Eggsy is seven years old, and there is a man in his living room. He's twenty-six years older than Eggsy, but that doesn't concern him now (in fact, it won't concern him for almost thirty years).
What does concern him is that his mother is crying, and that she said that his dad wouldn't come home anymore, that he doesn't know how to make her feel better.
He's not quite sure yet if he's concerned about the stranger making his mum cry more too, but then the man gets up and walks over to Eggsy, crouches down next to him. Like this, Eggsy can see that the man's eyes are brown, just like his dad's.

"What's your name, young man?", the stranger asks and Eggsy answers, because that is what good boys do, and his mother taught him how to be a good boy.
"Hello, Eggsy." The man's voice is soft and gentle, warm, and his eyes still look like his dad's, which is the reason why Eggsy hands him his snow globe when he asks for it; the man hands him a medal in return. It's pretty, and Eggsy holds it tightly, promises to take care of his mum, even if he doesn't know how to, and watches the stranger walk out of his life for seventeen, long years.

Eggsy is twenty-four, and some lady at the police station tells him he's free to go. It makes no sense, because he did steal a car, crashed it into another and then drove into a police car, but he doesn't even ask what is happening. Sometimes, it's better to just shut up and take whatever gifts life is offering.
So he leaves, doesn't look back. The sun is shining, and Eggsy takes a deep breath when he steps outside of the station, a slight spring in his step, even though he's still half expecting someone to rush after him, telling him this was all a mistake.

And then someone says his name.
It's a man, leaning against the wall of the station, fifty years old, still twenty-six years older than Eggsy, dressed in a dark suit, his hair perfect. He offers Eggsy a ride, tells him it was him who got him out of the cell waiting for him, and although Eggsy isn't sure he believes him, he still agrees. He hasn't got much to lose anyway.

Eggsy is twenty-four when he watches Harry Hart, who is still twenty-six years older, take apart his stepfather's goons like it is nothing. It's a thing of beauty, watching Harry fight, every single movement perfectly timed and precise, more of a dance than an act of violence.
By the time Harry sits down again, Eggsy is as scared as he is impressed, and it's all he can do to beg Harry not to make him forget, because he wants to have this branded into his memory for all time.

Eggsy is still twenty-four and Harry is still fifty, and makes him an offer he cannot refuse. They're in a room in a tailor shop, where every single item is too expensive for Eggsy, and Harry is looking at him with an intensity that almost takes his breath away.
There is something in the other's eyes that he hasn't often seen, respect, but most importantly trust; trust that Eggsy is capable of this, that he won't let him down.
He accepts and feels dizzy the whole way to the new world Harry shows him.

Eggsy is twenty-four and almost drowns in what the man called Merlin calls a test. He still doesn't regret saying yes to Harry.

Eggsy is twenty-four and Roxy is twenty-five and the only other candidate who Eggsy doesn't want to punch in the nose. She's clever and witty and beautiful, and Eggsy hates her poodle and thinks he loves her a little, because she gets shares the beer she smuggled into the building with him in some quiet corner.
"I mean, I know that these tests would be hell, but shit, they really are", she says between two long drinks of her beer, letting her head rest against the wall.

Eggsy nods, but adds, "It's worth it, though, innit?"
"Yeah." Roxy seems to contemplate what to say next, and Eggsy understands why it's taking her so long – they've had two beers each already, and Eggsy can feel his head spin a little. "'s better because you're here, to be honest. Didn't think I'd find friends here."

The words make Eggsy grin; he's never had a problem making friends, but knowing that Roxy considers him one of hers is still nice.
"Same", he answers, reaches out to squeeze her hand for a second.

Eggsy is twenty-four and Roxy is twenty-five; they both fake a migraine the next morning, and although there is almost no way they have fooled Merlin, the older man still lets them stay in bed while the others run laps.
It's the best morning in a long time.

Eggsy has just turned twenty-five and for a few months, Harry is just twenty-five years older than him.
They're in the medical ward of HQ, because Merlin still refuses to let Harry go home after Professor Arnold's head exploded, but at least the older man looks like himself again, hair neatly parted and slicked back, clad in a wine red robe. It's a relief to see him like that, not broken anymore, not vulnerable.
"I'm sorry I cannot offer you more than this", Harry says, and pours them both a glass of whiskey, which neither of them should drink, and smiles.

If someone had asked him before this, Eggsy would have expected to be amazed that Harry is still there, alive and breathing, but for some reason he isn't, as if he had never really considered losing the other. And right now, looking at Harry, he almost knows why.
Because somehow, without him noticing, Harry has become his constant, the one person he can rely on above all others. And to imagine losing Harry, no matter if like this or in any other way, is almost impossible.

He takes the drink, smiles back, and watches Harry close the small, discreet bottle and store it away, before he takes a seat in front of Eggsy, somehow still looking more like a king on his throne than anyone in a robe should have the right to.
"Happy birthday", he says, looks directly into Eggsy's eyes and smiles again. For a few seconds, Eggsy feels like he is six years again and his father came back home early, a brand-new, unwrapped toy car in his hands. "To you."

They clink glasses and it's only when Eggsy feels the alcohol burning down his throat when he realises that he hasn't stopped smiling yet.

Eggsy is twenty-five and Harry is fifty when he looks down at him, tied to the underground rails. In his chest, Eggsy's heart is still beating so hard and fast he is sure he'll throw up any second, but he can still see the pride in Harry's eyes.
It almost makes up for the seconds he spent certain he would die.

Eggsy is twenty-five and Harry is still fifty when he teaches Eggsy how to make martinis. They're in Harry's living room, Eggsy sprawled all over the sofa because he has had four and a half martinis when he should have stopped after three.
"'s that a gentleman's behaviour? Getting' ya protégé drunk?", he asks, just slightly slurring his words as he turns towards Harry, who looks as prim and proper as ever, posed carefully on his armchair. He's smiling just a little, another martini balanced on his knee, reminding Eggsy of how he smiled at him after he had passed that last test, in that bloody tunnel.

"No", Harry answers, still smiling, twirling his glass in his long, deadly fingers. "I do not think so. But in a situation like this, I think it should be forgiven. After all, you are almost a Kingsman now."
"Almost, yeah." Eggsy cracks a smile, wonders if he can steal a sip of Harry's martini. "Don't think I'll be able to beat Roxy though. She's too good for me."
"We'll see about that", Harry answers, and sounds so certain that he is right.
As if he knew what Eggsy wanted, Harry offers him his glass, lets Eggsy take a long sip before he steals his glass back. "But even if you are right, I am still proud of you."

Maybe Harry is a little bit drunk, because he usually would never say these things, but Eggsy doesn't even care, just smiles, because it's the most beautiful thing Harry could have said to him.

Eggsy is still twenty-five, just seven hours older, and Harry is making breakfast when he stumbles down the stairs.
"Mornin'", he greets, yawns, and stretches. He never intended to stay the night, so he's wearing a shirt that is too big for him, a pair of boxers, his hair still a mess and an imprint from the fluffy pillows in the guest room on his cheek. Eggsy has never been particularly vain, but around Harry his looks matter even less; somehow, the other man never seems to see what he is wearing, just sees Eggsy beneath all of it.

"Good morning, Eggsy", Harry answers. He's wearing an apron and Eggsy has matured in those past months, but not enough to suppress the chuckle now.
"Whatcha makin'?", he asks, sidles up next to Harry, who manages to look at him both amused and exasperated.
"Breakfast. Did you really think martinis were the only thing one has to know when it comes to being a gentleman?", Harry asks, flips the omelettes he is making, and Eggsy's stomach gives a growl when he realises how hungry it is. "We've still got a lot to do."

Eggsy is twenty-five when he throws everything away for a pug, and while he doesn't regret his decision, he isn't sure if he'll be able to look Harry in the eye after this.

Eggsy is twenty-five when he arrives in a stolen car in front of Harry's house, who has turned fifty-one without Eggsy knowing it.
The other is looking down at him from his balcony, disappointment and barely concealed anger written all across his features, and although Harry usually makes him feel tall and strong and worth something, he can't remember feeling smaller than he does right now.

His feet try to turn him around, to run away, because he isn't sure if he can cope with having disappointed the single person who believed in him, who tried to help him, but Eggsy forces them to take step after step towards Harry's house. Even if his heart feels frozen in his chest, even if his skin is prickling. Every breath feels like drowning.

Eggsy is still twenty-five when he watches Harry Hart die on screen. His heart is splintering, breaking, crumbling in his chest, leaving him numb and yet in pain, and Eggsy hardly even notices he is screaming until his ears pick up the sound.

Eggsy is still twenty-five when he wins a fight against a girl with machetes as feet, when he kills one of the most influential men on the planet, when saves the world, when he fucks a Swedish princess in the arse, and at first, he doesn't think of Harry at all. He's running on adrenaline only, high on a hundred different chemicals at once, and it's only when he's back in Merlin's plane that he remembers.
Because he has his hand half raised to his glasses, meaning to call Harry and tell him the good news, maybe brag just the slightest bit (he can imagine the smile in Harry's voice, the pride when Eggsy proves that he can be just as good as them, if not better) but then he remembers the sound of a shot, the sudden static, and the sensation of the world crumbling all around him.

He lowers his hand, clenches it to a fist until his knuckles are white and bloodless, his fingernails digging sharply into his palm. But even the pain isn't enough to ground him anymore, doesn't make the dull ache in his chest fade, so Eggsy forces his muscles to relax, forces his lungs to take deep, steady breaths, his eyes to blink and his heart to continue beating.
It is what Harry would have wanted, no matter how disappointed he was in Eggsy, he would have wanted Eggsy to keep on living and do his best.

Eggsy is twenty-eight hours older, but still twenty-five years old, and once again, Harry is twenty-six years older than him. It's the first thing he hears when he returns to HQ, after he has hugged his mother close, has kissed Daisy a hundred time; it's a miracle, but Harry Hart is still alive.

For several seconds, there is nothing he can say, nothing he can do, instead he just stares at Merlin, who is still talking, explaining, and looking like he hasn't slept for a week at least, but doesn't hear a word the other says. He knows it can't be just good news, because he watched Harry's feed go dead, knows that there must be a bullet lodged in his head, that he must be in a coma at the very least; he knows that there is a chance that even if Harry woke up, he might not be the man Eggsy knew anymore, he might not even remember him, but it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter, because Harry is alive, and it is more than Eggsy could have wished for.

Merlin takes him back to the medical bay, and Eggsy wants to thank him, but can't, because his mouth won't work, his words have all died down, but he can see in the other man's eyes that he knows anyway. They are kind, and still kind when Merlin lets him step through the door, closes it behind him without entering as well.
Harry is spread out on the bed like he has seen him before, motionless and seemingly broken, white gauze covering half of his face, and it's horrible, and yet Eggsy feels more at peace than he has in a long time.

I'll sort out this mess when I get back, that's what Harry had told him, and he has come back, against all possible odds, and looking at Harry now, Eggsy can't bring himself to be scared. Because Harry has come back once, and he will come back again, Eggsy knows it.

He spends the rest of the day sitting right beside the older man, not once reaching out to hold his hand, even if he wants to.

Eggsy is twenty-five when he wakes up in a cold, white room, his back stiff and aching, and Harry Hart, who is fifty-one, and still alive, in a bed in front of him. He hasn't moved an inch, but his heart is beating, his chest rises and falls, and for now, that is enough.

Eggsy is still twenty-five, when he kicks Dean's arse in front of all his muppets, and he knows that Harry would be proud of him, if he could see him. That he will be proud of him, as soon as he wakes up and Eggsy tells him all about it.

Eggsy is twenty-five, has gotten thirty- nine days older, when he takes his first mission. Harry is twenty-six years older and hasn't opened his eyes yet, so Eggsy hopes that the older man won't mind him leaving.
He hasn't touched Harry since he first walked into this room, but now he squeezes his hand, feels warm skin and a pulse beneath his fingers.
The warmth tingles up his arm, makes him feel safe and maybe a little dizzy.
"You don't move a finger while I'm gone, old man, ya hear me?", he mutters with a smile and a heavy heart. "I'll sort ya mess when I get back 'ere".

Eggsy is twenty-five when he comes back, bruised and scratched, but still wearing his suit, plopping down on the now-familiar chair with a sigh. Part of him expects Harry to wake up now, just because he entered the room, but it's the part which cries during movies and used to dream of someone to save him from his life, so he pays it no attention.
This isn't that kind of movie.

Eggsy is twenty-five, and says, "I'm glad you're still here."
Harry doesn't answer, because he can't, and Eggsy sighs deeply, lets his shoulders drop; there is just no strength left to keep them up. He is still sure that the other will wake up (there is simply no other way, there cannot be another way) but it's been so long, and he's so tired. The others are tired too, he can see it on their faces – the bags under Merlin's eyes, the worry written all across his mother's face, because she doesn't know where he spends all his time, Roxy's sympathy – but for the first time, someone else's pain doesn't seem more important than his own.

It's ridiculous, because Merlin has known Harry for decades, but it still feels as if he has more right to be in pain, because the other man might miss Harry, might mourn him (because Merlin has given up hope, Eggsy knows it, can feel it), but he doesn't need him the way Eggsy does.
Merlin needs Harry's company, maybe, his advice, perhaps, but Eggsy needs Harry, all of him. He needs to know that Harry is there to watch over him, to tell him when he does well and to pick him up when he fails, to smile at him whenever Eggsy enters the room and to look at him like Eggsy is worth the world.

Before he knows it, Eggsy is up again, hovering awkwardly between Harry's bed and his chair (when did it become his?) for a moment. He shouldn't, because he has no right to that kind of intimacy, and yet Eggsy crawls onto the bed; not under the covers, not even touching Harry, just close enough he can feel the other's warmth. Can hear his breath, even if it's almost drowned out by the bleeping of the heart monitor.
"I'm glad that you're still here", he repeats, gently puts his hand between the two of them, Harry vulnerable on his back, Eggsy curled on his side, his eyes slowly drifting closed.

Eggsy is twenty-five and Harry is still fifty-one, when he steps out of a plane and Merlin is waiting for him, dark rings under bright eyes.
"You will hate me for this", the older man announces, and Eggsy is excited and scared and hopeful, all at once, his heart picking up its pace until he can't tell one beat from the next. "He woke up three days ago."

Eggsy is twenty-five and the hardest thing he ever had to do was not to barge into Harry's room, but to knock and wait for the softly uttered, "Come in."
It's the first time he has heard Harry's voice in months, and although it's still a little bit hoarse, it still sounds like it used to.

His hand is steady, just like it is when holding a gun when Eggsy pushes the door open, sees Harry propped up on some pillows, a book on his lap. Half of his head is still covered in gauze, his skin still pale, but his eye is open, warm and surprised when it settles on Eggsy, and it's all he ever needed.
"Hi", he greets, and although his hands are steady, Eggsy's voice is wavering, cracking at the edges, because he can hardly breathe in enough to speak the word out-loud; his heart seems to take up the whole of his chest, expanding and swelling with every breath he sees Harry take.

"Hello, Eggsy", Harry answers, and there is a warm smile spreading across his face, and Eggsy has to clench his hands into fists to ground him, keep him from running over to the older man and hugging him tightly.
"Fancy seeing you 'ere", he says instead, tries to keep his voice light and fails miserably.

"Really, now?", Harry asks, amused and yet decidedly unimpressed by the cheesy line, and Eggsy is so deliriously happy he could scream.
"Yeah", he answers, "Really."

Eggsy is twenty-five, but just for three hours longer, and Harry says, "It appears that your birthdays and my hospitalisations go hand in hand. I'm sorry for that."
He's wearing the same red robe as he did a year ago, but this time, Eggsy is sitting on the foot of the hospital bed, a carton of Indian take out balanced on his lap.
"'s alright", he answers around a bite of chicken, grinning when Harry winces at his manners. Usually, he knows that the older man would scold him, but it's his birthday (or almost is, who cares), so he agreed to give Eggsy a day off his training. "Which doesn't mean you should try an' get yourself 'urt next year, mind you."

"I won't", Harry replies, although they both know that it is a promise he might not be able to keep. "And I'll make this disaster of a birthday party up next year."
"Deal", Eggsy says, resists the temptation to make Harry bump fists with him.

Eggsy is twenty-six, and Harry is looking at him like he's barely even five.
"But why?", he asks for the third time at least, looking into the eye that Harry still has left. He misses the other one, but at the same time, it seems like such a small price to pay to have Harry still with him. "It'd be so cool. Ya'd be like one half of a Terminator. I'm sure Merlin could tweak it somehow so that it'd glow red an' all."

"As impressed as I am that you know at least a few movies which were filmed before your time, the answer is still no. I'm quite happy with this patch." Harry taps the black eyepatch he is wearing lightly, and Eggsy pouts just a little.
"Alright, old man. Your loss."

Eggsy is twenty-six and forces Harry, who's still fifty-one, to watch all four Terminator movies in a row with him. He still doesn't change his mind.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry is fifty-one, the sun is shining outside, and Eggsy tries his hardest not to notice that Harry is still having trouble to keep his balance, that he's not yet the man he met more than a year ago. Recovery is a process, he knows that, but sometimes it's just difficult to accept it.
"Y'know, I always wanted to go to Spain", he says, quite out of the blue, and Harry turns around to face him, curiosity written all across his handsome face.

It's strange, because Eggsy was always good with reading people, and yet never good at reading Harry, at least before he was shot; now, it seems to become second nature to read a hundred emotions out of a single blink.

"Why Spain?", he enquires, leans a bit more heavily on the cane he hates and yet has to use.
"Dunno." Eggsy shrugs, slows down his steps a little bit, but not enough for Harry to notice. "Don't think there's a reason for it, just seems like a nice place to be. You've ever been?"
It's a silly question, especially since Harry seems to have been everywhere at least once, but the other doesn't seem to mind. "Yes", he answers, "A few times. Only ever on a mission, though, so I never had the time to go sightseeing."

"What a shame", Eggsy replies, then adds with a smile and without thinking, "Maybe we should go together."

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry turns fifty-two without saying a word.

Eggsy is still twenty-six and Harry is exactly twice as old as him, when they let him go back home. He still has to use his cane, still has trouble remembering certain things at certain times, his hands still shake when he's been concentrating for too long, but he's better now, looks positively thrilled when he finally sets foot into his house again.
Eggsy follows, suitcase in hand and a smile on his lips, watching Harry rediscover the house he loves so much once more.

Eggsy is twenty-six, and his house, the one he shares with Daisy and his mum, is just a few blocks away from Harry's ("It's close to the shop", he tells Harry; "Please", he told Merlin months ago, "Let me stay close to him.").
Close enough that he can sometimes walk over to the other's place, ring the door with a smile and a cheap bottle of wine in his hand, which Harry will always put in the fridge and forget about while he gets them something better.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't, sometimes they get so drunk that Harry gets him a pyjama and lets him stay the night; what all those nights have in common is that Eggsy comes back home with the biggest of all smiles on his lips.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry is fifty-two, but right now, that doesn't seem to matter. Right now, all that matters is the bullets flying around him, destroying walls and furniture alike, and Eggsy's back pressed against a door, Merlin's voice in his ear.
"I told you this was a bad idea", the other man says, and Eggsy grimaces as a bullet rips a hole into the wood just a few inches away from him.
"D'you really think this is the right time t' discuss this?", he asks, and Merlin laughs.

"There is an air vent over to your right. It should take you right out of the building."
"An' ya only tell me that now?", Eggsy hisses, flinches a little when the men outside fire another round of bullets at the wall. "You prick!"
"Language, please", another voice adds, deep and slightly amused, one which Eggsy really didn't expect to hear.

"Sorry, boss", Eggsy responds, grinning a little bit, although there are still bullets cutting through the air behind him. Somehow, everything seems a little brighter when Harry is around. "I'll come back and tell Merlin the rest in private, 'kay?"
"Very good", Harry answers, and Eggsy crouches down, starts to undo the first screw of the vent. "I'll have you know that the paperwork for a dead agent is nothing compared to a shot to the head."
"You've gotta know", Eggsy mumbles; it's still strange to joke about this, but Harry is getting better, they are getting better. "See you later, old man."
There is no answer, but somehow Eggsy still knows that Harry is watching.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry is fifty-two, and Roxy shoots them a strange look when Eggsy winks at the older man across the table. Harry looks like he wishes he could roll his eyes, but he doesn't.

Eggsy is twenty-six years old, and has spent the last seven minutes trying to figure out what bottle of wine to get for Harry. It's become some sort of tradition for him to bring something Harry normally wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole, and yet, Eggsy isn't sure if bringing wine in cartons would already be insulting.

So Eggsy is trying to decide between a Merlot with an absolutely ghastly looking, violet label, a Cabernet Sauvignon with a crown cork and aforementioned red wine in a carton (labelled Red Wine from Italy), putting one of them in his basket only to pull it out again and repeat the procedure.
It's a bit ridiculous, but he loves the way Harry always looks at the bottle in disgust, loves how it still always makes the other smile when Eggsy cracks up.

Eggsy is twenty-six and goes with the Cabernet Sauvignon, because he knows that Harry loves that wine and might be offended on behalf of the wine to see it treated like this.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry is twice as old as him, and for the first time, he makes Eggsy feel it.
"I will have you know that I will not tolerate behaviour like this, neither now nor in the future", Harry says in a voice that is so angry Eggsy just knows anyone else would be screaming. But not Harry, not Harry who is always so collected and calm and superior.

Not Harry who is always right, who is right now, too, because Eggsy ripped his earpiece out in the middle of the mission, and that is unacceptable, no matter how much Merlin, how much Harry got on his nerves.
So he doesn't talk back, just mutters, "Sorry."
"I couldn't hear you." Harry is not letting off easy this time, and Eggsy feels impossibly small in comparison to the other man, feels his rage, his disappointment almost like a physical force. It's like that night he hardly ever dares to think about, just worse, because this time, there is no excuse.
"I'm sorry", he says again, hardly manages to look at Harry.

"You better be", Harry answers, and there is a finality in his voice that makes Eggsy want to curl in on himself, leave and never come back. "If not, I'll make sure you are really sorry next time, believe me."

Eggsy is twenty-six and gets sloshed in a pub with his mates that night, tries to forget about a now-cold brown eye and a disappointed glare.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry is fifty-two, two weeks older, when he smiles at Eggsy at a meeting again, and for a second, everything is alright in the world.

Eggsy is twenty-six and he saves three different countries in a month, gets shot a few times and shags two girls and a bloke in two nights. It's a job he never dreamt of ever having, and it's more than he ever thought he'd have, but he still looks forward to coming home after each mission, to Daisy and his mum and JB, to Roxy and Merlin and Harry.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Merlin takes him to his new office for the first time, smiles when Eggsy can't contain his grin, and gives him a picture of him with all the other recruits as a kind of housewarming gift.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Harry, who is still twice as old as he is, produces a bottle from a cupboard that Eggsy never saw him open before.
They've already gone through two bottles before this one, and Eggsy can feel his head swimming, eyes trying to catch up every time he moves; when Harry sits back down, bottle in one hand, the opener in the other, it takes a few moments until he's in focus again.

"I cannot believe that I am doing this", Harry says, sounding far too collected and yet not sober anymore. He opens the bottle, and it takes a few moments until Eggsy realises what is strange about it: There is no plopping sound of the bottle opening, just the sharp clang of metal against glass.
Eggsy looks closer, and it takes some time until he recognises the cheap, green label and the cursive font.
"Is 'at- did ya-", he starts, but doesn't quite know how to finish the sentence. "You kept 'em?"

"Of course I did", Harry answers, pours them both a glass of what is probably going to be the most disgusting Cabernet Sauvignon that either of them has ever tasted. "They were gifts. I wouldn't throw them away, no matter how much they lack in quality."
A smile blossoms on Eggsy's lips, curls them upwards and grows brighter, wider, by the second, and yet never manages to convey just how warm he feels inside, how giddy.

Harry picks up his glass, only hesitating, and they clink their glasses together, just like they always do. But Eggsy waits, doesn't take a sip in favour of watching the older man do so, Harry's face scrunching up in disgust for only a second.
"Oh good Lord, that is vile", he proclaims, looks up at Eggsy with something like horror in his eyes. "Where ever did you get this?"

Eggsy is on the verge of saying Tesco's, where d'you get ya wine? when a single thought cuts through the fog of alcohol and amusement and exhaustion.

Eggsy is twenty-six when he realises that he's in love with Harry.

Eggsy is still twenty-six, only a few, short hours older, and wakes up in a bed that is not his own, but still familiar, dressed in someone else's pyjamas, and nothing has changed. The world hasn't stopped spinning just because he's in love, the sun is still shining through the gap between the tastefully coloured curtains, his head still hurts and his mouth feels parched, although he's in love.

Not even Eggsy himself feels different, doesn't feel his heart breaking or his fingers longing to touch; he hasn't changed, and Harry hasn't changed either.
And after all, it isn't this kind of movie; instead of breaking out in tears over the man he'll never have, Eggsy gets up and pads downstairs on naked feet, finds Harry in the kitchen, a smile on his lips and breakfast ready on the table.

Eggsy is twenty-six and Merlin sends him to Mozambique for his next mission. It's hot and it's lovely when the sun is just rising and Eggsy kills fourteen men on his first day.
When he gets back, he's got a bit of a sunburn around his nose and a cheesy fridge magnet each for Roxy and his mum, a coffee cup for Merlin and a bottle of a rum called Tipo Tinto for Harry in his bag.

Eggsy is twenty-six and his mum hugs him tightly when he gets back, pets his head.
"Ya didn't even say you'd be comin' 'ome tonight"", she mutters into his hair, and Eggsy doesn't even know if she is right; he's too tired.
So he mutters, "Sorry, totally forgot. Brought ya somethin' though."

She pulls back, smiles at him with bright blue eyes, the way she hardly ever smiled when Dean was just around, and Eggsy feels his heart overflow with affection. One thing he is still so grateful for every day is that he could give his mum this, a home for them, safety, a place where she can smile like this.
For a few seconds, he just looks at his mother, tries to commit this moment to memory, then reaches into his bag and gets the fridge magnet, the outline of Mozambique in green, yellow, red and black.

"'s not much, but I thought you'd like it", he says, hands Michelle the magnet, who looks at it with her smile still on her lips. It's not the first magnet he has brought her, not even the fourth one; a few months ago, he has started bringing magnets from every city he visits, so there is hardly any space left on their fridge. "Mozambique."
"'fanks", his mum says, turns the magnet around once, twice. "Mozambique. Ya need to take me an' Daisy one day. Or to that island ya sent the postcard from the other day."
"Barbados?", Eggsy asks, can't help but smile, because he knows that his mother fell a bit in love with the pictures he sent her, the postcard and the fridge magnet. "Promise."

Eggsy is turns twenty-seven in Barbados, after another three missions, sipping cocktails with his mum on an endless, white beach. Daisy plays in the sand in front of them, and Harry sends a text when he's about to go to bed.
It's short, well-worded, and makes Eggsy's heart ache a little bit, because although he's too busy noticing most of the day, he misses the older man, his smile and his voice and the way Harry looks at him, proud and fond.

Happy Birthday, Eggsy. I hope you and your family are well, and that next year, we will get to have that dinner I promised you.

It's something Eggsy has already half forgotten about, that dinner that Harry told him about twice in two different hospitals, and the thought makes Eggsy ache a little more. He would have liked that, a posh dinner with the man he is still unchangingly in love with, would have liked Harry's eyes on him, would have liked to see his smile.
But what is done, is done, so Eggsy doesn't dwell on it, instead decides to send Harry a postcard the next day. And to finally have that dinner with Harry the next year.

Eggsy is twenty-seven when he comes back home, and the first two nights are spent in three different pubs, the first one with his mates, getting so pissed that he almost throws up the next morning, the next with Roxy. He gets drunk with her too, so drunk that they have to cling to each other when they stumble to find a taxi.

"We should do this more often", Roxy slurs, and Eggsy finds himself giggling for no good reason.
"Yeah… I mean it'll kill me but it'll be so worth it", he answers and Roxy grins at him with wide, unfocussed eyes. She's paid for almost all the drinks – a late birthday present, she had called it, although she had already given him the most ridiculous bed spreads, navy with a myriad of pugs printed on them – and Eggsy just really doesn't want to be near her when she looks at her bank account the next time.
"We all have to die one day", Roxy says confidently, almost falls over her own feet.
"Too true, Rox, too true."

Eggsy is twenty-seven and his mum asks, "By the way, babe, what was in that present?"
"What present?"
"Y'know, that tiny lil box, I put it on ya desk? Came with the mail when we was in Barbados."
There is no box Eggsy knows of, and he has gotten all the presents he ever expected (and more) for his birthday, but his heart still beats a little too fast when he climbs the stairs to his bedroom. And his mum is right, there is a box sitting on his desk, one which he must have missed between coming home and going out and trying to sleep off his hand-overs.
It's made from dark, polished wood, no card attached to it, as if Eggsy should just know who it is from by the look of it. And he does.

His heart might hurt just a little with every beat, his fingers might be a bit clumsier than they usually are when he opens the box, finds a pair of cufflinks inside. A small blue gem, encased in silver, they're elegant without being flashy, and Eggsy knows which suit Harry must have been thinking about when he bought them.
And inside, there is the note he has been searching for, reading A birthday is not the same without presents. Let's catch up when you get back. Harry

He has seen Harry around the last few days, never longer than a few minutes, just enough to exchange a couple of words and smiles, and yet Eggsy wonders what the other must have thought of him, and that he did not mention the present at all.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and comes back down to his mum, says, "Cufflinks. What else would ya expect from a tailor?"
He cracks a smile, but his mum is his mum, and sees right through him. She doesn't say a word.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-two when Eggsy stands in front of his door with another bottle of wine, which cost only three pounds and will most likely taste like that, too.
"'Lo", he greets, holds out the bottle and smiles, still feels oh so guilty about not coming by earlier, not knowing that he was wanted. "I got ya present today. And a card which said that ya wanted t' catch up. So, you up for really bad wine an' a trillion pics of Barbados?"

Harry looks surprised, but smiles, a hand on the door still. "Good evening. I was afraid your present had gotten lost in the post."
"Nah, but my mum's just as bad", Eggsy answers, grins and takes a step forward, tilts his head. Usually, Harry would have asked him to come inside three times by now. "Now, what about wine and story time?"

"About that…" Everything on Harry's face tells the whole story, so Eggsy knows it before Harry even says a word. He still listens to it, his heart aching in his chest, because although it's most likely just bad timing it feels like rejection. "I'd love to, but I'm too busy right now, I am afraid. Paperwork, and I need to brief both Lancelot and Bors when they get back tomorrow. But I am sure that we could find another time if you wanted to."
It's better than nothing, Eggsy supposes, ignores his falling heart and how heavy the bottle of wine has gotten in his hands, gives Harry his best smile. "Yeah, yeah, that'd be great."

Eggsy is twenty-seven and gets drunk on cheap wine in his room, trying not to feel too pathetic.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry sends him on a mission in Brazil, another country he's never been to and never thought he would see before this, before Kingsman, before Harry, and yet, he isn't too excited. Because he hasn't seen the older man outside of HQ for more than two weeks, and he misses him.
They haven't even had the drinks Harry promised just after his birthday, and for the first time since Eggsy has realised that his feelings for Harry surpass gratitude and respect and admiration easily, it hurts.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and there is a beautiful Brazilian girl spread out on his sheets. Her name is Vitória and she is the heiress to a hotel emporium, clever, funny and beckoning him over.
Also, her uncle is planning to overthrow the government.

"C'mon, pretty boy", she purrs, spreads her long, long legs, and Eggsy knows that he shouldn't, but it's been so long since he lost himself in someone else's touch; there is no way to resist.
So he doesn't, instead crawls between her legs and kisses her, first her mouth, then her neck, then her slick cunt, licking between her folds, from her opening to her clit.

She makes a soft, sweet sound, and Eggsy grins, seals his mouth over her clit and sucks. Another sound, deeper this time, louder, and Vitória's hips cant up invitingly, her legs spread wider to give Eggsy better access; he uses it and slides two fingers into her.
Inside, she's slick and wet, and Eggsy still doesn't fuck her with his fingers, just rubs the tips of them over Vitória's insides in small circles. He pulls back, even if she whines, replaces his mouth with his thumb, so he can look at her.

Like this, Vitória looks even more beautiful, eyes slightly unfocussed, breathing heavily. Without thinking, Eggsy leans down and kisses the inside of her thigh.
"You're gorgeous", he mutters against tan skin, and she chuckles, rolls her hips into his touch.
"Thanks, pretty boy", Vitória replies, her voice breathless and amused, one hand reaching out to dig perfectly manicured nails into Eggsy's shoulder. "But how about you put that mouth of yours to better work again?"

Eggsy smirks, doesn't answer, instead slides his thumb down just enough so it rests directly beneath Vitória's clit, continues rubbing that sensitive spot and leans down again, circles her clit with his tongue, presses down gently. The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip, surely leaving marks on his skin, and Eggsy loves it, sucks and licks until Vitória's soft noises have turned into loud moans.

He's still twenty-seven when he fucks her, slow and deep until they are both gasping for breath, clutching to each other, and he's still twenty-seven when he rolls out of Vitória's bed the next morning.
"When you get back to Brazil, give me a call, pretty boy", she says while he gets dressed, gives Eggsy a sleepy smile.
"Will do, love", he answers, and knows in that instant that he won't. In another life, before Harry, without Harry, he would have, because she is gorgeous and funny and clever and might just have given him the best blowjob of his life between round two and three. But in this world, in this life, with Harry somewhere in London and Eggsy's heart still with him, he won't call her.
He thinks she knows.

Eggsy is twenty-seven when he comes back to London, Vitória's uncle in prison and his mission accomplished. Merlin claps him on the shoulder and tells him he did well, Roxy asks after that Brazilian bird he texted her about, and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-two; it's the second time that Eggsy is standing in front of the other's door without having called, another bottle of wine in his hand and a heart beating too fast, too loud.
It takes longer than usual until Harry opens, looking impossibly tired, as if he hadn't slept for a week. He's still the most handsome man Eggsy has ever set eyes on.

"Eggsy", the older man says instead of a greeting, and it might not be true, but Eggsy thinks that his eye gets a little brighter when it settles on Eggsy, the black of the eyepatch a stark contrast to the warm brown of his eye.
"Hiya", Eggsy answers, smiles and holds up the bottle in his hand. "Thought I'd force ya to make good on that promise with the wine and the stories an' all. Any time?"

For a moment, Harry seems to be unsure what to say (and Eggsy's heart clenches and falls and threatens to shatter) but then he smiles, steps aside.
"Of course", he says, and Eggsy breathes freely again, smiles more easily the next time. "Come in."

(They get drunk on expensive whiskey until Eggsy demands to open another bottle of disgustingly cheap wine, just to see Harry's face when he takes the first sip.)

Eggsy is twenty-seven and wakes up in Harry's guestroom. It feels like coming home.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Merlin gets him a pocketknife which shoots laser beams. He takes it with him on the next mission, cuts a hole into two-inch steal and gets home two days earlier than expected.
Harry looks at him with pride in his eyes and Eggsy feels like he is floating.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and although he doesn't know it, Harry turns fifty-three.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and up until now, last minute love confessions have never made any sense to him. Why would anyone soil the memory someone had of them by talking about a love they didn't reciprocate?
And yet, right now, when there is a bullet lodged in thigh, another one in his upper arm, when there are still people shooting, he suddenly gets it. Not because he expects to hear the words back, just because he wants Harry to know how much he meant, means to him.
"Merlin?", he all but shouts, so the other will be able to hear him over the shots fired. "If I- tell me mum and Daisy that I love 'em, okay? And tell Harry-"

"Shut up, Eggsy." It's a voice he didn't think he'd ever hear again, and although Eggsy is still getting shot at, he feels his thoughts centring, the pain in his shoulder and thigh seeming less overwhelming.
"This is not the time for last words", Harry says almost roughly. "Merlin has called for backup, they should be there in five minutes later. Don't you dare die until then, understood, Galahad?"

There are still two bullets embedded in his flesh, he's in pain and he's tired, but Eggsy still sits up a bit straighter, groaning in pain, and says, "Yes, Arthur. Understood."

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-three; when he steps out of the plane, he hopes that Harry will hug him, because he just almost died and his thigh and arm are still throbbing with every heartbeat.
He doesn't, but he looks at Eggsy with enough relief and pride in his eyes that it doesn't seem to matter too much.
"Galahad", he says, and Eggsy smiles through pain and painkillers and an aching heart, "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back, Arthur", Eggsy answers, only looks away when Roxy all but tackles him, calls him an idiot and worse.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry, who is still twenty-six years older than him, still fifty-three, stands in front of his door when Eggsy had actually being expecting the delivery guy with their Thai food.
It's Daisy's birthday, her fifth one, and yet Harry is standing outside his door, dressed impeccably, the black eyepatch fixed snugly over his handsome face. For a moment or two Eggsy doesn't know what to say.
"Uh… hi?", he finally tries, gives Harry a small smile. "What are ya doin' 'ere?"

"I just wanted to drop this off." Harry holds out a small box, wrapped in pink paper and adorned with a white bow. "Tell your mother and sister my best wishes."
"'s that for Daisy?", Eggsy asks, takes the box nonetheless. It's light, and Eggsy can't help but wonder if Harry wrapped it himself, or if he let someone at the shop do it. "You shouldn't 'ave…"
"I wanted to."

Harry's voice doesn't leave any room for disagreement, so Eggsy doesn't even try, just smiles and curls his fingers a little tighter around the box. "Thanks. You wanna come in? We're getting Thai and Daisy is probably gonna make us watch The Little Mermaid again."
It's absolutely disgusting how much Eggsy wants, craves, needs Harry to say yes, how disappointed he is when the other shakes his head.
"I wouldn't want to intrude. But thank you, Eggsy. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow. G'night!"
Eggsy smiles and watches Harry turn around and leave, wishes he would have stayed at least a little longer.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Merlin slaps him on the shoulder after a mission with Gawain, which went spectacularly well.
"Sit down, lad", the older man says, and Eggsy complies, not sure what to expect, praise or punishment. Although Merlin isn't an agent, he still has one of the best poker faces of all of them.
"What's up?", Eggsy asks, watches Merlin sit down and pull a bottle from one of his drawers, label less and already half empty.

"The best whiskey in the world", Merlin explains instead of answering. "Nothing of the shite you get at a supermarket, this is true craftsmanship."
He fills up two glasses, holds out one for Eggsy to take, who doesn't quite know what he did to deserve it.
"Uh…. Thanks? But ya do know that I have like, no taste. So ya precious whiskey is gonna be wasted on me taste buds."
It's a fair warning, in Eggsy's opinion, but Merlin just shrugs, takes a drink of his own glass. "That's alright, even if you don't notice a difference. My brother owns the distillery."

Eggsy laughs, takes a sip and… notices a difference. The taste is smooth, rich and intense without being overpowering, tasting of more than just alcohol and turf.
"Oh wow", he breathes out once he has swallowed, and Merlin chuckles.
"Not wasted after all, I see?"
"Nah. Compliments t' ya brother, seriously. This shit's good."

Merlin doesn't say anything, just nods, and that's okay. Because maybe this is what he has been looking for the whole time, at least within Kingsman; easy companionship, shared respect. An afternoon spent in silence and with the best whiskey in the world.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-three, looks at him surprised when Eggsy asks, "Ya can't 'ave been like this forever right?"
"How?"
"Ya know." Eggsy gestures vaguely, looks at the older man from across the desk. "This posh. An' cultured an' shit. Drinking good wine and reading books in Italian and listenin' to opera."
Harry doesn't answer, just laughs.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and this bloke who he probably has seen before, but cannot really remember, is getting them all another round of drinks. He's been back for more than a week, and it feels heavenly to just spend a night with his mates, not having to worry about killing or being killed.
"So, that bird you was with last time I saw ya", Rob starts, downs the last bit of his beer. He's already on the best way on getting really drunk, but they all are, so Eggsy doesn't really mind.
"Rox, ya mean?", he asks, knowing in which direction this is going to go; if one of the others turned up with a girl like that, he'd be making the same assumptions. "She's a mate. Bloody good one too."

"A mate? So that means ya would've no problems introducing me to 'er?" Rob is grinning, and Eggsy just shrugs.
"Sure thing, mate, but I'm gonna warn ya, I don't think you're 'er type."
Roxy once told him that she could find out if she was interested in a guy with one look at his wrist alone. If he was wearing a watch, he needed to know the time, which meant he had something important to do; if the watch was too flashy, it was just to show off and useless to her.
Rob doesn't even own a watch.
"Sweet", Rob still says, grins and winks at Eggsy, who lets him believe he will end up sleeping with Roxy for a little longer.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and holds his promise, takes Roxy with him to the pub a week later. She smiles and drinks with them, and shoots Rob a single gaze which makes him shut up before he said a word.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-three, and this Arthur refuses to stay in London all the time, and Eggsy is too worried about the other man getting hurt again to pay attention.
They're in Denmark, trying to get some intel about another psycho's global scheme of world domination, and there are people shooting at them, which shouldn't be a problem, because it happens all the time; but now, every shot makes Eggsy want to turn around and check if Harry's still alive, because every shot makes him think about the glass of Harry's feed cutting out, the blood and the feeling to just have lost someone he cared for so deeply.

Every shot makes him worry so much that he almost misses it when one of the men who are shooting at them pulls out a hand grenade and throws it at them.
"Harry!", he shouts when he does notice, wants to jump forward and cover the grenade with his body, like they taught him in the army, but the other man grabs his arm and hurls him around a corner.

He collides with the wall in a way that makes every joint ache, but he's still alive and Harry is right behind him; the grenade explodes and leaves him sore and deaf, but they're alive and that is all that matters.

Eggsy is twenty-seven and Harry is fifty-three, and although he never wanted to, Eggsy knows he has to tell the other. About his feelings, about everything, because it's affecting his work, it almost got both of them killed, for Heaven's sake.
And before Harry is his mentor, his friend, the man Eggsy is madly, hopelessly in love with, he's his boss and he has to know about this like this.

So he buys a bottle of cheap wine – tries very much not to think about how this might be the last one he ever brings to Harry's house – and rings the doorbell at exactly eight pm. It seems important for some reason to be on time, like doing one thing correctly could maybe cancel out the rest.
Harry opens and looks surprised (maybe because Eggsy has had problems with his punctuality before, maybe because he looks as if his heart is about to leap out of his chest), but bids him come in.

Eggsy had hoped that it would be better once he had seen Harry, but it isn't; if anything, it's worse. It's worse because Harry looks at him so fondly, because he asks him how he's been, and although Eggsy knows that Harry would never shun him, he knows that this will change everything.
There is simply no other way.

Without thinking, and most importantly, without asking first, like he should, Eggsy sits down, looks up at Harry while the other fetches a drinkable bottle of wine and two glasses. He tries to commit every detail to memory, the way Harry moves, the sight of him without a tie and the top button of his shirt undone, the curl that falls into his face.

"Can you- like, will you just sit down?", Eggsy asks when the other won't stop fussing. He's got this whole little speech prepared in his head, but he can't start when Harry isn't sitting down, isn't listening. Because even if he has gone through it over and over again, Eggsy still isn't sure if he'll be able to do it more than once.

"Back there, in Aarhus, I almost got us both killed. You know it, I know it too. An' if I 'ad paid more attention, I could've prevented that, but I didn't and-"
Harry looks like he wants to speak, lips parted and body leaning towards Eggsy, who can't have him say a word, who can't stop speaking now.
"-no, jus' let me finish, kay? Just this. So, I could've prevented it, but I didn't 'cause I was too fuckin' distracted. By you. By worrying that you're gonna be shot again. It's… I love you. I've loved you for a long time an' I'm not sayin' that 'cause I think you'll say it back or anythin', it's just that you're me boss and I can't work with ya anymore, not without this 'appening again, and I didn't want ya to think that that was 'cause I'm mad at ya or anythin'. 's the opposite. So yeah. I'm sorry."

It doesn't sound as good as it did in his head, and yet Eggsy feels like he's light as air for a second, as if those words, kept in his mind and on his tongue, were weighing him down; Eggsy is floating because there is silence and he has said what he had to say. Right now, it's all in Harry's hands, how he'll act and what he'll say. It's a relief far more intense than Eggsy would ever have imagined.

The silence stretches on, but it's less tormenting than Eggsy would have thought; Harry is still looking at him, long fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass.
"Thank you for telling me", he says in the end, slowly, as if he was considering and reconsidering every word. It makes Eggsy laugh, but then again, maybe everything would, because he still feels light, still as if he was floating.
"That's it?", he asks, and Harry, God bless him, Harry smiles, and all of a sudden, Eggsy knows that this is going to be alright. That they will be alright.

It brings him back to Earth, grounds him, but it's worth it.
"Well, what would you like to hear instead?", Harry asks, raises his eyebrow and leans back; it's only because Eggsy knows how to read the other by now that he can see that Harry is still unsettled by his confession. But that's alright, that's expected, even if it might be the one thing that makes Eggsy forget about watching his mouth.
And so he answers, "Well, how about you confess ya undyin' love for me?"

The world grinds to a halt around Eggsy, but Harry seems unmoved, unchanged, just looks at him, unimpressed.
"Maybe another day, Eggsy", he answers, and yes, they'll be okay.