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Charlie Hesketh first discovered he was a disappointment at dinner at age six. His mother had been asking him if there were any cute girls in his class, teasing and shooting amused glances at his father.
It didn’t seem like much of anything when he mentioned that no, no cute girls, but Jameson Charmant had a pretty smile and they might get married at recess next week, and, oh, by the way, Jameson was going to be the wife because Charlie didn’t think he would be very good at cooking as he never saw either of his parents cook so he didn’t really have any practice, Jameson said he could make pancakes so once they were married they could just have those, and maybe his parents could come to the wedding—he remembers cutting off abruptly when he notices how his mothers smile has gone tight. His father isn’t smiling at all anymore.
He’s tentative when he mentions, well, there is one girl. Her name is Penny and she has nice hair. Maybe he can marry her instead? He’s afraid of hurting Jameson’s feelings but he doesn’t mention that. His mother says she’s sure Penny can make wonderful pancakes. Her smile remains tight for the rest of the meal. His father doesn’t smile at him again for at least a week.
Charlie is fifteen and having daily—private—panic attacks. It isn’t that the coursework is too hard, he is absolutely positive he could figure out trigonometry and remember what war occurred in what year, it’s a matter of time. Between clubs, and training, and maintaining a respectable social life, time is limited. He hasn’t told his parents. His mother would suggest a psychiatrist; probably get him something to ease the pressure in his chest. His father would go along with it for her but he wouldn’t approve. Men don’t have panic attacks. Men don’t think of reasons to avoid their friends so they can try to cram in one more night of studying maths before the exam. Men of his family in particular are effortlessly superior to their peers. He still hasn’t been forgiven for his slip up at six, probably never will be, and he refuses to become anymore of a failure in his father’s eyes. So if every now and then—it’s happening more often but he doesn’t like to think about that—he needs to lock himself in his dorm and press his face into his knees as he tries to breathe through the sobs and panic, he makes sure that when he picks himself up his grin is twice as cocky. Makes sure his clothes are impeccable and smiles, confidently and arrogantly, at the pretty girls he passes in town. An apology to his father of sorts.
He smiles at girls but he still thinks about boys. Hasn’t grown out of that childish infatuation with Jameson Charmant except now it isn’t just Jameson, it’s much worse. It’s noticing the boy down the hall has a nice smile that shows just the perfect amount of teeth. It’s noticing the way the corners of his French tutor’s eyes crinkle as he speaks, it’s noticing the way some boys in his year fill out their school-assigned khakis. But that’s okay too. It’s nothing anyone needs to know. It just means that when he palms himself in the shower fast and quick he needs to bite his lip a little harder when he almost chokes out the name of the boy next door.
Charlie is sixteen when he finally works up the nerve to kiss a boy. Or maybe ‘be kissed by a boy’ is a more accurate representation of the situation. A party at his friends and, yeah, he’d noticed the boy checking him when he got there. That was nothing new. He knew he was attractive, had enough people draping themselves over him for that to be painfully obvious, but it wasn’t often he indulged them. But this boy had been persistent, and five tequila shots later it seemed completely reasonable to let the boy press him against the wall of the bathroom. It wasn’t until hands started reaching below his waist line that he got enough sense to push the other off. He left the bathroom in a rush and if anyone brought it up he’d just tell them that the queer had jumped him. No need to panic. No need for anyone to find out.
Charlie is twenty-four when he meets Eggsy fucking Unwin and realized how utterly fucked he is. He should just ignore him; it’ll probably be safer in the long run. Except he hasn’t ignored anyone else, he’s sized everyone else up. He can throw out bullshit about how this kid can’t be as good as the rest of them—it’s genetics¬ really—but saying it doesn’t change the fact that he knows Eggsy was chosen for a reason just like the rest of them. Knows that ignoring him is the same as underestimating him and the second he does that he’ll be back home having dinner with his mother and father, trying to feel like less of a fucking disappointment. So he shoves a little harder against Eggsy than the rest, makes him really hate him, because if Eggsy Unwin can’t stand to be around him it dashes any hopes he may have rather nicely. His father would want him to nip these things in the bud after all.
Charlie is twenty-four and he jumps out of a plane as part of a job interview. Despite the level of discretion the Kingsman is meant to operate at, he thinks it’s curious that all of them with the exception of Eggsy have done this before. Thinks it’s curious that his father used to insist on him going through basic weapon training despite the fact that those skills reasonably should never have been put to use. Thinks it’s curious that he’s been able to identify a body bag since he was twelve. And really he knows it isn’t curious at all. The elite are the elite for a reason after all.
Charlie is twenty-four when he is given a picture of a beautiful girl he will need to get to know in the biblical sense. It’s not a problem. Nothing he hasn’t done before. Having something to prove has helped him refine this particular part of his social skills to an art. He isn’t at all surprised by Eggsy’s enthusiasm, Roxy’s however…well that does come as a bit of a surprise. What were they playing at? He glanced at Merlin’s face, weren’t there rules about this kind of thing? Polite society and all that? But Merlin just looks amused and Roxy looks pleased and for one irrational moment he is exceedingly jealous of her.
Charlie is twenty-four when he fails his Kingsman training. When he can’t bring himself to value some bullshit secret organization more than his life. He screams that his father will be informed, and he will be, but he doubts it’ll work as much in his favor as he pretends it will.
Charlie is twenty-four when he returns home to his mother and his father and dinner. He notices the tightness of his mothers smile as she hugs him. Notices that his father isn’t smiling at all. In some hysterical corner of his mind he thinks that’ll probably take at least another week.