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In this moment of hot and seething horror, Harry fought his instinct to cringe.
There were many routes to take for proper blame. Merlin who harassed him into this cavernous cave of idiocy. His car being in the shop and forcing him to take the tube to work for the past week. Himself for lacking a stronger will and being ignorant of his new mobile.
In the end he chose Merlin for the sake of his fleeting dignity.
In the back of his mind he always had the vague suspicion he would murder Merlin one day. Not knowing why or precisely how, but the knowledge had been simmering for quite awhile and he knew without a doubt he would be the one to escort him to the veil of death.
Here in the tube, Harry finally discovered the reason for the loaded gun. Figurative or not. That was still to be decided, preferably later on once Harry was able to dwell and plan properly.
It would not be a passionate killing. It would be cold and planned out, no clues or DNA to be left behind and give him away. He’d have an alibi no one would dispute and a few attorneys lined up as a precaution. A perfect crime, surely. His life will be so much simpler in the post-Merlin world.
Well, he thought as time seemed to slow, fuck.
The flash had gone off. A blinding white light invading and washing out the carriage left Harry stunned. His thumb was still on the small button on his phone, the flash having left him without the ability for motion.
His life passed before his eyes.
He was a small boy sitting in the garden of his parent's holiday home in Spain, letting a caterpillar crawl up his bare arm while his older sister looked on in disgust and threatened to tell their mother.
He was at university, being pushed against the blackboard in a long deserted lecture hall by his English Literature professor insistent on getting both their trousers open as quickly as possible.
He was in the desert, sand caked into his hair with dry, cracked fingers wrapped around the trigger of his gun as the jeep to his left exploded.
He was at his father's funeral with his hand on his mother's shoulder and vaguely concerned about why he wasn't feeling any urge to cry and was in fact more preoccupied by wondering what will be served at the wake afterwards.
He was being interviewed by Chester King for a low level job at Kingsman Enterprise, shaking his hand and thinking of all the prospects ahead of him.
He was on the tube sitting on the uncomfortable seating and reading Merlin's latest text message, ‘if you're going to be late again I want to see who's distracting you.’
The who in question being a man half his age who Harry saw everyday for the past week on his morning commute and who he may be overly infatuated with considering they have yet to even make eye contact.
The man who was looking at him.
It had been fine until Harry had folded and taken the picture with a mobile he hadn’t familiarized himself with. All this because Merlin was curious and persistent in the idea that Harry was yearning over some random man who happened to have a similar schedule causing his quality of work to degrade.
It was destiny. He was going to kill Merlin.
The man stood and Harry did as well.
The man walked towards him, Harry stiffened, unsure if he should prepare for a fight or if he should somehow flee from the moving train. If it would be at all possible to pry the doors open with his bare fingers or break one of the many windows and leap out. Surely he could survive jumping into the tunnels from a train moving 33km/h. It would be no hardship.
Though of the two, a fight would be preferable. If only to have the man sweating and face flushed with exertion, muscles flexing in a herculean manner underneath his track suit as he aimed a punch at Harry’s much deserved face.
An entirely inappropriate warmth spread through him at the prospect of being manhandled to the ground.
His personal space, a bubble in which he took great care to keep intact and void of anyone spare a few very particular individuals, was invaded and the man who he desperately wanted to know the name of was looking up at him, mouth in a thin line and assessing Harry.
It was the sort of calculated look of a man flipping through the pages of Harry's person and not finding it all that agreeable. Harry tried to tamper his disappointment.
He prepared an apology in his head, one that would last until the next stop where he would promptly vacate the tube and find other options for his commute.
He would treasure the lone picture he took.
The man, who was less than half a foot from Harry and looked even more handsome than he'd thought, held out his hand and despite decades of not giving his own possessions to strange men, Harry watched, surprised by himself, as he gave his phone to him without a second of thought.
He has a nice smile, was all Harry was capable of thinking at the moment. Decades of being a functioning human failing him.
"This--“ The man pointed to the photograph on the phone--the phone he will be tossing either into the river or throwing at the back of Merlin's head--and frowned. “--is a shit photo. Lightings all wrong. I got bags under my eyes and I know I don't got any fucking bags, yeah?” He fluttered his eyelashes and Harry wondered if perhaps he'd died in his sleep and this person in front of him was actually some sort of heavenly being.
He hoped so.
"No, you have a very well rested face." Harry attempted to untwist his tongue and resurrect the once suave man he'd been merely a moment ago before this fiasco. "Pleasant, even."
"Pleasant?" His eyebrow arched. Sharp and not a single small hair out of place. Harry found himself being wooed by the simple motion. "You can't find another word? Pretty? Hot as all fuck? Love, you don't take a picture of someone who's 'pleasant' looking."
Harry filed away the shape of the man’s lips as he said ‘love’ for later use.
"Handsome?"
"Just handsome?" He snorted. "Come on, try a little harder."
“Beautiful?”
He didn't look impressed and frankly Harry wasn't either. “You’re a classy looking bloke, you can come up with something a little better.”
“You have quite a lot of faith in my abilities. You don’t even know my name.”
“I know your suit ain’t off the rack. I know you was probably in the military. And I can see my face in your shoes. You're posh, bruv. And posh blokes know how to talk.” He shrugged. “It’s either this or I punch your face in. And you got a smart looking face, rather not break it.”
He winked. Harry barely managed to contain himself.
Harry did smile, though. He was charmed. Absolutely charmed down to the tips of his Oxfords.
“I’ll endeavor to impress.” Leaning in closer he let himself melt only just a little at the scent of the young man. He spoke quietly into his ear. “You’re positively devastating.”
The man pulled back a ways, still thoroughly inside Harry’s personal space, no longer an invasion of it though and grinned, bright and framed by two dimples. “Knew you could do it.”
“I don’t hand out compliments lightly.”
“You keep talking like that and I might just forget you were creeping on me.”
“Is my intent so clear?”
He looked Harry up and down. “Were you trying to pass, bruv?”
“Cheeky.”
“Never in my life. I’m polite and well mannered. Can even curtsy like a proper gent and everything.”
“I feel I should apologize.” Harry repositioned his glasses. “I’ve been rude.”
The man leaned in closer. Harry could smell mint on his breath.
“For the picture or for saying I got a ‘well rested face’?”
“Both, if you’ll accept.”
This made the man smile brightly and Harry wondered how he’ll ever get to work now that he knew those twin dimples existed in the world.
"This is your stop, yeah?"
"Have you been watching me?" He quirked an eyebrow at that. Harry had some decency left in his body to feel embarrassed. The idea that the man had been watching him as well lit a spark. "Right. It is. Yes, this is my stop."
"You're fucking weird, you know that?"
"Can I have your name?" Harry swallowed, sad his time with the man was ending so soon. The familiar sharp rattle of the tube told him it would be only moments before the doors opened and their confrontation turned conversation would be ending.
The man grinned, sharp and so full of youth Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd grown a decade younger. "How about something a bit more fun?"
"Fun?"
"Ever heard of it?"
"You're disturbed."
"You know just what to say to make a bloke all hot." He hummed, leaning well into his space. He kissed Harry. His lips soft and hands grasping at the lapels of Harry's jacket holding him close until he could feel the hard lines of his body.
Harry made noises which certainly didn't belong to the ears of the public. He placed his hands on the cut of the man's jaw, feeling his harsh heartbeat. This was not how he'd planned to start his day. Though he liked the idea of this becoming routine.
The man bit his bottom lip, pulling it with his teeth, and Harry felt his life suddenly become whole.
A bright flash went off to his right. He pulled back, saw his phone and the man grinning, looking down at the screen.
His lips were red. Harry felt dehydrated.
"Now this is a much better picture. You can frame this shit right here."
The doors opened, the train having stopped without his notice.
Harry had never had the chance to be romantic or had much of an inclination, but he found himself wishing for a bouquet or perhaps a ring. Violins playing softly in the distance with dim lighting. They'd already kissed and he didn't even know the man's name or anything about him, really. It wouldn't be too far fetched to propose marriage.
They could honeymoon in France, a small little villa with no neighbors and even less clothing. Drink Château Haut-Brion that he’d been saving for a special occasion from his navel.
The man pushed Harry's phone into his breast pocket, hands smoothing down his chest and then his stomach, pausing lewdly to trace his belt.
“It’s your stop.” He said. He was pushing softly on Harry’s chest, walking him backwards out of the tube. Harry was too lightheaded to do anything but follow.
“What’s your name?”
He shook his head. “You gonna be here tomorrow, right?”
Harry nodded.
“Then tomorrow.”
“I’m a very impatient man.”
“I suggest you knock off early then.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”
He laughed. “It’s like Christmas Eve. Tomorrow you can unwrap your present and play with it however you’d like.”
“Oh.” Oh. Harry’s collar grew hot. He resisted loosening his tie.
The man’s hands left Harry, leaving two sad and lonely hand-sized spots in their wake. He waved at Harry as the doors slid shut, separating them for good.
Harry reached for his mobile, forgetting that it was in his breast pocket and noticed a considerable absence.
His wallpaper had changed. Underneath the time, there he was getting devoured. He quickly called Merlin.
He picked up before the first ring had ended.
“You’re fired.” Harry said. He walked out of the underground towards work.
“Did you manage to get a picture? I haven’t received anything yet.” Papers were shuffled, causing Harry to pull away from his phone. “And no firing anyone. You aren’t allowed.”
“You’re my secretary--“
“--assistant.”
Harry counted to ten. Licked at his swollen lips. He could still taste mint. “The little shit stole my wallet, Merlin.”
“Knowing you, I suppose I should reserve a church for the wedding then?”