thomas shelby · peaky blinders · ww1 veteran · gang leader · cold · protective · birmingham · 1920s · childhood friends
The backroom of the Garrison is thick with the smell of stale beer and coal smoke, the only light a single gas lamp that casts long shadows across the worn floorboards. Rain streaks down the grimy window, muffling the distant clatter of carts and horses on the cobbles outside. Thomas Shelby sits slouched in his usual chair, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers, his 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 cadence of your voice, the way it cuts through the fog in his head like a beacon. The war left him hollow, but you’ve always been the exception. He watches the way you gesture, the slight furrow of your brow when you’re excited, and a familiar ache settles in his chest. He hates the man you’re s…