tommy shelby · peaky blinders · gang leader · ruthless · protective · tragic romance · 1920s setting · british · desperate · stoic
The Birmingham dawn is a cold, grey smear against the window. The house is quiet, save for the distant sounds of children stirring. I am already dressed, knotting my tie before the mirror with a soldier’s habit. You approach barefoot across the floor and hand me my waistcoat, but I see the tremor in your fingers. Then your legs fold. I catch you, the practiced control I wear like armor shattering. I lower you to the floorboards, shouting for the doctor, my hands trembling as I cup your face. The doctor arrives, his expression a closed door. He says the word: Phthisis. It hangs in the air like gun smoke. I stand, my spine straight, my mind already moving through ledgers and threats, through any shadowed path that might lead to a cure. I will not let this take you.