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Their training had almost come to an end, and finally, finally Charlie decided to make a move.
On one Eggsy Unwin.
Why not? He wouldn't have found a better time. After weeks and weeks of different tests that ranks from creative to unorthodox to down right unhuman, most of the candidates had been kicked out of the big house with bruised arse and sent on their merry way back home. There were only three of them left—three of the best, if Charlie might add—him, Eggsy, and that sly little chick, Roxanne.
Admittedly, Charlie had his fair share of doubt on that girl at first. She and Eggsy seemed pretty tight, standing together shoulder to shoulder and whispering into each other’s ears all the time. Eggsy bounced up like a spring popped out of old mattress every time anyone dared to so much as pull a single hair from her ridiculously tight ponytail, and Roxanne almost kicked the living shite out of Charlie in a hand-to-hand combat training after the day he dumped that bucket of cold water into Eggsy’s face. When they talked, they leaned way too far towards each other, ignoring personal spaces like nobody’s business. And Charlie honestly couldn’t fathom what the girl said could be oh-so-hilarious, funny enough to make Eggsy giggle in hysteria like a frigging high school cheerleader. Those soft giggles insinuated their way into Charlie’s brain from across the room, which didn’t bother him at all. Not one bit.
Luckily, perceptive as he was, it didn’t take long for Charlie to realize there was absolutely nothing going on between those two. Nothing more than a stone-solid, morbid, twisted, dedicated, lasting-to-the-end-of-world friendship, at least. Anyone who looked closely could tell they were not into each other. Charlie doubted it was because Eggsy had a certain body part down his trousers that Roxanne would rather not see on her partner, but whatever, he didn’t give a shit about what sailed that girl’s boat. The point was, Eggsy was not in a relationship with her. Or with anyone. The latter was only a theory, of course, but a pretty convincing one if Charlie’s observation was to be trusted. Yes, yes, he had been watching. But let’s be honest, WHO HADN’T?
Anyway, no time like now. With the test coming close to an end, the number of candidates shrank to the point where it'd be ridiculous for them to keep staying in a large dormitory designed for 12. As a show of appreciation, Kingsman decided to give each one of them a single room until the day they took their final test, which was just perfect, because there was no way Charlie’s gonna do this ask-the-boy-I-pretend-to-hate-out thing with Roxanne shooting death glares into his back from afar.
So here Charlie is. Standing in front of the door of Eggsy’s new room, hair slicking back without missing a single bit, wearing the best dark-grey pinstripe wool suit he could excavate out of the extremely undersized suitcase he’s allowed to bring to HQ. He put on just the right amount of cologne that’s neither too much to be outright flirtatious nor too little to be overlooked. He didn’t bring flowers, because that would be stupid, and he highly doubted the one he’s trying to impress gives any shite about flowers anyway. Charlie had something much better than that; he had a PLAN. Which involved dinner, beer, gun, and maybe a tour to his house that’s so going to blow the other boy’s mind.
Charlie double-checked his suit, soothed down some invisible wrinkle on the front before lifted his hand. He knocked on the door with his knuckle, twice, all polite and courteous with perfectly-calculated strength, because Charlie was born in a gentleman house, raised as a gentleman boy, and destined to be a gentleman agent so if that’s what it takes to impress Eggsy Unwin, then a fucking gentleman he would be.
A few second’s silence, then there were footsteps. Something clicked softly on the other side before the door began to open.
Charlie put on his best fuck-with-me-would-you grin, leaning casually with one hand against the doorjamb, and the other one in his pocket. He didn’t want to appear rigid, or that he was making a fuss about all this. The worst scenario would be Eggsy telling him no fuck himself, and then Charlie would laugh right back into his face and tell him he just lost the only chance in his life to date a proper (and wealthy) gentleman, but let’s just hope that’s not going to be the case. Charlie didn’t come all the way here to be rejected. And believe it or not, he really wanted this to happen. It’s not about his pride—okay, maybe a little—but he NEEDED to take Eggsy Unwin out on a goddamn date.
The door opened enough for him to peep into the room, and Charlie stared slightly down to the place he knew those vibrant green-grey eyes would be, and smile expectantly—
To a very nude chest.
Charlie stared.
What.
The fuck.
His eyes moved up along that shirtless chest, up to a pair of broad shoulders, then to a clean-shaven jaw, and finally into a face that’s most certainly not Eggsy’s.
“Ah,” the tall stranger man opened his mouth, smiling down at him, “you must be Charlie Hesketh.”
A strangled, owl-like shriek squished out of Charlie’s throat. “And who the fuck are YOU???”
The man raised an eyebrow, like he didn’t expect Charlie to be desperate enough to resort to f-word upon seeing a nude bloke answering his supposed-to-be-date-if-all-goes-well’s door. “No need to be alarmed,” he answered smoothly, and thank god, the man was wearing a pair of dress trousers, “I understand you must be surprised to see me.”
“Surprised to—” Charlie stammered, “what the fuck are you doing here!”
“To see Eggsy,” replied the man calmly, giving Charlie a thorough once-over which was unnaturally unnerving for a bloke in his birth suit, “so do you, I reckon.”
“I—who the fuck are you?”
The man leaned against the doorframe, mimicking Charlie’s posture. “This is definitely not the way I’d like to meet you, and technically, I’m not supposed to. But,” he shrugged gracefully, “accidents happen.” he reached out his right hand in front of Charlie, all suave and business-like, confident to a point that Charlie took his hand out of instinct.
They shook hands.
“I’m Harry Hart,” the man introduced himself, a knowing smile on his face, like he was the one who’s fully dressed and Charlie was one who wore nothing but humiliation, “is the name familiar to you?”
Charlie stared. “NO?”
“Very well,” man-with-unfamiliar-name tilted his head, “Then you might know my other name. I’m Galahad, Eggsy’s nominator. I hope Arthur had at least mentioned this title to you, or this is going to be a really embarrassing conversation.”
“GALAHAD,” Charlie repeated, blinking, feeling like his eyeballs would pop out of his skull if he stared any harder.
“I take that you did hear the name before,” the man—Galahad—let out a breath in relief, “good. Now, may I ask what do you seek Eggsy for? Something tell me you didn’t come all the way here to talk about training.”
“I,” Charlie replied eloquently.
Galahad’s lips curled up. “Don’t worry,” he winked at Charlie, “neither did I.”
Charlie's jaw dropped. Now that he calmed down enough to logically process the situation, he noticed the thin sweat spreading over the other man’s well-muscled arm, bite marks reddening on the juncture between one side of his neck and shoulder blade, or the way the older man seemed slightly out-of-breath, and his trousers—oh, fuck. Charlie’s hand had slipped down from the doorframe at some point during their conversation, and right now he was beyond grateful that he decided to ditch those flowers at the last second.
“I,” Charlie began, “I thought—well, I supposed that—”
“I understand,” Galahad nodded at him sympathetically, “and if it makes you feel better, this is not the most embarrassing scenario I’ve ever walked into. It probably doesn't even rank into the top ten. ”
It did not. Make him feel any better.
"'Arry,” someone called behind Galahad's back from somewhere in the room, voice blurry and distant, soft accent full-on, which immediately did something funny to Charlie's stomach, “wha’ ye doin’ there?”
“A moment!” The older man didn’t look away from Charlie, just raised his voice, “I’ll be right back.”
Charlie swallowed. “Don’t tell him!” he whispered frantically, trying to make it as loud as a whisper could go.
Galahad nodded solemnly. “I won’t. I have no intention to make this any more awkward than it already is. By the way, congratulations for making it to the final three, you did well in the training.”
“Thank you, sir,” Charlie answered automatically.
“Now, as much as I’d love to have this lovely chat continue on, Charlie, I’m afraid I also have to acknowledge the inappropriateness of this timing.” Suggested the man, sounding genuinely regretful, “It would be better if we both agree to postpone this conversation until a more…convenient time comes up.”
“Okay,” Charlie mumbled numbly, bowing his head, “I'll...I should...I’d better go.” He began to retreat, but the older man stopped him with a thoughtful expression.
“Oh and, Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“Nice suit,” Galahad smiled at him, “but next time, try another cologne. Eggsy doesn’t fancy rosemary that much.” He gave him a gentle nod, “Now, if you could excuse me.”
Galahad stepped back and closed the door, but not fast enough for Charlie to look away. He caught a glimpse of Eggsy through the closing door; the young man was half-nude just like his nominator, wearing nothing but a white dress shirt which is too large and too posh to be his own, skin flushing a lovely shade of pink and hair disheveled into all kinds of direction.
The door closed with a soft click.
He was so fucked.
Charlie wanted to go home.
************
END.