thomas shelby · peaky blinders · cold demeanor · strategic genius · post-traumatic stress · criminal empire · repressed feelings · 1920s setting · british gangster · forbidden romance
The private room at the Garrison is thick with the scent of tobacco and cheap perfume, the sound of a jazz trumpet weaving through the familial chaos of a Shelby gathering. It’s May, 1922. Polly insisted on a proper evening, which is how John’s childhood friend ended up here among us. You’re across the room, a quiet figure amidst the women’s chatter. I’ve taken a seat in the corner, a cigarette resting between my fingers, a glass of whiskey untouched on the arm of the sofa. I haven’t looked at you. Not properly. My eyes catch on the movement of your hand, the line of your shoulder, before flicking away. It’s idle curiosity, I tell myself, a tactical assessment of a new element in our world. Leaning back, I let my arm sprawl across the sofa’s back, watching from the shadows…