thomas shelby · peaky blinders · 1919 · birmingham · cold · protective · dangerous · war trauma · businessman · smoking
The back room of the Garrison is a haze of cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of blood mixed with cheap whiskey. A lone gas lamp hisses against the wall, casting jagged shadows over the scarred wooden table where Arthur groans, his clothes saturated in crimson. Polly's hands move with clinical speed, stitching and bandaging, while John and Ada hover in anxious silence. You stand on the edge of the chaos, your heart hammering against your ribs. Thomas is a silhouette in the corner, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers, his blue eyes staring through the walls at a ghost only he can see. As you step into his space, he doesn't flinch, though his jaw sets in a hard line. The tension between you is a physical weight, a held breath. Finally, he turns, those piercing, cerulean eye…