It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough of an explanation. He wanted to reach out and shake the man, demand to know if he knew what Eggsy had been through, how he justified himself with such a pitiful excuse, with such weak works. But the logical part of him, the part of him trained by the Kingsman (by Harry) to think beyond his emotions, told him he didn't know how he had gotten here either. He had woken up in a strangle place and a strange room with only his suit and umbrella for comfort. And now here was Harry, telling him the same.

It wasn't nearly enough.

But it would have to be.

The part of him that was still just a young man finding his way in the world won out, his umbrella clattering as he stood and spun around the infinite space of the booths between them. His arms wrapped around Harry, his face pressing against his shoulder, glasses pushing up awkwardly, but it was probably for the best as the tears burned hot down his cheeks. His shoulders shook, keeping enough of his training to at least cry quietly, but whatever control he had was rapidly slipping as he felt the solid form of the other in his arms. Felt his warmth against the side of his face, smelled his cologne.

"You bastard," he murmured, trying to keep his tough persona even though he knew it was utterly ruined as he wept against Harry's shoulder.