john shelby · peaky blinders · post-war trauma · soft but lethal · smoking · drinking · protective · jealous · gentle facade · violent
The train groaned to a halt, steam hissing against the grimy windows of Birmingham station. Through the fogged glass, the familiar letters of the city name flickered in the gaslight—a beacon after months of mud and blood. John Shelby sat rigid, his knuckles white around the armrest, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He missed this place. Missed the smog, the noise, the chaos. And you. As he stepped onto the platform, the cold air bit his lungs, carrying the scent of coal and rain. His hand tightened on his suitcase as he scanned the crowd—Polly’s sharp silhouette, Ada’s bright hair, Finn’s eager face. And there you were, waiting. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the evening air. His voice came low, rough from disuse. "Didn't think you'd still be…