[ Even before Eggsy looks to the source of the music, he realises he shouldn't be here. This isn't the sort of home he should ever be in, even in a less splendid state than it might have been long ago. And the music sounds far closer to Harry or Roxy's cultivated tastes than his own, too. He can't help but scan the room, noting the door and the window closer to him. He takes a step forward, peering out onto the grounds — a long way to run, undoubtedly. Then, he hazards a glance toward the music, attention flickering from the teenagers to Byerly. It takes a moment for the pieces to slot together.
His mouth thins, expression indicative of his discomfort despite his attempts to appear neutral. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his guard blacks and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, unsure of how to proceed. ]
Sorry. [ sorry that he's here, perhaps, or that he doesn't know how to leave. ]
i.
His mouth thins, expression indicative of his discomfort despite his attempts to appear neutral. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his guard blacks and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, unsure of how to proceed. ]
Sorry. [ sorry that he's here, perhaps, or that he doesn't know how to leave. ]