[sometimes harry wonders about the "what-ifs" that surround them. if he hadn't gotten shot in the head, the storm hadn't happened, and the two of them were both carrying on at kingsman...would he have moments like these? or would he have maintained his professional distance, stilted englishman that he is, and just provided eggsy with a few pointers here or there?
living together has changed his definition of things in some way--it's far more intimate than he suspects he'd have allowed himself to become. like now for example--he can't really bring himself to care whether or not he would have or could have done something like give eggsy a proper hug on a fucking holiday morning.
it's lovely, that's all that matters. his hand splays across eggsy's back, stroking up and down once before he finally deigns it appropriate to pull away. but he's got the excuse of needing to tend to the oven too, and that's just as well because no they haven't ever really discussed the kiss or any other tokens of affection.
do they need to?
he gestures to the table with a small smile.]
Sit down, I made us breakfast before everyone else drops by. Your favourite, if I recall?
[ by the time harry needs to check the food, eggsy pulls away content that his gratitude has been conveyed. well, at least as much as it can be when he owes harry so much. he cards a hand through his unstyled hair, further dishevelling it. beyond throwing on clothes, he made little effort to be presentable or even properly awake. it’s christmas, after all.
with that, he does as he’s told, settling in at the table. ]
[ through a yawn — ] You know I’ll eat anything.
[ he absolutely would and does, even the weird shit in the olympian food stalls that he’s pretty sure came from a fantasy animal. buuut he’s partial to a traditional english breakfast, in which he tolerates the eggs sunny side up (for protein). ]
[harry supposes he could have foregone the pressed trousers and button-down, though he has skipped out on the blazer and gun holsters. it's not exactly his red robe but it is dressed down to a degree for him. still, christmas would have been a good excuse and it's absolutely why he's overlooking eggsy's dishevelment right now. he's even refrained from bringing up the eyesore at the gala or the sweater he's wearing right now, content instead to just make this as best a morning as he can.
and he's especially determined not to let his guilt get in the way of trying to make this a better christmas than eggsy has had in previous years. it's the least he can do.
he plates up two dishes, packed as if each is meant to serve at least two other people. it's christmas will just have to be his mantra for everything today.]
Here we are.
[he hangs up his apron and sits down across from eggsy, unfolding a napkin in his lap.]
By the way, excellent choice. I'll be wearing it the first opportunity I can.
[ well, if eggsy’s gaze lingers on a dressed down harry hart, he would argue it’s a natural reaction to the shift in style. it doesn’t make eggsy feel underdressed, mind you — eggsy knows where he stands within the comfort of their shared home (and who he is, underneath all the finery he wears for work or the loud distractions he trots out at formal affairs).
‘course he’d by lying if he said that harry’s approval didn’t mean a great deal to him. here, he mimics his mentor’s actions: a napkin neatly placed on his lap and careful use of his cutlery. ]
Thanks. [ for breakfast this time. at that mention of his gift, he perks up, chin tipping toward harry instinctively. ] Yeah? [ he tries to busy himself poking at his food, but his mouth curves into an obviously pleased smile. ] I thought it seemed nice — like something you didn’t already have, y’know?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zero regrets tbh
living together has changed his definition of things in some way--it's far more intimate than he suspects he'd have allowed himself to become. like now for example--he can't really bring himself to care whether or not he would have or could have done something like give eggsy a proper hug on a fucking holiday morning.
it's lovely, that's all that matters. his hand splays across eggsy's back, stroking up and down once before he finally deigns it appropriate to pull away. but he's got the excuse of needing to tend to the oven too, and that's just as well because no they haven't ever really discussed the kiss or any other tokens of affection.
do they need to?
he gestures to the table with a small smile.]
Sit down, I made us breakfast before everyone else drops by. Your favourite, if I recall?
no subject
with that, he does as he’s told, settling in at the table. ]
[ through a yawn — ] You know I’ll eat anything.
[ he absolutely would and does, even the weird shit in the olympian food stalls that he’s pretty sure came from a fantasy animal. buuut he’s partial to a traditional english breakfast, in which he tolerates the eggs sunny side up (for protein). ]
no subject
and he's especially determined not to let his guilt get in the way of trying to make this a better christmas than eggsy has had in previous years. it's the least he can do.
he plates up two dishes, packed as if each is meant to serve at least two other people. it's christmas will just have to be his mantra for everything today.]
Here we are.
[he hangs up his apron and sits down across from eggsy, unfolding a napkin in his lap.]
By the way, excellent choice. I'll be wearing it the first opportunity I can.
[eggsy's gift, he means.]
no subject
‘course he’d by lying if he said that harry’s approval didn’t mean a great deal to him. here, he mimics his mentor’s actions: a napkin neatly placed on his lap and careful use of his cutlery. ]
Thanks. [ for breakfast this time. at that mention of his gift, he perks up, chin tipping toward harry instinctively. ] Yeah? [ he tries to busy himself poking at his food, but his mouth curves into an obviously pleased smile. ] I thought it seemed nice — like something you didn’t already have, y’know?
[ shopping for harry wasn’t easy, in truth. ]