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Just A Tailor >> Eggsy Unwin X Reader

Title: Just A Tailor

Paring: Eggsy Unwin X Reader

Warnings: none!

Spoilers: yes, for Kingsman: Secret Service. Major spoilers. 

Author's Note: A request from AO3. 

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Every day, you would slip the key in, and enter at five in the morning. The sun wouldn't have risen, but you; you would. It was like you weren't in tune with the way the earth worked, and yet, the world worked its way quietly, but surely, around you. If any of your childhood friends made contact or stumbled into you on the street, and found you to be a tailor ... or, 'tailor', they'd be surprised at how far you'd managed to come. Not that you'd had a tough life, or that you gave off the impression of someone who couldn't rise up the social scale. 

It was just that anyone with a brain could tell you were just a someone. 

A faceless person. The background character in a play, who most probably would die sometime within it. Just another shadow on the sidewalk, a little cog in the clock of the world.

Yet, here you were, working at a prestigious place which made things that you could never afford, even if you lived three lifetimes. The suits were perfectly made, and, if it weren't for the fact you worked alongside your mentor who did some of the work, you would be credited for their entire making. 

From five o'clock to eight, you finished the work that had not been completed, dusting the shelves, adjusting the displays, cutting the material for new suits ... the works. Your head would hardly be raised when a Kingsman would enter, as they would barely notice you were there. Even here, you were the lowest of the chain; it didn't really bother you, though. At least you got to work with super spies and a secret underground organisation, working as the front. It wasn't like you worked night shifts at a supermarket or something. 

At nine, the store would be open for business, the outside world awake and roaring with the people streaming every which-way to shop on the most prestigious street in England, or, better yet, at the best tailors in all of London. Men and their trophy wives would come for fittings, young children ogling through the window, the occasional nod your way of a Kingsman entering the back room. 

But instead of it being just like any day, it was this day you met someone you'd probably never get over. He was the kind of guy like that; had bright eyes behind the Kingsman glasses, wearing a simple, cheap store-bought suit that could have walked straight out from a low-end department store. But what caught you was the way he talked to you. Like you weren't a subhuman mess.

"I need a few repairs," he clears his throat, placing a bundle in a cotton bag onto the counter. "My combat suit took quite a beating."

You nod, taking the material out from the bag. In your hands, you feel the material you had sewn not too long ago, remembering every stitch in the fabric, knowing every weakness in the piece. Except - 

"I made this suit to withstand quite a beating," you retort, inspecting the holes. "Unfortunately, I remember that I didn't sew this portion," you wriggle your fingers through the bullet holes and other singed pieces. "I'll have a talk to my mentor about his work." you refold the suit, and look to the man in the eyes. "I could have this done in about a week ... what's the name it would be under, sir?"

The man blushes. It's a pale shade of red, one you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't been watching him, but it's there, and mottling his cheeks like he's a schoolboy. 

"I'm, er, Egg - Galahad," he stumbles over his words, and swallows.

You raise an eyebrow. "Egg Galahad?" you repeat.

He shakes his head, blush deepening. "Just Galahad. My name's Eggsy, but I don't know why I would give you that, this isn't like a normal tailor's. In fact, this is my first real time going here, that's why I'm nervous - not that I'm nervous all the time -," 

You wave Eggsy off. "Don't worry, I've had plenty of new Kingsman getting their suits fixed, I don't think any less of you, Galahad, sir." you nod, and write down in the book his code name, and beside it, you pencil in his real name. 

"Thank you," he grins, and just as he says that, his watch beeps. The familiar tone of a Kingsman being paged into business, to meeting. "I best be going, it was nice meeting you, er -,"

"__________," you blurt, beaming. "Take the side door, third from the left. It'll take you straight to the meeting room, you won't be late." 

Unlike with other suits, you found yourself dedicated to the repairing. There was something to it which made you want to complete it somehow better than the rest of your suits, to make it as the best suit that your fingers had constructed, well, re-constructed. Your mentor would leave you to lock up at five o'clock, alone with the store, empty of life. But your eyes would continue to be focused for hours to come, until it would be later than ten o'clock, and your hands could cramp, feet sore from peddling the machine, and you would rush home to crash for a few hours, only to return to the job.

It wasn't an obsession. It was dedication. 

The question you were constantly questioning, was how it managed to have so much wear and tear in its small time in the field. Eggsy, or, Galahad had only been an agent for three months, and from what records you could dig up with your clearance, they hadn't been quite the end-of-the-world combat missions like the Valentine catastrophe had been. 

Now, when the hours passed, and people came in, your mentor attended to them, the Kingsman who would barely ignore you, would watch you with inquisitive eyes and a frown at your oblivious nature to the world around you. The suit repairs were taking over your life. 

Usually, when repairs came through, they would take three weeks. But in your stupidity and dedication to a new person who hadn't treated you like a freak in a place where the perfect lived. Yet, like a mad person possessed, you managed your quest, and come a week later, it was neatly packaged and ready for pick up. 

The bell tinkled, bright and early, just on opening time, and the familiar blonde head poked through the entrance. 

"Hey there, is it..." his voice trails off, eyes bright and wide like a streetlight. There's something in Eggsy that attracts you, which brings an allure to his attractive exterior that good looks cannot bring alone. "You're a legend, thank you..."

He grins, and as you pass the parcel toward him across the counter. "You flatter me, Eggsy. I'm just a tailor." 

But he shakes his head, hands on the neatly folded suit within the brown paper wrapping. "You're not just a tailor, another person working like any other ... I - I like you, ________. I know this is a a bit forward an' all, but would you like to go out for drinks, say, five thirty tonight?" He puts out there, proposition hanging in the air between the pair of you.

You nod, a smile growing. "I would love to."