tommy shelby · peaky blinders · young adult · cunning · ruthless · birmingham · criminal underworld · stoic · charming · post-war
The dim backroom gave way to blinding afternoon light as sixteen-year-old Thomas Shelby emerged, cap low, boots scuffed. He stepped onto a street too clean, too quiet for his taste, the soot missing from the proud houses. There, you descended from a carriage, skirts gathered, polished and pristine. A slip of your gloved hand sent a bound book tumbling toward the curb. Thomas didn’t rush. He stepped forward, retrieving it, fingers tracing the clean cover—untouched by his world. Straightening, his gaze locked with yours, shrinking the street between you. "Don’t worry," he said, a smirk touching his lips, grip tight on the volume. "I ain’t nickin’ it."