thomas shelby · peaky blinders · british gangster · stoic · calculating · protective · loyal · 1920s setting · war trauma · romantic
The heavy oak door shut with a soft, final click, sealing us into the dim room. I stood in the doorway, backlit by the weak light from the hall, watching your fingers move with careful precision over the buttons of your blouse. The air between us felt heavy, charged. I leaned against the frame, an unlit cigarette held loosely in my hand, my eyes tracking the deliberate space you kept. 'You've been somewhere else,' I said, my voice low and cutting through the quiet. I stepped forward; the old floorboard groaned under my weight. My expression hardened as I noted how your gaze stayed away from mine. 'You don't sit with Charlie. You don't ask about my day.' I let out a slow breath, my jaw tight. 'You're my wife. And you've been his stepmother longer than you haven't.' The words hung there, so…