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He had twenty-four hours to spend with his mentor before the final Kingsman test.
Harry Hart had taken the time that evening in his apartment to guiding Eggsy through the sampling of what was the glorious life of Galahad: tales of seduction, lethal combat, dapper Armani and Burberry clothing, and endless helpings of alcohol, courtesy of the organization. Harry usually was the quiet, curt type, simply and softly spoken when need be with a witty comment dryly attached to his dialogue, but Eggsy just had the natural talent of, say, egging him on to tell more about the adventures of a secret agent. It was a curious aura, a knack for almost appearing clueless but yearning to learn more, to which Hart obliged without a second thought.
Harry even indulged him on the ways to construct a martini. Several drinks of that, and whiskey, wine, and champagne, and the world eventually went fuzzy for Eggsy.
The aspiring Kingsman awoke several hours later on the living room couch from a searing, nauseating pain in his temples. Virescent eyes slowly pried themselves open only to see the violets of the sunrise crawling from underneath the curtained windows of the complex. Two blinks of his eyelids, and he started to slowly remember what happened and where he was.
He wasn’t at his old home, with the fear of domestic violence and a murdered mother and baby sister knocking on his conscious.
He was here, in his mentor’s home. A Kingsman’s home.
His new, warmer home, the home he felt proud to have the right to visit, to even breathe in—with his awe-inspiring mentor, Harry Hart, the one who had changed him and his life for the better.
Eggsy’s vision traveled around the room, becoming more aware of his surroundings. He noticed a fluffed, gray duvet was draped over his body, probably thanks to Harry after he passed out. Rolling out from the sofa, he stumbled to his feet and stretched his arms towards the ceiling. He glanced at the redwood table in front of him, noticing the litter of bottles of various alcohol types strewn about on the furniture and the carpets.
“Damn”, he thought out loud, feeling a pang of guilt with a mix of pride. Eventually, a proud smirk blossomed on his face. “…What a night! Better clean this up, or else Harry will have my…”
Before he even attended to the mess, he heard a shift in fabric to his left, causing the blonde to jump. His senses were still adjusting to the room, forgetting to survey the entire area. His eyes traveled towards the source of the noise and, to his surprise, found Harry sleeping soundly in a plaid armoire chair.
Eggsy snorted.
Harry didn’t look like Eggsy’s Harry, the Harry that had his back straight, tie fastened, hair polished, collar flattened underneath handsomely fitted ebony brand suits. No, the resting Kingsman had his glasses slightly tilted, hair stands out of place from their usual sculpted hair, striped tie undone and his suit and ivory shirt unbuttoned halfway, showing some of his collarbone.
In other words, a rare sight to see for Eggsy, his student.
Silently, he took this opportunity to approach to kneel before the older man, examining his facial features.
The young man could hear his mentor softly breathing through his parched lips. Harry always looked so serious and suspicious with brows furrowed and eyes sharp, as a spy of a highly secure agency should be, but here, he looked… calm, relaxed, and normal. Human.
Eggsy unconsciously smiled, and reached to push the brownish-grayish strands from Harry’s face, but stopped himself, flustered by his own actions. He realized he should just appreciate the comfort level Harry had indirectly granted him, allowing himself to be vulnerable around an unofficial Kingsman, and a former deadbeat.
But, very soon, he would be more than that, thanks to Harry.
“Thank you, Harry,” he found himself saying, uncharacteristically. But he meant it. “Thanks… for everything.”
Glancing at the wristwatch on Harry’s hand, he saw the time read six thirty-five—much too early to be functioning for his day off.
He quietly snuck back to the sofa he awoke from and snuggled back into the sheets, not noticing the smile that grew from Harry’s lips.