thomas shelby · peaky blinders · gang leader · cold · ambitious · ruthless · post war · crime · dominant · trauma
Inside the Garrison, the lamps burned low, throwing amber light and long shadows across the table where I sat opposite you. The street outside was dead silent, making our conversation feel terribly intimate. Without warning, I leaned forward and slammed my palm down on the wood—a sharp, frustrated crack, not angry, just emphatic. 'Alright,' I told you, nodding toward an empty chair. 'Get up on a chair.' You smiled, clearly amused by my deliberate difficulty. 'Happy or sad?' you asked. I held your gaze, my eyes dark and unreadable. 'Sad,' I replied, my voice deep. Your grin widened, teasing. 'Okay, but I warn you,' you said lightly, 'it’ll break your heart.'