Chapter Text
Gary--Eggsy Unwin, was too young when it happened to remember much about the encounter, which is something of a disappointment later when all of his mates slowly start to find theirs and share their stories about meeting their soulmate and the first time that they could see the world in living color. For Eggsy though it's as though it's always been this way.
He remembers a deep, rather sad but tender-looking pair of brown eyes meeting his, and wonders if the imprint of this memory is why brown is his favorite color, because why the fuck else would anybody choose brown once the whole world of colors opened up to them, but he can't even be entirely sure the whole thing isn't just a dream he concocted to fill in the obvious gap in his childhood memories.
Later he remembers a man's voice that seemed to make his whole body warm and tingle in a new and unfamiliar way, and that-and his mum's shite new boyfriend Dean is enough to scare him into silence about any possibilities of his soulmate for some time. His best mates know enough to know he met his soulmate as a boy and can't remember him, but Eggsy doesn't talk about it and they have since learned better than to ask.
Eggsy still sees color, so whoever he is, he's alive and well somewhere out there in the world. But a bloke with brown eyes is admittedly fuck all to go on. Hell, Dean and half his crew have brown eyes, and if that isn't enough to make Eggsy's whole body shudder-in a completely undesirable way, mind- and want to forget the whole soulmates thing...
Sometimes though, when he's alone, he allows himself to wonder about him, the sort of person that his soulmate might be, what he might be doing, the things and people in his life that are special and important to him... Did he know when it happened? Maybe he'd been caught unawares too, too young to understand or remember when they had met. Would they ever meet again? Would they recognize each other if they did?
Eggsy likes to think they would somehow. That the universe, or fate can't be that much of a vindictive asshole--at least not about something as important as the other half of your soul--although everything in his life experience so far should tell him otherwise. He likes to think that maybe sometimes his soulmate wonders about him too. At least if his soulmate is likewise in the dark he doesn't know what a fuck-up Eggsy actually is; his soulmate didn't meet him and decide, even that early on that he wasn't worth the trouble. Because Eggsy has always been the kind of person-the kind of soul- who would swallow his pride, give the shirt off his back, his very life for the people that he loves, but unfortunately for Eggsy he doesn't seem to inspire the same kind of devotion and unflinching loyalty. His own mother, though he knows she loves him, can't respect or stand up for herself not even for his or lovely Daisy's sake.
But then suddenly there's Harry. The enigma in a posh suit that don't have any business in a neighborhood like this, that somehow manages to spring him from jail after a positively bizarre phone call to that number on the back of the medallion he's had for years Michelle Unwin pointedly avoids looking at or talking about. And he's--well, kicking Dean's mates asses ain't he?
And maybe Harry's only handing them their asses because they interrupted his drink, or offended his delicate sensibilities by implying a guy like him would seek out a rent boy with Eggsy's ugly mug, but for just a moment he allows himself to believe that just maybe Harry's fighting because they impugned the younger man's honor as much as defending he his own.
And once he's indulged that idea, well the fleeting thought about just how hot under the collar the possibility gets him is impossible to push away. Fuck. And what the fuck, the tosser had just been lecturing him about his life choices and letting down a father he could scarcely remember, hadn't he? Fuck him. Oh god, he actually wanted to, Eggsy thought watching the sweeping, graceful and lethal power in his every movement.
"Shit," he whispered under his breath as the last goon fell to the floor and the older man made his way back to their table, calm as you please, and downed the rest of his pint.
Eggsy was still reeling, trying to pull himself back together, pull his eyes away from watching the bob of the other man's Adam's apple as he swallows the last of his beer, willing his traitorous erection to retreat when Harry was suddenly pointing his 'definitely-not-just-a-wristwatch' at him, causing him to do some furious stammering and maybe a hint of pleading between promises he wouldn't tell a soul. And somewhere in the midst of it, he realized he actually meant it.
Amusing as the thought of Harry cleaning up the floor with Dean himself might have been, he didn't want anyone else to have to deal with that twat, and especially-although he couldn't really have said why-Harry. Seeming to sense as much the older man backed off, thanked him, and then Harry Hart had left the building, the place where he had grasped Eggsy's shoulder still warm and tingling in his wake while he tried not to be too disappointed about the man's sudden exit.
Maybe, Eggsy thought fleetingly after he'd made it back to the flat, while Dean ignored his mother's shouts and protests grabbing the nearby cleaver from the countertop gesturing towards his neck, he should have let Harry take care of Dean after all. But then suddenly, beyond all imagining he was. Harry's voice filled the room of the small flat's kitchen in the nick of time like some kind of guardian angel.
Eggsy didn't even have the time to marvel at just how that was possible, to contemplate the warm twitchy feeling in the pit of his stomach hearing the man's voice again, to know that this time he was absolutely sticking up for him, before he was racing out the door and beating a hasty retreat to the shop Harry talked about.
"I've never met a tailor before," he says as he enters the shop, spotting Harry on a nearby couch. "But I know you ain't one."