#desiredisarray

i’m fairly good at cheating death, she says, and eggsy doesn’t cry. he doesn’t. there are tears in his eyes, threatening to drown him. to clog the back of his throat and wrap around him like a snake cutting off his oxygen supply, but he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t let up either, though. maybe because that will show how close he is to it. how close he was to losing everything; kingsman, harry, roxy, his family. he can’t quite believe that it’s starting to slot back together. that it is just buildings and traditions and bullshit that he doesn’t care about. he’s still with his family. he’s still okay. still breathing, fighting, earning another day in this shithole. he wants… he doesn’t know what he wants - but he can’t let go. not yet. any time in the immediate future would be too soon. far too soon.     “yeah,”     he murmurs after a while, and if there’s a lump in his throat still, then neither of them are going to talk about it because that’s how it is.     “seems that you fuckin’ are. jesus fuckin’ christ, rox. how the fuck did we end up like this?”     it’s easier to talk when they aren’t looking at each other. when he isn’t as vulnerable as he feels. raw and exposed to the nerve.

It was one of those times when Barry cursed his strong gut reactions to everything, that he had to open his goddamn mouth and let his exact feelings fall out so that when Sally reacted, as she always did, with her own – extremely strong – emotion, Barry was left confused in the wake of what the fuck was happening. If it was a conscious choice he'd made, y'know, to say something, he might have been given a fighting chance but as it was, she was pulling back like she'd been slapped, hands tightening in their grip on his arms, and all Barry could do was search her face for anything other than the abject betrayal currently sprawled across her features. Funny, how life was like that, that you could carry around a fucking secret as big as his entire past and career, and still not know how to filter your own emotions around the girl you loved. Was his luck too, that she would be touched off by it, after the experience she'd just had, and Barry really should have been putting his head through the metaphorical wall at his own stupidity.

“No, no, no,” he began, hand coming up to brush at her tear-tracked face, pushing back the fair hair stuck to her skin. “I wanna do this, I... fuck, I want it so bad. I want it, and I'm just worried that you don't, because we never actually, y'know... talked about any of this. Shit, are we even dating?” His gaze searched hers, figuring to hell with it, if they were gonna be laying here in each other's arms, may as well have some of it out.

“I think you're amazing, you're the most amazing person I've ever met and I just... wanna be with you, and I never thought – I didn't mean to do this, I swear.” The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, Barry had assumed she had it under control, what kind of misogynistic asshole did that. Apparently him, and he felt his gaze wither shut beneath her confusion, hand going, at last, to the place, the warm swell that was her belly pushing against the blouse she wore, something they'd hidden for weeks now, refused to acknowledge, but that he wanted to acknowledge it now. God, he wanted to acknowledge it, what they'd done.