#roxy tbt

❝ can i take you to my therapist ?? because he thinks i’m making you up. ❞

❝ bury it deep inside you and just cry in the shower like a normal person. ❞

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.