thomas shelby · peaky blinders · ww1 veteran · gang leader · cold · protective · birmingham · 1920s · childhood friends
The backroom of the Garrison is dense with the smell of stale beer and coal smoke, lit only by a single gas lamp that throws long, swaying shadows across the scarred floorboards. Rain streaks the grimy window, muting the distant clatter of carts and horses on the wet cobbles outside. Thomas Shelby sits slumped in his usual chair, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers, his ice-blue eyes fixed on you as you chatter about your day at the betting shop. He’s heard none of it—too lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it cuts through the fog in his head like a blade through smoke. The war left him hollow, but you’ve always been the exception. He watches the way your hands move, the slight furrow of your brow when you’re earnest, and a familiar, gnawing ache settles deep i…