and something someone like me, someone like my mum, has only ever seen in movies. And the suit is really very nice, just gorgeous, but it ain't me. Nice cars and silk ties ain't my idea of romance. All I want is you," Eggsy says, "and ironically enough I feel like your money's gettin' in the way there."

Harry looks to be scolded and relieved at once, a wobbly smile rising towards the end of Eggsy's words. "Well, look at that: I'm a complete berk."

"No, you're a posh twat with no one to blow all your cash on except me and I'd hardly call that a crime. For the record: I wouldn't mind a bottle of filthily expensive alcohol, ever, and I think JB's been eyein' a diamond collar in the doggie catalog."

Harry laughs and it's the sort of abrupt, loud sound that is utterly out of place at this particular establishment, drawing long looks of disapproval from neighbouring tables. Eggsy only smirks at Harry, shakes his head, and returns to his menu positively glowing.

At that moment, whether by coincidence or careful observation, a waitress materialises at their table with a purposefully faint smile. "Are you ready to order?"

"I am, if you are," Eggsy says to Harry, who nods in response. "I'll be havin' the pulled pork burger and… d'you happen to serve honey beer?"

"Yes, we do, sir."

"Great, I'll have one of those then."

She makes a note and turns to Harry expectantly. "I'll take the haggis club sandwich with additional cheese fries, a glass of whatever wine your sommelier recommends, and a honey beer sounds delightful to me as well."

"Very well, sir. Your wine will be right up. Enjoy your evening." This time her smile is a little brighter and Eggsy watches her hurry off towards a man carrying a bottle of wine.

Under the table, Harry stretches out his legs, their calves brushing up against one another. "So, Merlin tells me you are choreographing new performances. What is that going to be all about?"

"If I tell you all about that, you'll have to tell me exactly how much I'll be making in tips," Eggsy replies with a grin. "Do we have a deal?"

Harry nods.


He ends up drinking half of Harry's wine, or rather half of the bottle they get after mutually agreeing it's definitely worth getting drunk on. The food is delightful and Eggsy marvels at how masterfully it's prepared. He sees their plates from across the room, steaming in the waitress' hands, but miraculously they've cooled just enough by the time she slides them onto the table, simply glowing warm in the overhead lights, though Eggsy is sure he could coax white curls of steam out of the flawless bun if he were to crack its surface. How it's remained intact while being skewered is a mystery he forgets about at his first hesitant bite.

"Oh, this is worth not only a lot of money, but a lot of sin," he says, wiping a drop of barbeque sauce from the corner of his mouth. If he could turn his wildest dreams into food, this would be it, the sweetness of near translucent onions tantalising under the marinade of the meat. Swallowing his first mouthful, Eggsy asks, "Can you lust after a burger? 'Cause I'm getting hot and heavy here."

Harry only laughs at him, absorbed in a tiny heap of coleslaw. It's one of the rare dinners in Eggsy's life that is about the food more than the company, something entirely different from him and his mates crammed into a booth at Pizza Hut, wolfing down dinner after a bruising rugby practise. So this is what people with time and money to; they indulge in hedonistic pleasures.

Afterwards, when the waitress asks them if she can interest them in dessert, Harry shoots him a look and Eggsy nods before his stomach can protest that it's already been stuffed to the brim, that his senses have been assaulted with enough marvel for one night. "We'll get one raspberry and lavender crème brûlée and one chocolate lava cake with a glass of anise liqueur. Two spoons each, please," Harry says before he is even handed a menu.

"You pretentious wanker," Eggsy says once the waitress is gone.

"She seemed to approve." Harry swills his wine and takes a long sip, playing his part perfectly.

"She isn't the one you're trying to impress."

"And here I thought you already liked me."

"Mmh, I know, I'm a terrible piece of work."

"Speaking of work..."

Eggsy's smile falters at that. "Don't tell me you're going away again?"

"No, although I will be Belgium for a few days towards the end of next week. But that wasn't my point. What I was trying to say is that you have tomorrow off from work and my first appointment isn't until ten, so you could come over if you want to. I'm sure I have expensive liquor lying around somewhere."

"As much as I'd love to get blackout drunk and have sex in your gorgeous bed, I've got a dog at home and I don't think he's a fan of this plan."

Harry seems to consider that. "We could make a detour," he suggests, "We'll get JB and some pyjamas your size, a change of clothes."

"Why not stay at mine?"

"Because I know your fridge is an abomination and I'd have to get up early to go home and get to work on time. Think of it this way: you come with me and you won't have to change your sheets."

"Oh, that is a good argument." Eggsy licks his lips, considers the matter for a few more moments. "Alright. I'm in."

"Splendid," Harry says, beaming at him just as their dessert arrives, smelling divine. He hands Eggsy a spoon and gives him the pleasure of the first spoonful of each dish, near black chocolate seeping out of the lava cake and the surface of the crème brûlée cracking like the first sheet of ice over a wintry pond.


For all the ill advised club nights he's pulled with Roxy, Eggsy isn't exactly in the habit of stumbling through his front door giggling madly. "Shit," he mutters and tries shushing Harry as he almost trips over JB fumbling for the light switch. Harry, ever so helpful, closes the door and finds the light switch for him, bathing the hallway and the entrances of the rooms beyond with blinding light.

"Would you look at that, a miracle," he says with a wide grin and Eggsy rolls his eyes.

"Not that your competence in even the most mundane aspects of life isn't useful," Eggsy says and is cut off by Harry backing him up against a wall.

"But what?" he asks in a low purr and Eggsy can positively feel his pupils bursting into saucers, shot with pleasure, though he doesn't say a word.

Instead he pulls Harry in for a bruising kiss. He still tastes of anise liqueur and chocolate, sweet and warm with a tinge alcohol. Eggsy pushes him away regretfully in favour of air. "Fuck, how d'ya manage to be so frustratingly hot?"

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. "I'll assume that is a compliment. Maybe I should print that on my business card," he muses. "Local tailor for too tight trousers."

"Oi, you have a boyfriend," Eggsy says, laughing. Harry's cheeks flush and Eggsy briefly wonders if it's because of what he said. Deciding not to worry about it at the moment, he says, "Let's get a move on. Ya ain't gettin' any younger." He swoops down to pick up JB and deposits him in Harry's arms. "Dog, collar."

After that, it's quick progression. Eggsy fumbles around for a shirt and some pants, throws a pair of jeans into a duffel bag and stuffs in a sweater for good measure. He ushers Harry out of the door, because it's getting late and the alcohol is wearing off rather unpleasantly fast. They're laughing again in the elevator, each offering matching stifled smiles at an elderly woman who joins them on the second floor, and for once Eggsy doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about what exactly it is he does with Harry Hart.

By the time they reach Harry's they aren't as hysterical anymore, lulled into something softer and far more tiring by the gentle tossing and turning of traffic on the exquisite leather in the back of a Kingsman company cab. The sky has gone dark hours ago and the air is starting to be crisp with the night as Harry finds a few notes to hand the cabbie.

"It's much bigger than I remember," Eggsy says, staring up at the balcony in awe as Harry unlocks the front door for them.

The house smells stale somehow, like it hasn't properly been lived in, Eggsy notes, though when the lights go on it's as cosy at it was the first time around. JB certainly seems to like it, making a dash for it across the floor as soon as Harry sets him down.

Harry says, "Welcome to my kingdom," and Eggsy wraps his arms around his neck.

They stand there for a while like that, simply embracing in the hall of an uncaring house. These are the moments Eggsy treasures the most, the feeling of the entire world vanishing as Harry presses his lips to Eggsy's hair and breathes him in deeply.

"We should get you out of that suit," Harry says eventually.

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that," Eggsy murmurs into his neck and the chuckles leaves him all on its own.

"I was thinking more in the way of getting you in a bathtub."

"You mean the humongous one in the upstairs bath?" Eggsy asks with his eyes lighting up. He has to pull back to ask properly, baffled hope forming on his brow.

Harry nods. "That's what I had in mind, unless you'd rather do something else."

"Fuck no. I mean, don't get me wrong, I definitely will blow you in bed at some point, but I ain't passin' up a bath in that monstrosity."

"Sometimes I fail understand you," Harry says with a fond shake of his head and pushes Eggsy gently toward the stairs. He runs up two steps at a time and Harry follows suit.


Sometimes Harry's world seems to be full of wonders, Eggsy thinks as he watches glints of golden light swirling among the honey whiskey held in a crystalline glass carved into hundreds of diamonds and triangles whose edges press into the pads of Eggsy's fingers. The bath is exquisite. For one, he can stretch his legs out to their full length in the water.

Harry declined his invitation to join in, choosing instead to sit on the counter in his pants, shirt uncuffed sans tie with the whole bottle of whatever Eggsy's drinking in one hand and a glass in the other. Eggsy can't honestly say he minds, their voices echoing off the walls and his laughter seeming to reverberate forever.

"You know, I'm never leavin' this tub," he says and takes another sip of whisky.

"You'll become pruny."

"True, but I've got all of tomorrow off to be as pruny as I choose."

Harry sighs, "I wish I still had Mondays off. Great for any official business. Banks are bloody nightmare to navigate with nine to five job."

"Is that Mondays off deal a Kingsman thing?" Eggsy asks. He's neither fond of nor opposed to Mondays, since he spends most of them lounging bed for half the day, getting up only to stock up on groceries at Tesco's in the quiet afternoon hours.

"It's more a Merlin thing," Harry says, "He doesn't believe in Mondays. When we were younger he used to come to work hungover every Monday, because we wouldn't get off until late on Saturday and he couldn't be bothered to go out then, which meant he'd find himself a girl to drink with on Sundays. Picnics at the park, dinner with liberal wine, sometimes he'd come over to mine with a bottle of vodka when he'd fallen out with his girlfriend."

"Merlin don't seem like the type to be interested in anyone though."

"I think he's just gotten lazy. I never quite did manage to figure him out. He does one night stands as well as monogamy, was even engaged once, although she was the one to propose."

Eggsy perks up. "No! He's never told us this."

"Well, I imagine he wouldn't. It was a long time ago. She was American, they were together for quite a while. As far as I know he really liked her, but not enough to move across the pond and that was that then. They still see each other whenever she's here for business and I think he's still fond of her, and I can see why. His rebound from that particular lady was horrendous though. He had to change his locks twice and he spent a fair few nights on my downstairs couch. I don't think he's tried anything too serious after that."

"This is so wild. I just thought he hated people," Eggsy says.

"Oh, he does," Harry says and knocks back his glass of whisky. He pours himself another.

Eggsy asks, "What were you doin' during all of this?"

"Becoming a tailor's apprentice. Our clientele is global, so I was travelling a lot. The only real relationship I had was the one to my very loyal dog. Of course I slept with people every now and then. I was Merlin's go to wingman and sometimes in the process it played out alright for me too. Though I suppose I never saw the point in investing time I didn't have into someone who wasn't exceptional, intriguing in their own right."

He shifts his gaze from the bottom of his glass to Eggsy, who asks, "Why now then? Why me? What's changed?"

"Nothing has changed. You simply were worthwhile, caught my attention."

"Harry, I'm a twenty-four-year-old stripper with less money to my name than your monogrammed towels are worth."

"So? I'm a middle-aged, posh prick, who sews trousers for a living and drinks whisky on his bathroom counter. You're enigmatic, you like me, and I like you." He frowns, as though his thought process is derailed, "Did you want that topped up by the way?"

Eggsy nods, has the last of his current glass, and holds it out for a refill. Harry hops off the counter, pants and bottle and glass and all. He pours Eggsy a careful measure in a careless gesture and sits down on the toilet cover.

"Cheers," Eggsy says and Harry humors him with the tilt of his glass in Eggsy's direction.

"I've been thinking," Harry says, and Eggsy freezes momentarily at how serious he sounds, glass pressed to his lips.

"And?"

Harry says: "I just want you to know that I love you."

Eggsy almost blurts, "Sorry, what?" but catches himself with his mouth open and no sound coming out. He fancies he can feel his heart leap all the way up his throat and it's entirely impulse he's acting on when leans forward and tugs Harry close by the front of his shirt to kiss him, water sloshing over the edge of the tub and spilling over Harry's socks.

"I love you too," Eggsy breathes when he lets go, "have for a long time already."

"You do? We've really gotten ourselves into something serious then," Harry says and glances down at the wet spot down the front of his shirt.

"So it seems," Eggsy says. He doesn't have the time to think of anything else to say before JB goes berserk somewhere in the house, barking incessantly at one thing or another before he howls or rather does his best imitation of a howl.

Harry glances at him. "Maybe I ought to go see what that's all about, lest I have ghosts in the house."

He peels off his wet socks, gives Eggsy a peck on the cheek, and deposits both the whisky and his glass on the counter before he goes off, yelling, "I'm coming, I'm coming," in the general direction of the dog. JB only howls again, the murmur of Harry's voice and the sound of his footsteps swallowed in the turns of the hallway. Eggsy meditates on his drink, wondering how his life has gone from takeout pizza on a second hand couch with a suspicious stain on the backside of one cushion to a lavender bath and expensive liquor.

The house quiets down and he runs his fingers through the cooling bath water. Maybe things will work out alright for a change. He takes in a long breath and slips under the surface of the water, warm and safe with the light overhead distorting into long, wavering lines. Maybe he won't end up breaking his heart over this.