#anna's fics

He pronounced the words calmly. As if it wasn’t supposed to be exciting or thrilling or the best news you had heard all year. He had been through a lot and all you had wished for him was someone good. A nice girl to dust off the remains of the tunnels. Because even if he had changed, Tommy still deserved good things. He deserved to be loved, he deserved to be happy. Even if he didn’t believe it most of the time.

“This is amazing!” you exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. Tommy welcomed your hug, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. You were the first one to know. He wanted you to know before the rest of the family. Ever since he came back from France, you had been a constant. He was aware he was a different man— far from the young boy he was when he left but you accepted it. You didn’t try to make the young boy come back, you didn’t expect Tommy to act like someone he wasn’t anymore. And for that, he wanted to share the good news with you first, and you only.

“So who is the unfortunate creature?” your playful tone made Tommy shake his head. You smiled at him, wondering who had managed to bring back the grin on his face. He hadn’t mentioned anybody special and you hadn’t seen him with anybody either.

“It’s Grace,” Tommy finally said, his smile widening. But you weren’t smiling anymore.

You let him go, a cold pit in your stomach. No. No, you refused to believe it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after everything that happened. No, it was probably someone else. Another girl. You heard it wrong because he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t marry her.

Tommy noticed the sudden switch. Your joyful expression erased by a troubled frown, you backed away in disbelief. “Y/N…,” but you shook your head, a hollow chuckle escaping your trembling lips.

“No, no, you can’t marry her. Fuck, Tommy! You can’t be that naive, you– did you forget what she did?” The man lowered his head, sighing. You were reacting out of shock but it would pass, he just needed to let you have a moment. “You almost got killed because of her! She called the fucking cops on your own fucking sister and y-you want to marry her? No, no, please tell me this is supposed to be a joke because you can’t be serious right now…you can’t…”

“But I am, Y/N,” he began calmly, grabbing your hand. “She’s pregnant a-and she said she loved me.”

You snatched your hand away, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. “Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? She said she loved you? So fucking what? She said she was a barmaid too, didn’t she? And how do you know the baby’s yours, hm? Isn’t she married?”

Tommy sighed, he was feeling less and less patient. Maybe he didn’t expect you to jump out of happiness, especially after knowing he would marry Grace. But he thought you would be happy for him because it was important. Because after all these years in the dark, trying to dig himself out of the tunnels, he had found light.

“She’s going to leave him, she doesn’t love him.”

“Oh right…because she loves you,” you spat out bitterly. “Is that why you asked me to come here? Did you expect me to give you my blessing to go marry a traitor?”

“Don’t call her that, alright?” The mere mention of the past was enough to make Tommy’s blood boil. He knew what Grace had done but he forgave her. You should understand that. You should understand that if he could forgive her, then you should too. Because there would be no one else for him, Grace was the one.

“Call her what? A traitor?” you taunted him even if your anger only masked the deep hurt you felt. She had harmed your family, she had harmed him and now he was opening the door for her. He was allowing her back in. What would she do this time? What would happen if this was another trap but he was too blinded to see? “That’s what she is, Tom! She betrayed you and you’re just giving her another chance! This will never end well, you hear me? And if you go through with this, it’s over. Forget about me.” you uttered the words with all the fierceness burning in your heart. If he wanted to marry a traitor, then he was no better than her. And you didn’t want to be friends with someone who would betray their own flesh and blood.

Tommy observed you for a moment, gauging how serious you were. But he didn’t find an ounce of hesitation in your gaze. You were ready to throw away your entire friendship just for that? You would give up on him because he finally found happiness?

“Then leave, Y/N,” his blue eyes were cold, enough to freeze you on the spot. You watched him as he nonchalantly grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket. The Tommy you loved wasn’t there anymore. You didn’t recognize this man standing tall and proud before you. You shook your head, walking out of the office but before reaching the door you stopped. “When this all goes to shit—and it will— don’t expect me to be there for you. Goodbye, Thomas.” You slammed the glassdoor on your way out, leaving Tommy alone in the gigantic office.

“You’re inviting Y/N?” Polly asked, surprised as her nephew handed her two invitations. She had been the first one to know about the terrible argument between him and Y/N. Polly was many things to the children: a mother, an aunt, a friend at times. But there had always been a strong bond between her and Y/N. Polly had grown up with her mother and when she passed, the Shelby matriarch didn’t hesitate to take the little girl in. She was already spending most of the time with the rest of the Shelbys anyway. They had all accepted her whole-heartedly as part of their clan, especially Tommy. They were inseparable. If Y/N was somewhere, Tommy wasn’t far behind. They disagreed sometimes but their fights never lasted long.

That’s what Polly thought would happen the last time. Nothing more than a petty argument, a few days sulking and then it would go back to normal. Y/N would get over her hatred towards Grace and Tommy would understand that marrying her didn’t erase her wrongs. But neither seemed to budge, they were too stubborn, too set in their own positions.

Family meetings turned to awkward blanks and a tense atmosphere as everyone observed the broken pair. Y/N didn’t address Tommy unless it was necessary. Tommy treated Y/N like she was nothing more than an employee. But the rest of the family couldn’t help notice the glances one would throw when the other wasn’t paying attention.

“Well, she’s part of the family, isn’t she?” Tommy answered simply, passing a tired hand over his face. He had told the same thing to Grace a week before when she was making the invitations— to which she replied:  “I’m your family too, now, Tommy.” But he insisted regardless of Grace’s reticence. His soon-to-be wife didn’t seem to understand why he would invite the girl who had decided to cut all relations with him. But Tommy, for some reason, couldn’t imagine his wedding without Y/N being there. And even if there was a very strong chance she declined the invitation, Tommy thought he could try. Maybe extend an olive branch her way and put an end to the ridiculous quarrel between them.

“Just give her the invitation, will ya, Pol?” his aunt observed him, he seemed exhausted. But not the exhaustion of a father who had a teething baby at home. Not the exhaustion of a businessman spending too much time at the office. No, something was bothering him.

“What’s going on, Tommy?”

He looked up, eyes reddened by the incessant rubbing, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took out a file from a drawer and threw it on top of his desk. Polly opened it, finding letters and different annotations. “Mr. Changretta met a girl in the Italian restaurant on Fleet Street and took her back to a suite at the Midland Hotel,” she read out loud.

Fuck.

You had been seeing Angel for a few months. You had told Polly about him, how nice he was to you.

“Don’t tell her anything, alright? I’m going to deal with it?” Polly looked up from the file, a frown on her face. Tommy’s tone didn’t need clarifying. Anyone who hurt a Shelby would pay the consequences. These were the rules. But the Changrettas were a powerful family.

“Thomas, don’t start with the Italians, you hear me? I’ll tell Y/N what you found and she will handle it alone-”

“No, Polly. You won’t tell her. Just let me handle it.”

She handed him the file back, sighing. Tommy wouldn’t do something stupid, she told herself. Not when he had a baby, not right before his wedding. No, her nephew was a smart man. He would handle things properly.

You opened the glassdoors with such strength they hit the wall behind. But it didn’t matter, you didn’t care. Thomas got up from his desk as you ran towards him, rage deforming your features.

“Fuck you, Thomas! Fuck you!” you pushed him, tears blurring your vision. “How could you, hm? How could you do that? What…just because I refused to come to your fucking wedding you had to get revenge? Are you that fucking petty?” you screamed. You probably seemed mad, maybe you were. It didn’t matter. Not when he stood so calmly, even after what he did.

“Y/N…” he grabbed your wrists, holding them close to his chest. You easily got out of his grip, withdrawing as if his hands had burnt you.

“Why did you do that, hm? Just out of spite?” but Tommy stood there, observing you. “Answer me!” you demanded vehemently.

The office doors opened again. This time, Polly rushed inside, alerted by the screams.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to her, eyes swollen and red. “Maybe you should ask your nephew, hm?” your finger pointed accusingly towards Tommy, you explained “He went to Angel and took his fucking eyes out.”

“What?” Polly observed Tommy in disbelief. Not because she was surprised by his action. But because two weeks ago, she warned him. She told him if he decided to deal with Changretta, he had to be diplomatic. This was far from diplomacy. This meant war with the Italians.

“And you wanna know why he did it, huh?” you continued, hands gesturing in anger “Because the great Thomas Shelby can’t stand that I hate his darling wife so he wants to make me pay. And for that, he’s just planning on hurting anybody I get close to, isn’t he?” a hollow laugh left your trembling lips, Tommy kept quiet.

From the corner of her eye, Polly noticed his clenched jaw. Her nephew stood there, unable to defend himself because he refused to let you know the reason.

Tommy had to speak with Polly. Keep her from explaining why Angel Changretta lost his sight. But he couldn’t do that with you in the room.

Polly seemed to understand her nephew’s lack of answer and called Lizzie.

“Y/N, sweetheart, let me talk to Tommy. Go with Lizzie, alright?”

You sighed, your chest heaving. The flaming rush that led you to the office was slowly dissolving, leaving you a pounding headache and exhaustion. You listened to Polly, deflated and followed Lizzie outside.

The Shelby matriarch waited to hear the click of the door and turned back to Tommy. He slumped in his chair, sighing. “Oh, you can sigh all you want but I’m not leaving.”

“Yeah, I know you won’t, Pol.” he lit up a cigarette, watching the cloud of smoke escaping from his lips.

“You have to apologize, Thomas. We can’t afford a war with the Italians. Not when you already have that business with the Russians.”

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh yeah and how should I apologize, eh? In English or in Italian?”

Polly shook her head. Her nephew was too proud to realize the consequences of his actions.

“Or maybe we should ask them which fucking language they prefer?”

“Why, Thomas? Why?”

“Because anyone who hurts a Shelby pays the price, remember, Pol?” he said matter-of-factly, his voice low.

She observed him. This was more than just pride, this was more than just a show of power.

“Why didn’t you tell Y/N, then? Why let her believe you did it out of pure spite?”

Tommy took a minute to reply, smoking his cigarette as he stared at the family portrait on the desk. “She hates me already. No need to get her heart broken on top of it.”

Polly sighed. She sat next to him, grabbing a cigarette as well. He knew the consequences of his actions but it didn’t matter, he would blind the king himself if he dared disrespecting you. Even if your friendship had shattered to pieces, it didn’t make him care less about you. It didn’t change the years spent by your side. Tommy knew you like no one did. And even if you were a strong woman, he wouldn’t handle seeing you in pain. Much less for a scumbag like Angel Changretta.

“Don’t tell her, Polly, yeah?” his aunt stared at him, containing the smirk forming on her lips.

“I won’t but that’s not what you should be worried about, Tommy. The Changrettas will come after you.”

“Then let ‘em come, Pol. Let ‘em come.”

A cup of tea, a book in hand and a fire softly crackling in the hearth. All the elements for a perfect evening. And it would be perfect if Polly wasn’t standing over you, arms folded across her chest. “Come on, Y/N, just come! You can’t spend New year’s Eve alone!”

You rolled your eyes, finally giving up on your book. “I can, Polly. And I will. Now, you got the pearls you were looking for, go or you’ll be late.” Wrapping your robe closer around your chest, you opened the door. “And you know how your dear nephew loathes late people.”

Polly sighed. The only reason you refused to come was because said New Year’s party was at Arrow House. It was a stupid reason. And even though Polly had tried to be patient, she  was tired of you and Tommy sulking like children, refusing to be near each other under any circumstance. “Y/N…”

“Polly…” you mimicked her. The woman sighed, closing the door and grabbing your hand.

“Alright, I won’t take another minute of you behaving like a kid. Sit,” her order was firm. It left no room for negotiation. And quite frankly, no matter how grown you were, you couldn’t ignore Polly’s scolding.

“You’re going to that party.” you opened your mouth, ready to retaliate “You are going. And you’ll talk to Tommy.” She fished a dress out of your wardrobe, throwing it on your bed. “ Go on, we don’t have all day. I need to do your hair.”

“Polly, please.”

It was hard for the family, you were aware of that. Tommy and you had always been close and the sudden distance between you had completely wrecked the usual balance. But you couldn’t just forgive and forget. It was better to ignore him than go to his house and sulk all night while the others were put in the middle.

“Y/N, this has to stop,” she spoke more softly, her hands rubbing your arms up and down. “Look, he doesn’t want you to know but…”, Polly hesitated. She promised she wouldn’t say anything but she couldn’t bear watching you and Tommy apart anymore. “Angel was cheating on you.”

“What?”

Polly sighed. “He was cheating with some other girl and that’s why Tommy gave the order. He asked me to keep it a secret and…”

“And you lied. You let me believe that Tommy did it because he was bitter,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

“Tommy didn’t want you to be heartbroken. He…he cares even if he has strange ways of showing it.”

You observed Polly, suddenly feeling stupid. You thought your anger towards Tommy was justified, that he deserved it because someone had to stop him. Someone had to make him understand he didn’t have all the rights to do whatever he pleased. But now…now you realized your outburst was unfair. He was trying to protect you, even if he could have let you deal with your troubles alone. He shielded you from the pain, took the blame for everything. Gosh you hated him.

“Just come, alright?”

Your initial reticence had seemingly disappeared and you nodded.

Polly helped you get ready and called her driver an hour later. You would arrive late, probably right in time for dinner but it didn’t matter. All you needed was a talk with Tommy. You needed to apologize and put an end to the conflict between—which seemed completely ridiculous now. Apprehension grew in the pit of your stomach as you got closer and closer to Arrow House. You didn’t know how he would react: would he listen to you? Would he try to avoid the conversation?

“We’re there, Y/N,” Polly’s firm hand squeezed yours, the great manor standing tall behind the window.

You took a deep breath, exiting the car. Each step brought you closer to him and it frightened you. You brought your coat closer to you, trying to stop your hands from shaking. Polly, noticing your anxiety, kept her hand tightly wrapped around yours and offered you a smile as you passed the threshold.

“Well, Polly, you’re…” Tommy appeared, his pocket watch in hand. He was probably going to comment on his aunt’s late arrival but he stopped himself mid sentence. Polly didn’t come alone tonight. No, you were here too.

Tommy had invited you, the same way he invited his brothers and their wife but unlike John, Esme or Arthur, he didn’t expect you to show up.

Even a year later, you didn’t forgive what happened to Angel Changretta. Tommy had paid the price already but losing Grace made him realize how alone he felt. After her death, he didn’t have anyone to turn to. Of course, there were Ada and Polly and Arthur’s clumsy attempts. But none were enough. Not compared to you.

Tommy remembered the days after his mother’s death, you had been the only one he could somehow confide in.

Sometimes, his grief grew so heavy he couldn’t speak anymore. His family didn’t understand that. They didn’t see his silence as the biggest proof of his sorrow, they saw it as a lack of emotion. But you had always been attentive enough to understand that words didn’t work, not when he felt like his heart was nothing but broken pieces scattered on the floor.

Your absence had never been as striking as it had been during the past year. But you were here now, on his doorstep with a soft smile brightening your features. Tommy moved towards you, he wanted to hug you, tell you just how much he had missed you.

“Y/N,” he mumbled instead, a polite nod to greet you.

Polly watched the scene, suppressing a grin. It wasn’t much but it was progress, she thought.

“Alright, Tom, are we spending the rest of the evening on the doorstep or can we get in? It’s freezing here!” The Shelby matriarch almost pushed her nephew out of the way and ran to greet the rest of the family. John’s kids screamed as they saw Polly, scaring to death Billy—Arthur’s baby.

The party was booming, jazz echoing through the halls and children running around. Although you didn’t come here often, you knew your way to the parlor where most of the family was. You hugged everyone, giggling at Arthur’s tight embrace and drunken comments. Quickly, you found yourself holding Esme’s little girl in your arms, chatting with her and Linda.

Tommy sat in the corner of the room, a glass of whiskey in hand and a cigarette in the other. He didn’t enjoy parties—too much noise, too much mess— but Arrow House had been so quiet. A deadly silence, gloomily settling in the manor until Tommy couldn’t handle it anymore. Inviting the family over brought back some of the liveliness: the chandeliers had been lit, music played on the phonograph and Charlie could run around with his cousins.

“Tom?” he blinked, startled as you stood before him. It had been a while since he heard you say his name. “Could I talk to you, please?” Tommy kept quiet for a moment, surprised by your proposal but he nodded, guiding you to his office.

There was a beat of silence as you stood in the middle of the room, twisting your fingers. You didn’t know how to start.

“Is everything okay?” Tommy finally asked, observing your nervous gestures.

“No…I mean, yes, I just…Polly told me about what you did and…and I guess I wanted to apologize.”

Tommy sighed, your words clear enough he didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. Polly promised she wouldn’t say anything but of course, his aunt never listened to him.

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m the one who blinded the man you loved, didn’t I?”

“You did it because he deserved it,” you reasoned simply. “And I didn’t love him, he was just a nice man…well, I thought so. I…why did you do it, Tom?”

Polly gave you a reason earlier today but you wanted to hear it from him. Why would he do something so reckless just over a love affair between you and some Italian man?

“I didn’t want you to get your heart broken over him. You didn’t deserve that,” he admitted, hands in his pocket.

“So you thought taking the blame would be better? You didn’t deserve getting yelled at.”

Tommy stared at you. He didn’t know what to answer. Letting you believe he was a terrible person somehow felt easier than watching you in pain. It was hard to explain but at the time, he didn’t need to explain anything. It was natural. Your friendship was already dead anyway, why break your heart to save something that wasn’t there anymore?

Before he could figure out an answer, Tommy felt your arms wrapped around his neck. You embraced him so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs. “Thank you,” a soft whisper, mumbled close to his ear.

It had been so long, he didn’t even realize how much he had missed it. You always hugged him like your life depended on it, like at any point he would disappear and you needed to make the most of whatever time you had left. Not much had changed, not even the perfume you wore. Tommy finally wrapped his own arms around your figure, his head resting on your shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment. He dreaded the moment you would pull away, afraid it was the last time and he didn’t enjoy it enough.

But you didn’t want to let go either. You had missed him terribly. Often people wondered what you found in him, why a girl like you would care so deeply about the devil of Small Heath. And you understood the concern: Tommy was from being a saint. But there was so much to him, so much you were never able to express. He had unique ways of showing his love but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. If you had to learn a lesson from all these years apart, it was that. You needed him just like you knew he needed you.

“Mr. Shelby?” a soft knock on the office door and Tommy loosened his hold, allowing Frances to come inside. “The fireworks are ready, sir.”

“Fireworks, huh?” you asked in a playful tone.

“Wanted to start the year on the right foot.”

Tommy’s hand rested safely on the small of your back, guiding you outside. Polly instantly noticed the gesture as you arrived in the garden. She didn’t comment—there would be more appropriate times for that— but she couldn’t help flashing a sly smirk your way.

It was a minute to midnight, everyone was ready. The kids sat expectedly, waiting for the magic to start while the adults checked their watch. At last, Tommy signed for the fireworks to be lit.

Midnight sharp. A first bang, followed by another. The entire family marveled at the colors and festive motifs as they all hugged each other. A bright smile on your face, you turned to Tommy and kissed his cheek. “Happy New Year, Tom.”

But before he could answer, the noise was covered by cars screeching in the driveway and explosions—different from the fireworks. You merely had time to register the screams, Arthur yelling to get inside with the kids and bullets flying left and right. You couldn’t see who was shooting, your mind numbing the noise as you stood there, completely frozen. Fireworks were still shooting in the sky and in hues of red and blue, you saw John and the bullets passing through his chest, you saw Michael right behind him fall to the ground and you felt something running down your arm. A wave of hot liquid soaking your coat as arms pushed you away from the bullet. Gravel scratched your cheek—a sting long forgotten as you bled out on the ground. Tommy lay on top of you, he pushed the hair out of your face and spoke to you but all you could hear was the ringing in your head.

“...Okay? Y/N?”

You blinked, mumbling about your arm—at least you thought you did, you weren’t sure your lips could still move. Tommy seemed to understand and he took off his scarf, wrapping it around the wound.

“It hurts, Tom.”

“I know, I know, love,” he held you, leaning against the wall. You felt the wool of his coat around you and the fast thumps of his heart against your cheek. He shouted instructions, his loud voice rumbling in his chest. Someone was crying, you couldn’t see who it was. Your arm was getting numb, you couldn’t feel the tip of your fingers anymore. The pain was so raw you thought you would pass out. Somewhere in the distance, the cries were covered by sirens. You were so tired, so cold.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, stay awake, love,” Tommy’s hands cooled down your flushed cheeks.

“’m so tired.”

“Yeah, yeah but you have to stay awake, alright? You have to stay awake, the ambulance is coming,” Even in your half-conscious state, you picked up on the worry in his voice. Tommy couldn’t lose you. He had lost enough already, he wouldn’t handle losing you as well. The dark attire, the funeral, everyone crying and him just standing there, only crumbling in the middle of the night, guilt gnawing at his insides. No, he couldn’t do it all again. “Please, Y/N…”

“Hey,” you quietly joined Tommy in front of the fireplace, sitting on the carpet. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he sipped his whiskey.

“How is your arm doing?” his gaze darted towards the fresh bandages wrapped around the bullet wound.

You had spent the few hours following the attack at the hospital. Thankfully, no bone was touched. Your injury was taken care of quickly, you didn’t even realize it was over—which probably had to do with the heavy dose of anesthetic they gave you. Tommy proposed to take you back home and stay with you, leaving Polly with Michael and John…

Oh John…

You didn’t see him, didn’t have time to say goodbye. But a part of you was glad you didn’t go to the morgue. That way, the last memory you would keep of him would be his booming laugh and the jokes he’d share at dinner. Not the gruesome view of his wan skin covered by blood and lifeless eyes. No, that way, you cherished that last evening with him, his smile and his hugs and everything that made him him.

“It’s okay. I don’t feel much with all the painkillers.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes stopping on your cheek. His fingers instinctively reached for the scratch, his thumb gently trailing over the redded marks. “It’s from the gravel, don’t worry,” you assured him, your hand closing over his fingers.

He frowned, his jaw clenching. “‘m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Are you joking? Tom, hey,” you tilted his chin, making him look at you. “You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve gotten that bullet…”

Right to the heart.

“I know,” he interrupted you.

Tommy had watched the scene unfold before him. You and that bullet rushing at you. It had left a strange impression of déjà-vu. A familiar sequence. Memories of one fateful evening under glistening chandeliers, guests screaming, the noise covered by his own buzzing fear. His stomach churned at the idea—the sparkle of your dress fading under warm red, holding your lifeless body as he begged for you to stay. So he did what he didn’t have the chance to do a year before: he pushed you to the ground, deviating the trajectory. The bullet didn’t miss, it went to your arm but you were okay. You were okay.

“But I didn’t save John,” Tommy let the words sting his tongue, not even realizing how broken his voice sounded or how easily the truth came out. He felt his eyes burn with the tears he couldn’t shed, his jaw aching under the tight pressure.

But your hand found a place on his shoulder, a simple gesture alleviating Tommy’s sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you whispered but he shook his head. “It’s not your fault, don’t do this to yourself.”

He scoffed bitterly, bolting the remnants of whiskey. It was his fault. Maybe you were too kind to admit it or even to see it but Tommy knew it was. His hand may not have been the one blinding Angel Changretta but his mouth gave the orders.

“Hey,” your hands gently framed his face, your forehead resting against his. “You can’t control everything, you can’t predict the future. Maybe this was avoidable or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was going to happen no matter what. And there is nothing you can do to change that. Blaming yourself won’t make any of this better.”

Tommy observed you, your words sinking in. A part of him wanted to believe you. A part of him knew you were right. But he couldn’t help the guilt gnawing at his insides.

“All I can think about is what you said. That day when I told you about Grace. You said it would go wrong. I didn’t want to believe you then but you were right. It all went wrong,” he confessed. Your words had haunted him ever since that first night alone in Arrow House. He desperately wanted to go back. Listen to you and let Grace sail away. Maybe then, all of this wouldn't have happened. Maybe he wouldn’t feel the constant grief laying heavily on his chest.

“I said that out of anger, Tom. I never meant…” you sighed, realizing the impact of your wrath. You had been so blinded by your rage you didn’t even consider the consequences of your words.

A pinch of guilt in your chest, you bit your lip. “All these years not talking to you, d’you know what I regretted the most?”

Your thumb trailed across his cheek as he kept quiet. “How safe you made me feel,” you uttered. Those words were true, you meant every single one of them, in every way they could be interpreted. He was the arms you ran into after each heartbreak, each torment. An unsuspected haven hiding under intimidating layers of arrogance and rigidity.

“And after tonight, I can only say the feeling has increased. I know you want to blame yourself for everything that went wrong but I don’t think it’s fair. You do so much good, Tom. You protect us, as best as you can. I know that, Polly knows that. And John knew that too.”

A single tear rolled down Tommy’s freckled cheek. You leaned in, kissing his pain away as his hands tightened around your waist. He embraced you, head resting on your shoulder and even though the wound was still raw, Tommy chose to believe you.

Laughs and chatters echoing through Charlie’s yard, the smell of roasted meat and the entire family gathered around a lavish meal: the perfect way to celebrate John. No matter the pain, no matter the grief, the Shelby clan knew that he would have wanted them to remember the good moments only. The memory of his buoyant energy soothed their sorrow as they chose to say goodbye reminiscing the pranks and jokes John was a master of.

Tommy sat at the end of the table, playing with the flask of whiskey in his hand. He had tuned out the chatter around, turning the loud voices and exclamations into a mere buzzing in the background. Although he seemed miles away from the actual scene, his eyes were fixed on the other side of the table.

You sat next to Ada, chatting about something or another, still wearing your mourning attire. Since the night before, Tommy hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind. For some reason, your presence seemed to haunt his thoughts even more so than usual.

Even after you had gone to bed, Tommy stayed wide awake, incapable of forgetting the solace you had offered him. Your gentleness, your words, your hands. Everything about you made him crave more. He longed for your arms around him, for your voice to whisper in his ear and quiet the demons in his mind. Tommy couldn’t shake that feeling—a wave of peace and tranquility washing over him amidst a tempestuous ocean.

“I heard you and Y/N finally buried the hatchet,” Polly sat down next to him, a sly smirk illuminating her tired face.

Tommy sipped on his whiskey, shrugging. “Yeah, guess I have to thank you for that.”

His gaze was still fixed on the other end of the table. Although his aunt promised she would keep his secret, for once he was glad that she did the complete opposite of what he wanted. If it wasn’t for Polly’s meddling, Tommy would still be living with that cold, empty pit: the knowledge that no matter how close he was sitting, you would only get further and further away.

“I wanted to keep your secret,” she began, her gaze briefly following his. Polly turned to her nephew, observing his tired features. She often worried about him. The more time passed, the more he looked like his mother. And although nothing could be done for Martha, Polly didn’t want the history to repeat itself. Regardless of yours and Tommy’s bond, you were good to him. The Shelby matriarch handled the matters of the heart in the family for a reason, she wasn’t going to let the only good thing in Tommy’s life slip through his fingers. “But then I remembered the time you came home from school and told me you had met your wife.”

Tommy’s head shot up at Polly’s words. It had been so long, somehow buried under the decades of war and pain and loss. A memory lost, somewhere before France, somewhere before his mum’s death and his father’s leaving. Somewhere Tommy was still a boy who wasted the week’s money on top hats and coconuts and you were still a little girl with braids and a toothy smile.

It had been another dusty afternoon, running home after school. Tommy was with his brothers, kicking a ball and laughing the soot away. But even in the middle of a very important game, the little boy didn’t miss the cruel snickering echoing through the streets. He remembered abandoning the ball, his brothers’ exclamations ignored as he followed a lone, shriek cry for help.

Behind an alley, tall boys circling a smaller figure. Tommy knew them, some scumbags from school who spent their days attacking those who couldn’t defend themselves. And their new target was you, only 8 but already tougher than those boys. They were mocking you, making fun of your father—or lack thereof. You didn’t care, your mum explained it all to you but those idiots didn’t seem to understand.

Tommy stepped up, easily reminding them their own lives weren’t perfect—they lived in dingy Small Heath just like that little girl after all, they weren’t any better. You had watched the scene, scared for your daring savior—those boys could easily take him—but he got a pocket knife out and in the blink of an eye, the boys scurried off the alley.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you had shyly muttered, the first words you ever said to him. Tommy had seen you, sometimes you came over with your mum but you always stayed hidden in her skirts.

Tommy remembered how your light voice made him smile.  And with the full weight of his 11 years old, he realized that the chirpy melody was too beautiful to be tainted by sorrow or even anger. He couldn’t understand it then but the radiant grin you offered him on that first, real meeting, made his heart flutter and his cheek redden.

Kindly, Tommy took you back to your house and made sure you arrived safely but before leaving, you granted him another smile. “Thank you,” you had repeated and Tommy waved the gesture off as if it was nothing. It was to him.

He remembered how you looked around, searching for something until your gaze dropped on a small dandelion. It had somehow grown on your doorstep, finding a crack through the pavement and shamelessly growing, unafraid of the industrial monster around. You handed him the flower, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. The first kiss Tommy didn’t get from his mum or his aunt. The first kiss he got from an actual girl. He took the flower, staring at you dumbfounded.

On the way back to his house, Tommy couldn’t help but touch his freshly kissed cheek, observing the dandelion. He had passed the threshold, arriving in the living room, still as starstruck as he had been ever since your lips touched his skin. Polly observed her nephew, wondering what in the world could have turned the usually loud boy so quiet.

“I–I think I met my wife, Pol,” he mumbled, showing the bright yellow dandelion.

Tommy stared at the dried flower between his fingers. It had been there all along, at the bottom of a drawer in his childhood bedroom. After the lunch in Charlie’s yard, Tommy had spent another sleepless night. It wasn’t nightmares or ruminations this time, no. It was that old, shrunken up dandelion. He had been unable to shake the growing feeling in his chest, the memories of an entire life spent by your side.

“Hey, you said you wanted to see me?” Tommy blinked his thoughts away, quickly hiding the flower in his pocket.

He cleared his throat, leaving his chair and grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I…I wanted to take you somewhere.”

Instinctively, Tommy extended his arm towards you and you linked your fingers with his. He almost stopped in his tracks, surprised by the striking contrast. Your soft finger rubbing the rough and calloused skin of his hand.

You quickly recognized the path you took countless times before. It brought you right to the Canal, a secret spot Tommy showed you when you were merely 16. There was not enough space, not enough quiet on Watery Lane so he found somewhere else. A place known by you and him only. A place you would escape to when you wanted to chat or just get away from thin walls and wandering ears.

“It’s been so long since I came here,” you uttered, nostalgia rushing through your veins. All these years and yet, it stayed the same. Nothing had changed since the last time you met there. As if the Canal knew. As if it waited for you to come back, freezing dear memories in time.

Tommy walked to the water, watching a bird on the other side of the bank. He stayed quiet, deep in his thoughts. Something in him told him to bring you here but now…now he didn't know what to do. He considered admitting the strange feelings. Maybe admitting it outloud would make it easier? Or at least make him realize how stupid those thoughts were.

“The trip down memory lane sounds fun, Tom, honestly but, uh, why d’you bring me here? It’s fucking freezing,” you muttered after a good 15 minutes spent in silence.

Tommy walked back to you, leaving his incessant thoughts behind. He handed you a cigarette, observing your features as you exhaled the smoke.

“I had a crush on you,” he finally blurted out. The words lingered in the air for a moment. Tommy didn’t even realize what he said until he noticed the frown on your face.

“What?”

“Yeah, before France, had a crush on you.”

“Really? I–I always thought you were in love with Greta Jurossi,” you chuckled, the image of a younger Tommy appearing somewhere in your mind.

“Nah, she was just helping me. I never told anyone but she knew and she said she would play cupid.” Tommy shook his head at the memory, he had spent hours with Greta, listening to her talk about women loved and how to be romantic.

“D’you remember that time we ended up in the linen closet?”

You hummed.

“Yeah well, that was her idea. She read it in some book, said that by the end the characters kissed and then got married,” Tommy chuckled. It did sound ridiculous now that he said it. “But you grew tired of waiting for her to come back with help so you knocked the damn door down.”

You giggled, remembering that one particular afternoon. You had found yourself locked up in the linen closet and for some unknown reason—well, it was at the time—Tommy just sat there and tried to convince you to wait. Greta promised she would get some help to get you out but time passed and you were still stuck in that closet. Tired of waiting, you did what any other sensible person would do and forced the door open. You never understood why the two kept behaving so strangely but now it all made sense.

“Oh, my poor Tommy, I ruined your plans, didn’t I?” you pouted, a tender expression gracing your features.

“Yeah…” he observed you, hands brushing the hair framing your face.

You had changed so much. Long gone were the two kids from Small Heath who only had each other. But in your gaze, Tommy found a sparkle, the same gleam the little girl with her braids and toothy smile carried proudly. The dandelion weighed in his pocket. It was the reminder that beautiful things grew everywhere—even in the dusty hell of Small Heath. A reminder that, once, Tommy was just a boy and you were just the girl who kissed him. He had given up on being a simple man. Someone who craved to be loved just as much as he craved to love. But the boy he had buried under the mud was still there, still craving the tender smiles and soft kisses.

Tommy felt himself lean in, closer and closer until his lips gently touched yours. His hands caressed your cheeks, slowly trailing down your neck as you responded to the kiss. Your arm wrapped his waist, you brought him closer. It should have been strange, kissing him. It should have felt weird and probably even repulsing. But you still melted against him, fingers getting lost in his raven hair.

Reluctantly, Tommy’s lips left yours cold and hungry for more. He rested his forehead against yours, sighing. “I think I love you, Y/N.”

You shouldn’t have been feeling that peculiar flutter in your stomach at his words. You shouldn’t be craving more, more of his lips, more of his touch, more of the sparkle he lit. But it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like a mistake, something that should never happen again. No, it was the missing piece of the puzzle. What should have happened all these years ago but never really did.

You felt a yearning. It had been hidden, retained, buried for so long. Too long. And now, you both realized it was everything you wanted, everything you needed. The source of your happiness, your peace, safely resting in each other’s hands.

“No, I don’t think…I know,” Tommy mumbled, his lips brushing yours before kissing you once again.

The sun shone, its gleam covering the guests in golden hues. Arrow House was dressed in its best attire, tents had been installed in the gardens and enthusiasm flowed through the sweet summer air.

Tommy stood at the end of the alley, facing the few guests. Arthur was beside him, talking his ear off as they waited patiently for you. You had decided to get married in your garden with Jeremiah to officiate and only your close family and friends attending. It was unusual, unconventional even. But the Shelby clan wasn’t known for respecting conventions.

At last, the bride’s melody covered the excited chatter as everyone got up. You sauntered through the alley, walking by each of the guests, a bright smile hidden by your veil. You instantly fixed your gaze on Tommy. He looked dashing in his navy blue suit, you thought.

Polly walked next to you, proudly giving you away. The tradition was for the father of the bride to bring her down the aisle but you never had a father. What you had was your aunt who raised you and loved you enough to replace whatever masculine presence people valued so much.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she whispered to you, tears glistening in her honey-like eyes. She embraced you tightly, finally leaving you with Tommy.

Your soon-to-be husband beamed at the sight of you: an angel sent to him for a reason he still couldn’t understand. Gently, he lifted the veil covering your face and his smile only brightened. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but still be starstruck by your beauty.

“You look beautiful, love,” he mumbled, his gaze overflowing with adoration.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Tommy chuckled at your playful tone, his hand reaching for yours. You observed him, a radiant grin engraved on your face. He was beautiful and the best part, he was yours. A part of you wanted to leave everyone there, let them enjoy the champagne and the food while you ran away. Let them dance, let them sing and hide with Tommy, have him all to yourself again.

You made a note to yourself to thank Polly. She made Tommy pick the gorgeous shade—that way, he could be your something blue. But it’s not the suit that piqued your curiosity.

Among the immaculate flowers Tommy wore in his breast pocket, there was a smaller, rusty one.

“Y-You kept it?” you asked, pointing to the old dandelion. The first thing you ever offered him.

Tommy smiled, squeezing your hand. He leaned in and whispered:

You thought you were dreaming, feeling your consciousness looping in and out in a semi-lucid state. Your eyes were closed, but you felt yourself drifting closer and closer to the surface of reality with each passing moment. Suddenly, you were aware of the sticky sheets beneath you, damp with restless sleep. Your mouth was dry and your muscles ached in several places. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking out the sleep from them as you rolled over to wrap yourself around Elvis. You expected to fold yourself into him, resting your head on his chest, but when you turned, his side was vacant, the covers peeled down the bed. You smoothed your hand over the mattress, finding that it wasn’t very warm. He had been gone for some time–and that’s when you heard it. Crying and squealing. You couldn’t help the exasperated groan that fell from your lips. It was common for Elvis to slip out of bed in the middle of the night–especially if he couldn’t sleep. He was probably in the bathroom or within his study, lost within the pages of some theological or philosophical novel. You rose from the bed, bending to turn on the lamp on your side table. You squinted from the burst of light, reaching for your robe that was wrapped around the chair at your vanity. You stood up and pulled it around your body before slipping your feet into a pair of house slippers. You heard more sobbing coming from the nursery down the hallway. 

“I know, baby. Mommy’s coming,” you cooed softly. You were exhausted. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. Your face was sleepy, your skin looking extra puffy. Your complexion lacked its usual brilliance, and your eyes carried dark circles around them. Your hair was frizzled around your face in a helpless, unintentional beehive. You let another self-effacing groan leave your body and forced yourself to look away from the mirror and face the issue at hand. You heard the choked sobs continue, feeling your heart break with each repetition. “Shh, Mallory. Baby,” You said softly as you padded out of the bedroom toward the nursery. You were certain that she couldn’t hear you from where you stood, but something about it made you feel better. You rolled your shoulders back and forth as you trudged down the hall, releasing the tension in your upper body. You pulled your hands to your face, rubbing out the exhaustion as best you could, spending the few seconds you had to meditate before calming your weary child. 

“Shhhhhhhhh.” 

Your heart leapt from your chest, almost causing you to run back into your bedroom. You stalled in the middle of the hallway for a moment, spooked by the other adult voice. “Mallory, sweetheart. You’ll wake Mama. No need for all that cryin’ when Daddy’s got ya.” 

You stepped forward, continuing to the nursery while listening to the voice. The nursery door was open; a thin sliver of light leaked into the hallway, spraying low light along the wall of the hallway. You stopped just short of the doorway, turning your body so that you could see into the room without being detected. Stepping up as closely to the door as you could, you peeked into the room to find Elvis turned away from you, his body bouncing up and down with Mallory in tow.

 “Ya know, Daddy’s got a bad hip,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Used them too much in the early days,” he continued. His voice was low, the baritone timbre of his voice pulled sweet like Tupelo honey. He was quiet for a long moment, slowing his bouncing to a minimum, moving to swing the baby slowly in his arms, rocking her back and forth against his chest. He had turned his body in a way that you could see her little face in the low light, her eyes turned upward to her father. You took notice of the innocent sparkle in her gaze, staring up at Elvis with curiosity and vulnerability. Her entire world belonged to you and Elvis, embodying the very best of him and yourself. You couldn’t help but feel your lips pulling into a loving smile, your cheeks pinching from grinning so wide. A single tear slipped from your eye and you pulled up a hand to swipe it away, overcome by the beautiful moment. Elvis was destined to be an incredible father. The way that he held the little child, his strong arm supporting her body against his chest, protecting her from the world; it was an image that filled you with love and admiration for the man that you had chosen to devote your entire life to. You could hear Mallory cooing softly, her sobs becoming less and less frequent. 

“Now with the wigglin,” he spoke again, his fingers lifting her tiny legs and feet in the air. “We need to talk about that. That got daddy in a whole lotta trouble.” You could see his cheeky grin from where you stood, his eyes obscured by his thick lashes as he looked down at his daughter. “That’s it, baby girl. Go right to sleep.” He said in a sing-song tone, backing himself toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room, taking his time to slowly lower himself into the seat, pulling Mallory against his chest again. You stood there for quite some time, grinning when you watched Elvis manage to perch a book in his hands while he held the baby. 

“You certainly are an expert,” You said, finally opening the door and stepping into the room. 

His eyes flicked up from the book, turning to look at you. “Hey!” He said too loudly. Mallory’s eyes shot open. “Shhhh,” he cooed again. “Daddy’s sorry.” He looked back up at you. “Baby, I got her back down all by myself,” he announced proudly, looking down at his snoozing child before looking at you again. 

You nodded, impressed. “You did a great job, Daddy,” You said, bending to kiss Mallory on the softness of her forehead before turning your head to kiss Elvis on the lips. 

“Sorry if she woke you up. Little thing was screaming and carrying on worse than my fans.” 

You grinned, grabbing her tiny little hand in between your fingers, squeezing lightly before putting it back down against her sleeping body. “She looks so peaceful,” you said softly. “Like a little angel.” 

“That’s because she is one,” he said, leaning forward to stand up from the chair. “Here. Let’s give you to Mommy,” Elvis said, handing the sleeping baby over to you. You reached your hands out to take her, pulling her to your bosom, wrapping your hands softly around her, careful to support her head, neck and back.

“You did a great job, sweetie. Thank you for letting me sleep, even if she ended up waking me up anyway.” 

“I was trying for that not to happen,” he said, running his hand through his hair. 

“Well, it’s hard being a mom and hearing a baby cry. It’s instinct to spring awake.” You responded, stepping forward to the crib, reaching over it to place the slumbering child within the comfort of her bed. You pulled the tiny blanket over Mallory before turning on the mobile above her head.

“Goodnight sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy love you very much,” You whispered to your daughter, who was already dozing softly, oblivious to your farewell. “Well, isn’t that a blessing?” You asked, turning your head to Elvis, who leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips. 

“I don’t want her to grow up,” He said softly, taking your hand in his. “She’s too precious.” 

“Well, she can’t stay a baby forever, Darling. Unless you want endless sleepless nights of shhhhshing and begging her to sleep.” He stepped forward, guiding you together out of the nursery, stopping to turn off the lights and close the door, leaving a small crack in the jamb in case she were to wake up again. “You’ve got eighteen years to look forward to…and that’s just a start.” You looked up at Elvis as you walked, watching his eyes widen. 

“Eighteen whole years?” He said, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “Whew, lord. She’s gonna be flirting with boys and stealing my thunder before we know it, huh?” 

You turned to him, pulling him into your bedroom by his hands. “Well, she is your daughter after all. Come here, Daddy,” you said, biting your bottom lip flirtaciously as you invited him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. “Let me show you how grateful I am for you.”

“I think you should accept your role, Taemin-ah.”

“Oh.” Taemin said, climbing off of Jonghyun’s lap- much to Jonghyun’s displeasure- and instead sitting at his side. “You know, um, you didn’t have to tell me all this if you just wanted to break up. You don’t need an excuse.”

“What? No.” Jonghyun shook his head. “Fuck no, Taemin, that’s not what this is about.”

Taemin stared blankly at Jonghyun. “I don’t understand. Why else would you want me to be a prince?”

“Because I thought that’s what you wanted!” Jonghyun answered, shifting so that he could face Taemin. “I thought you liked being rich and having professional meals and driving in a limo and - ”

“I’ll admit those are nice perks,” Taemin interrupted, “and yes, I was thinking about officially becoming a prince, but those aren’t the reasons why.”

“Then why?”

Taemin playfully pushed Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Because of you, idiot.”

“Oh. Sweet.” Jonghyun blushed and ran his hand through his hair. Then he frowned and looked off to the side. “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do, then.”

“...but you’re definitely not breaking up with me, right?” Taemin asked, looking at his hands as he twiddled his thumbs.

“I mean, in the long run, it’d probably be for the best that we ended this sooner than later…” Jonghyun sighed, and Taemin’s expression immediately soured. “But I don’t think my heart could take being away from you.”

Taemin made a gagging sound and focused on the laptop screen so Jonghyun wouldn’t see him blush. “I’m going to watch the movie now so I don’t have to listen to you be gross anymore.”

Jonghyun smirked, completely aware of Taemin’s embarrassment. “Okay, but I’m gonna bring it up again later. You don’t get off the hook just because you’re cute, you know.”

“It works on everyone else, though…” Taemin mumbled, pressing the play button and resuming their watch of Ariel and Eric’s first date.

Life would be so much easier if Jonghyun was a mermaid prince, Taemin thought as the scenes played on the screen. He’d be a royal then and we wouldn’t have this problem. There aren’t any laws against me marrying mermaids, right?

...or are there?

……………..

...I’ll ask uncle Jinki about it later.

13 years ago

Jinki’s phone was ringing. He forgot to turn the sound off before they were seated at the restaurant, so now he was hurriedly reaching into his back pocket before too many judgemental eyes sneered at him.

His hand stopped once he brought the phone to his face. Lighting up the small screen was a number he knew all too well. He pressed the “call” button with sweaty fingers, holding the phone to his ear.

“This is prince Lee Jinki.” He said, all his dinner guests turning to look at him curiously at his sudden authoritative tone.

“Your highness.” A breathy male voice replied, clearly distraught. Jinki recognized the voice but couldn’t contemplate who it belonged to before it began speaking again, “I-I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening, but...” The man took a shaky breath and Jinki realized that he must be crying.

“Is everything okay?” Jinki asked, subconsciously pushing his chair away from the table.

“Your brother.” The man choked out. “He’s gone missing.”

A rush of cold spread from Jinki’s head to his toes. “What?”

“They went on a fishing trip,” the man’s voice whimpered, “They were supposed to be back yesterday, but - ”

Jinki shut his phone closed. He didn’t even care that it was rude. He needed to get out of here. The next thing he knows he’s standing up and grabbing his jacket off of his chair.

“Babe? What are you doing?” A concerned woman said from beside him, reaching out for his hand.

“Robin.” Jinki breathed, turning towards her. “I have to go.”

“Wha - ” Her sentence was cut short because Jinki was suddenly dashing through the restaurant, leaving his meal unfinished and his three dinner guests overcome with shock and confusion.

His arm raises to call for a taxi without his brain even telling him to do so. He doesn’t even mind when someone pushes him out of the way and takes the taxi for themselves. It’s like he’s running on autopilot, his body knowing what to do despite not being able to tell if his thoughts are so jumbled he doesn’t understand them or if they’re simply not there at all.

The ride home might as well have been ten seconds instead of ten minutes, Jinki is so separated from reality. Once they arrive at his apartment complex he pays the driver more than he needs to and doesn’t wait for the change.

It isn’t until he’s going up the stairs to his apartment that he realizes he’s crying, his blurry vision making him stumble up the steps. His hands shake as he struggles to find the right key and it scruffs the metal of the doorknob as he unlocks the door.

He heads towards his and Robin’s shared bedroom, forgetting to turn on the lights. By the time his phone rings again, his suitcase is already open and waiting on his bed.

“Hello?” Jinki says, turning around so he can rummage through his closet.

“Jinki, where are you?” Robin says on the other line, speaking louder than usual in order to be heard over the noise in the background.

“Where are you calling from?” He asks, not bothering to hide his avoidance of the question.

“I had to wait to use the restaurant phone.” She replies. “And please, don’t avoid the subject. Marie and Elise are freaking out back at the table.” Robin worries her lip as she waits for Jinki to respond before asking a different question. “What’s the matter? Is everything okay?”

“I’m at our apartment.” Jinki deadpans, shoving as many clothes as he can into his suitcase.

The clatter and idle chit-chat of the restaurant are the only sounds heard on both ends as Robin attempts to think of something to say. “What are you doing there?” She tries, knowing he’s choosing to only reply to certain questions.

“Packing.” Jinki says, walking towards the bathroom to grab some toiletries.

“Oh.” Robin says. Her knees begin to shake after a reply fails to come. “Was it something I said?” She asks, gripping the phone tighter.

Jinki’s hands are sweating so bad he drops the toothpaste into the sink. “He’s gone.” He whispers.

“Who’s gone?” Robin says, sighing as she’s met with silence once more. “I’m coming over. Please don’t disappear again. We’re going to get through this, okay?”

He’s certain he forgets a lot in his haste. His chest is tight as he continues packing, as though he forgot how to breathe. It doesn’t let up until he’s sitting in the back of a taxi headed towards the airport, Robin still two minutes behind him.

The funeral itself was packed, the many friends the late prince made over the years unable to hold back their tears as they spoke about his life and how he touched so many of their hearts. That is, except for the row of seats Jinki was now sitting in. The row reserved for family members. Save for himself and his cousin with his head between his hands, it was depressingly empty. A whole row virtually empty and hundreds of reporters waiting outside, trying to get even the slightest glimpse of the casket. Jinki would have laughed at the irony of it if he was able to feel anything.

People offer their condolences during the luncheon following the service. Jinki replies accordingly, before forgetting what it was they said. He’s not entirely sure he was listening in the first place.

The blurry feeling encompassing his body isn’t lifted until he hears shouts coming from the kitchen. Everyone turns their head as the chef drags a young boy out by his arm, headed towards the phone.

Jinki stands and cuts them off before they can make it. “What’s going on?” He asks the chef, eyeing the boy who’s fruitlessly trying to break free from the large man’s grasp.

“Your highness,” the man says with a bow, “this rat somehow snuck into your brother's funeral so that he could come and steal food from my kitchen!”

“I didn’t sneak in!” The boy squeaks, hitting the chef’s forearm as hard as he could. “Let go of me!”

The chef turns to the kid with a snarl but is interrupted by Jinki before he can get a word out. “Let him go.” Jinki says.

The chef looks between the boy and Jinki with wide eyes before releasing his grasp, bowing his head as he backs away towards the kitchen. The kid tries to make a run for it but is halted by Jinki, who clasps his hand on the kids shoulder and leans down to his eye level.

“How about you and I have a talk, hm?”

Jinki and the young boy sit next to each other on the steps in an unused section of the church, the boy clutching his blue hoodie to his chest, obviously hiding something inside of it.

“What did you steal?” Jinki asks, pointing his head towards the large lump in the hoodie’s fabric. The boy sheepishly reaches into his hoodie, pulling out a bag of white bread.

“God, what a fucking asshole…” Jinki swears under his breath, the boy gasping and staring in shock at what he just heard. “Oops. Sorry.”

The boy leaves the bread on the bottom step and brings his knees to his chest. His gaze is fixed on the ground and Jinki sighs, not entirely sure how to handle this type of situation. It’s times like this he felt his speaking lessons truly failed him.

“I didn’t sneak in.” The kid mumbles, drawing circles with his finger on the marble of the step. “I have an invitation.”

“May I see it?” Jinki says, and the boy fishes out the crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and hands it to Jinki, still fixated on the ground.

“Kim Won Hae.” Jinki reads aloud. “Is that your name?”

“No, it’s my dad’s.” The kid replies.

“What’s your name, then?” Jinki tilts his head to the side to try and make eye contact with the boy. He turns his head away. “You can tell me, you’re not in any trouble. I just need to know what to call you, that’s all.”

The boy turns his head forward again, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Kibum.” He sniffles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kim Kibum.” Jinki says, only getting another sniffle in reply. “Tell me, is your father here with you?”

“He’s dead.” Kibum whimpers.

“Oh.” Is all Jinki manages in reply. He drums his fingers against his thighs as he tries to think of something, anything, to say to Kibum that could possibly help.

“Is...your mother here?” Jinki tries, hoping for a better reaction this time.

“I hope not.” Kibum says, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “She didn’t want me. My dad found me in a dumpster when I was two days old.”

Well, shit. Jinki clears his throat awkwardly, mentally cursing himself for making the already terrible conversation even worse. “Sorry...about...that…” Jinki says, moving his hand to try and pat Kibum’s back before deciding against it, arm falling to his side. Not knowing what to do, he pries further, seeing as finding out what’s happening is the only way he can somehow help this kid.

“Who’s taking care of you, then?” Jinki asks, pulling out his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handing it to Kibum. Kibum blows his nose into it and Jinki recoils. That’ll be fun to wash.

Kibum keeps the handkerchief scrunched in his hand, lowering his face into his knees. Judging by the lack of response and also the fact that he had to resort to stealing, Jinki figures the answer is ‘no one’.

“Do you have a place to stay, Kibum? Any relatives I might be able to call?” Jinki says.

“I don’t have any family, they didn’t want my dad, either.” Kibum murmurs, voice muffled by the fabric of his jeans. “I’m still living at home, but…” He trails off.

“But what?”

Kibum looks off to the side. “I ate the last of the food that was in our fridge. That’s why I had to steal.” He turns back towards Jinki with new tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jinki tells him, and offers his hand as he stands up. They walk side by side back into the dining hall, Jinki’s body shielding Kibum from the curious eyes of the guests. He quickly finds his two most trusted workers, and approaches them without preamble.

“Ashley, Joo Hyun, this is Kibum.” They greet the young boy enthusiastically. “Ashley, please prepare a room for him back at the castle. A room close to mine would be preferable.” She bows and briskly makes her way towards the exit. “Joo Hyun, I would like for you to take Kibum to his house and help him pack.” She nods and crouches down to eye level with Kibum, taking his small hand in hers.

“What about my dad?” Kibum asks, gazing up at Jinki. He and Joohyun exchange confused looks.

“What about your dad?” Jinki says, trying to understand where Kibum was headed with this.

“He’s still in his bed.”

Jinki almost doesn’t make it to the bathroom before his face is riddled with tears, as if a dam had broken simply from those words. He was crying sympathy tears for Kibum’s pain as well as his own grief, the same grief he had been denying himself to feel for the past month.

He wants to thank Kibum later on.

“How come you weren’t at the funeral?” Jinki asks a short woman as he leans against her kitchen counter. She sighs and sets her knife next to the birthday cake she had been cutting.

“First of all, I haven’t seen the man in over five years, second of all, I don’t have the money to travel to Aellyn, third of - ”

“Hyo Jin, he’s your son’s father.” Jinki interrupts, pointedly tilting his head towards the child stacking Legos into a tower with the help of two friends in the room over.

Ms. Lee sighs and rubs at her forehead, leaving a streak of chocolate across her skin. “Speaking of my son, he’s wondering why a strange man he’s never met before suddenly showed up at his birthday party.” She turns back to the cake and resumes cutting it into squares. “Without a gift, mind you.”

“I’m his uncle.” Jinki says defensively, folding his arms across his chest.

“So what?” Her cuts become more forceful as she continues talking. “I barely know you, Taemin’s never seen you before in his life, and his father left us while he was still in my womb. As far as I’m concerned, none of you are our family.”

“That’s why I came here to say I’m sorry.”

She halts her cutting for a moment, before resuming again at a much calmer pace. “For what?”

“For the way my brother treated you, and how our family never gave a shit about you despite your son being the heir to the throne.” Jinki says, lowering his head. Hyo Jin halts her cutting of the cake. “That’s why I came here today.” She turns towards Jinki, curls falling onto her face.

“To apologize for your brother? I understood why he had to leave. I let him go.” She says in a gentle tone Jinki recognizes as the one he uses when he speaks about Robin. “It’s not like he can go against the laws of his country.”

“No, that’s not…” Jinki sighs, running his hand through his hair. He looks to the next room over, watching his nephew stand on his toes to try and stack a Lego on top of a tower that’s already at least a foot taller than him. “What are we going to do about Taemin?”

“I don’t want him knowing he’s a prince until he’s at least eighteen.” Hyo Jin says with a curt nod, as though she had already thought this over. “I want him to have a somewhat normal childhood.”

“I also think that would be best.” Jinki nods.

Hyo Jin pauses as she transfers the squares of cake onto Toy Story paper plates. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily.” She chuckles.

“Well, I don’t exactly like the thought of another kid going through the shit I had to.” Jinki says. Hyo Jin gives him a stern look and points her thumb towards the children playing in the living room. “Oops. I meant hardships. Yeah.”

Hyo Jin rolls her eyes and hands the cake slicer to Jinki. “Here. You can do this, seeing as you’ve only been standing there this whole time.” He takes the utensil from her hand and picks up where she left off as she shifts over to the sink.

“I had to leave someone behind because of Aellyn’s laws, same reason why my brother left you.” Jinki says, his grip on the cake slicer becoming weak. “If Taemin decides to inherit the throne…” He stops, and turns around just in time to see Taemin’s Lego tower crash to the ground. Jinki takes a deep breath and looks at Ms. Lee.

Was he so broken even the death of his wife wouldn’t affect him?

The man brought the half-empty bottle of whiskey to his lips. The golden liquid cast a gentle warmth on his entire being. Tommy welcomed it, only wincing as the taste burnt his lips.

At least he could still feel that.

The reason he couldn’t cry for his late wife, he knew it.

That very reason made him cower with shame. Run away from her mourning family. Hide from his own son who, only aged two, reminded him so much of her.

But how could he cry for a woman he had never been in love with?

He swallowed another sip.

No matter how many times he had foolishly tried to convince himself, he was never in love.

He cared for her. He was loyal. He was devoted.

But never in love.

No, his heart belonged to another.

He chugged at the bottle, drinking until he couldn’t breathe and his head felt dizzy.

He closed his eyes, the heavy rain making him shiver.

Her image, engraved on his eyelids, shook his heart. She had always been aware of it. There was a distance, a wall between them. He didn’t look at her the way she wanted him to— no spark, no tenderness in his gaze. They shared a house and a family but that’s all they would ever have.

If Tommy married Grace, despite her betrayal, it was only to do right by her.

And he never regretted it.

Thomas Shelby wasn’t a man of many regrets.

He was a man of guilt.

Marrying a woman he didn’t love to preserve her reputation— to protect her— just to get her killed instead.

That was all him.

He stared blankly at his hands, an empty chuckle leaving his lips.

Those hands. Dripping with innocent blood.

So much blood.

Blood on her porcelain skin. Blood on her powder pink dress. Blood on his pristine white shirt. Blood. Everywhere.

And it was all his fault.

Gulp.

If there was one thing worse than being responsible for Grace's death, it was the shame he felt.

Even dead, he couldn’t give her what she desired. He couldn’t mourn for her the way everyone expected him to. His heart couldn’t break for her the way it should because it never belonged to her in the first place.

Gulp.

His son was going to grow up without his mother. Tommy knew how that felt. It was the last thing he wished for Charlie. To grow up the way he did.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

The last drop of ember liquid slid down his throat and Tommy stared at the clear glass. There was no consolation. No rest for him. Not here. And certainly not at the bottom of that bottle.

He got up suddenly, stumbling through the large field into his car. Glancing at his pallid face in the rearview mirror, he sighed.

There was only one place Tommy could hope to find comfort tonight.

A soft knock on the door tore you from your thoughts. A swift glance at the clock pointed to the late hour as you slipped your robe on. You crossed your apartment warily, wondering who could visit in the middle of the night. Who could be brave— or stupid enough to defy the pouring rain outside?

You opened the door slowly, your heart pounding in apprehension.

“Tommy?” You opened the door slowly, heart pounding in apprehension. “Gosh, Tom, you must be freezing! A-are you okay?” you quickly ushered him inside.

Grabbing his coat and cap, you handed him a dry towel.

You hadn’t seen him since the morning, at the funeral. He left after his speech, handing Charlie to Polly and taking his car.

His brothers spent hours searching for him but it was useless. If Thomas Shelby decided he didn’t want to be found, then nobody would.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe you should warn Polly or Ada, tell them he was with you.

Instead, you brought a comforting hand to his soaked arm. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“No, it’s alright. I…I don’t even know why I came here,” he slurred, his eyes darting around— always avoiding you.

Guiding him towards the sofa, you managed to get a better look at him.

To say he seemed tired was a euphemism. His eyes lacked their usual spark and his skin had a sick, grayish tone. He had aged twenty years in about a week.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the memory of the young man he used to be appeared. His clear laugh rang out somewhere in your mind and you thought about the long nights spent with the other. Up there, on the roof of some abandoned factory, dreaming of a gilded future.

“Do you think you can get up? My brother left some clothes here, you could change into something dry.”

Tommy took a cigarette out from the pocket of his black jacket. You observed him, watching the same ritual you’ve witnessed countless times. The cigarette between his lips, he muttered “It’s fine,” before inhaling the smoke. “I should go anyway. Shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. ‘M sorry.”

Your hand reached for his. “No. You’re not going anywhere, Tom.”

He observed you as he felt your thumb running against his skin. Such a simple gesture yet it took Tommy a moment to recognize the small display of affection.

Your touch sent shivers down his spine, different from the ones he felt because of the cold— enjoyable. He decided to focus on the warmth emanating from your hand, sitting back down.

He wondered when was the last time someone had been so tender with him. The last time touch didn’t rhyme with broken bones and bruises. The last time he seemed important enough to be handled with care and gentleness.

“Hey,” you announced softly, taking a seat next to Tommy. “How’s your arm doing?”

He took a swig straight out of the bottle of champagne. You instantly recognized the “gift” offered by Grace as he handed it to you. “Feels like it's been shot,” he shrugged, his gaze fixed on his passed-out brothers.

Sighing, you swallowed some of the bubbly liquid again. Even though a part of you was thrilled to see the blonde barmaid gone— you had been wishing for that ever since she stepped into town— seeing Tommy so heartbroken snatched the joy away.

To your dismay, her arrival in Small Heath brought back parts of him you thought were lost in some deserted french field. It shattered your heart to see his smile, the somehow sparkling eyes, the lightness in his demeanor every time—and only when she was around. 

And yet, if it meant him being happy again, then you could deal with the disappointment and the jealousy and the yearning. You could handle watching his joy from afar. Even if you weren’t the reason behind his smile, even if you weren’t part of it. You just wanted him to be happy.

But it was all a lie.

Who would have thought it was merely a scheme?

Probably the oldest one in the book— to get close to the man in charge and trick him into handing the information on a silver platter. No one suspected her. Not even Polly.

She had managed to fool all of you, the same way you’d fool a child into drinking some nasty medicine.

“And you?” you finally ask, turning your head to observe Tommy. “How are you?”

You noticed the clench in his jaw, the pause—a fraction of a second too long before answering “Good.”

"Really good or ‘just leave me alone’ good?”

He grabbed the bottle from your hands, staying quiet and you took this as a sign to ask again. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

One of the things Tommy cherished the most in your relationship was his ability to be honest with you. You seemed to understand, or at least accept what others qualified as flaws. He knew he could ask you to go away if he wanted to without upsetting you. It comforted him in some way. 

But then, the thought of you leaving made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The swirl of emotions was too much. Too much for him to deal with alone.

His hand searched for yours, squeezing it gently. The words didn’t need to be uttered. You sat closer to him and for some reason Tommy couldn’t understand, his head rested on your shoulder.

It wasn’t calculated. He didn’t even think of it.

One minute he was carrying his heavy heart alone. The next, you stood by him and lifted some of the burden away.

Your fingers made their way to the shaved part of his head and Tommy closed his eyes. He could forget about everything. Forget about the throbbing pain in his arm. Forget about Danny Whizzbang. Forget about her.

He could just lean on you for a little bit. Focus on the feeling of your nails grazing his skin. Let the faint scent of aldehydes wrapped in roses suffocate the demons in his mind.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself, Tom,” you whispered after a moment of silence.

He scoffed and you brought your hands to his face, lifting his head from your shoulder. “I’m serious,” the fierce look in your eyes confirmed your words. “It could have happened to any of us. And you’ve been through so much. You wanted to believe you could finally allow yourself some peace,” your thumbs ran across his cheekbones. “It was with the wrong person but you still deserve it. You deserve good things.”

Tommy stared at you, almost bewildered. How could you say those words to him— and believe them when you knew what he was? He wondered if your friendship affected your judgment. Made you less able to separate the man he was from the memories you had with him.

As if you had been reading through his mind, you interrupted his ruminations. “I know you’ve convinced yourself you were all bad and evil but you’re wrong. The voices in your head are wrong. There is still good in you, Tom. I know there is, I can see it,” your hand slid from his cheek, dropping to his heart. “Right here.”

Tommy could only observe you. The determination in your voice, the earnestness in your eyes, you were convinced with your own speech. So much that a part of him began to trust you.

You smiled softly at him and he swore he felt his heart miss a beat. “You’re going to meet a nice girl. And she’ll be funny and sweet. And she’ll probably have the patience of a saint to deal with your stubborn arse.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remark. “But she’ll love you more than anything else and she’ll be lucky because you’ll love her just the same.”

And while Tommy listened intently, the only thing he could think about was you.

Everything you described. Everything you said.

You. You. You.

It was you.

Tommy pressed his palms against his eyes until light dots appeared in his vision. He was beyond exhausted. His head, his arms, his legs ached. His entire body was begging him to surrender. Wave the white flag and give up.

He didn’t know how many battles he could still fight. How many blows he could still stomach. How many times his heart could still be torn apart and keep going.

If all of this was extra, why did it hurt so much?

“I called Polly,” you cut Tommy’s train of thoughts, entering the living room. “Charlie’s alright, he’s asleep now. She is staying at Arrow House with Ada.”

Tommy sighed, his gaze fixed on his trembling fingers. You observed him quietly, noticing the habit he had when something bothered him. He kept clenching his jaw anxiously. To the point you worried he might dislocate it.

Trying to catch his attention, you cleared your throat. Once. Twice.

And realizing he was far too gone into his own mind, you lightly touched his shoulder.

“You should get some rest. You’re tired.”

“I’m alright,” the response was short. Cold.

Anyone else would have backed down. Apologized, even. But you sat next to him, your concern only growing and decided to ask, “When was the last time you slept, hm?”

The dead silence that followed said it all.

You shook your head, a desperate sigh filling the quiet room with your worry.

“I wish there was something I could do,” your fingers brushed against his damp hair. “It’s breaking my heart to see you like this, Tom”

He stared at you, feeling your breath tickling his cheeks— the soft summer breeze embracing him after a hot, straining day.

And something in the air shifted.

Maybe it was the comfort Tommy found in your eyes. Maybe it was the way his heartbeat seemed to chant your name. Maybe he just wanted to.

But he leaned in.

His lips caressed yours, almost timidly before he moved closer. He was kissing you. The dwindling ember ablaze at the sweet taste of your lips mixed with whiskey and tobacco. A precious nectar Tommy knew he could never live without now that he had tasted it.

It seemed to be the only way to bring air into his lungs. Yet somehow, he felt breathless at the same time.

The feeling of his lips— so strangely soft made you dizzy. Your brain didn’t seem to work properly as you kissed him back. Tommy. Kissing you.

You almost giggled, a warm rush spreading in your chest and your head and everywhere in your body.

The only thing keeping you from bursting in flames was the cold. From his hands. His shirt. His hair twirling around your fingers.

You relished it. Cherished his calloused skin against yours. The dazzled lightness in the air.

At that moment, you were no more than a simple woman. And he was a simple man. Kissing you so passionately in the faint twilight.

Your hand touched his, grazing the golden band on his finger and you felt the bubble around you explode.

You weren’t a simple woman. He was far from a simple man.

You pushed him away, regretfully. Your body was almost leaning in again, craving more of the electricity skipping through your veins.

You wanted to be his. And him to be yours.

But not like this.

You knew Tommy like you knew your way back home. He couldn’t address his grief properly. He had never really learned, even after years of practice. The only thing he was used to was taking the pain away, no matter how. No matter the consequences he’d have to face.

And you were well aware of that.

Tommy wasn’t kissing you out of love or even out of desire. He was kissing you to feel better. You couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Certainly not to you.

But the look he gave you as he realized what you had done made you want to throw it all away.

To hell with morals and honorable principles!

Who needed that when you could kiss him over and over again? When all you had to care about was his heart pounding against your palm, raindrops cooling down your flushed cheeks.

“Tom…” you resigned yourself.

No, you couldn’t just throw it all away. He was mourning his dead wife and he was in pain. You couldn’t take advantage of that.

His hand left your waist as if it had burnt him and guilt soon replaced the gentle warmth in your chest. But it was for the best.

At least, you tried to convince yourself it was.

The terrible humiliation was nothing compared to the regret he’d feel as the sunlight cleared his mind. He couldn’t realize it now. Too intoxicated, protected by the moon’s sheltering shimmer.

You had to keep your composure. Don’t let yourself be fooled by the comforting embrace. It was all an illusion. Giving in meant feeding the sliver of desire you tried so hard to contain.

You couldn’t live off some false hope.

You couldn’t risk your own sanity just so he could choose her.

Not again.

Running through the empty halls of the company, heart pounding in your chest with worry, you prayed.

Please let him be there. Please make sure he’s safe. Please. Please. Please.

Your heels hit the hardwood floor, each step resonating through the halls of the empty building. Out of breath, you almost fell to the ground when the engraved glass doors appeared in front of you— at last, liberation.

You pushed them open, not paying attention to the sound of the slamming doors. A relieved sigh left your lips, your gaze falling on him.

In his armchair, almost asleep, Tommy didn’t budge at the noise. He lazily opened one eye, observing your disheveled hair, how breathless you were. Sitting up, questions bubbling in his chest, he opened his mouth but you interrupted him before he could say a word.

“Where the fuck have you been, eh?” you yelled, walking into the office. Tommy left his chair, carefully joining you in the middle of the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

He only stared at you, waiting for the anger to settle down. He realized how worried you must have been, how terrified it was to not find him after he left so suddenly. But he could only feel relief.

Two hours ago, he was kneeling in front of a grave, waiting to be shot. And now, he was with you, getting a well-deserved earful for disappearing.

Tommy had probably never been this happy to get yelled at.

“…And nobody knew where the fuck you were! And then there were shots and we were all running around, even got my new shoes ruined!” you rambled, your hands waving around. “Arthur told me it was over but I couldn’t find you! I searched everywhere, even asked that posh girl who looked after your horse! And I swear to God, someday I will put a leash on you! Disappearing like that! I-“ You stopped abruptly, your expression changing as you noticed the bright red staining Tommy’s temple “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding? What…”

“I’m okay,” he replied softly, feeling a change in the air. You closed the distance between you, your hands reaching for the injury.

“What happened to you?” You whispered, your voice higher than before.

Thomas’s hand wrapped yours and he smiled, trying to reassure you. “I survived, Y/N. I’m alive.”

Your lips wobbled, eyes watering and your anger wafted away, replaced by a gut-wrenching worry.

The words he uttered to you at the races before he left took on their full meaning. You couldn’t realize it at the time but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your temple and promised to come back.

It had felt a little too familiar but you couldn’t remember why.

He was saying goodbye, that’s why. He promised something he wasn’t sure he would keep just to assure your peace of mind.

Suddenly, you were back on the train platform, watching him walk away to a most certain death, completely powerless.

You almost lost him today. Again.

He was gone but then he came back.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe you were granted a second chance after letting the first one go. Who knew if you would get another?

You couldn’t waste it.

You couldn’t let your last chance slip through your fingers.

You couldn’t risk losing him.

Not without him knowing about your feelings.

“Tommy, I…”

His arms wrapped around your waist stopped the words on the tip of your tongue. He held you close, so close his heart beat right over your ear. One gentle kiss on your temple. His fingers threading through your hair, you closed your eyes.

“I’ll buy you new shoes. I’ll buy you all the shoes you wish for. Even hire a cobbler just for you,” he whispered, tightening his embrace.

“Forget about the shoes…” you started, trying to find the right words.

But what could you say?

Nothing seemed enough. All so insignificant compared to the love you carried like a cherished picture in a locket— always close to your heart.

“I have to tell you something,” he interrupted, a soft smile brightening his expression. “I’m going to be a father.”

“What?” you asked, leaning back.

“Grace’s pregnant with my baby. I’m going to marry her and we’ll raise him together.”

And the world seemed to crumble around you.

Who knew a sentence as simple as this could have the same effect as a thousand cuts?

You could only stare at him, your mind playing the words over and over again— a broken record you were doomed to endure for the rest of your days.

Your eyes burnt with bitter tears attempting to escape their prison. A million questions rushed through your brains, striking each other until nothing made sense.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.

You would find another way. Raise the child yourself if you had to. But not her.

He couldn’t fall for her again. You had to talk him out of it. Reason with him.

You couldn’t lose him like this.

“Y/N?”

You focused your attention back on Tommy, noticing the frown forming between his brows.

He expected your answer. Hell, his decision probably depended on your next words. But the idea of a baby…

He had given up on that.

The dreams of a happy, somewhat normal life had been buried in the tunnels. Covered in mud. Lying next to the decaying bodies of his comrades.

And now, it was so close to him. He could reach through the mud and get this life back. He could try to leave the war behind. Let a new life forgive all the lost ones.

Let the flowers grow over the old tunnels.

You bit the inside of your cheek. No, you couldn’t ruin that for him. He went through enough. He deserved some rest.

No matter how selfish you wanted to be, he would always be above all foolish sentiments.

A forced, poorly attempted smile made its way on your face— locking the tears away.

“I’m just…I’m so happy for you,” your voice broke as relief washed over his tired features. He hugged you again, chuckling. “You’re going to be a wonderful father,” there was no hesitation. Only the truth.

“And you’ll be an even more wonderful aunt,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing your back. “Don’t tell Ada I said this.”

You clutched his jacket in your hands, biting your lips hard enough a faint metallic taste covered the bile in your mouth.

The familiar feeling was here again. An impression of déjà-vu. Back on the train platform. Watching him leave.

But this time, he wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, we can’t…” but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen to whatever excuse you had.

The only thing worse than being rejected by you would probably be hearing you say the words.

I don’t love you, Tommy.

No. It would be the fatal blow. He wasn’t ready for that.

He got up, the alcohol in his blood seemingly gone— deserting, leaving him powerless.

“Tommy, please”

You kept saying his name like it mattered. Like it would change anything.

Shaking his head, he pulled his arm away.

Nothing could mend the raw rip, tearing his heart in half.

It made no sense to him. He was convinced there had been something.

You.

You who stood by him through everything.

You were the only constant.

Your relationship, his only haven— the solid deck on vicious waters.

Never breaking. Never busting.

What would he do if the deck shattered?

Tommy didn’t have the answer to that question. He didn’t want to know.

The cold pit in his stomach as you leaned back was enough to make him leave. He couldn’t bear looking you in the eyes, terrified of what he’d find there.

He had to go.

You followed him through your apartment, calling his name. He wasn’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t allow it. Passing the door meant giving up on your friendship.

It couldn’t end this way.

“Tom, listen to me,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” struggling to find your words, you felt the lump in your throat growing until you were suffocating. “Please, don’t go. You can’t go now, you can’t.”

He grabbed his jacket. The sound of your voice withering almost made him stay. Force a smile on. Tell you it was alright.

No matter how hardened he grew with the years, he never could stand you crying. Ever since the day he met you.  

You had scratched your knee on the dingy pavement and he carried you on his back. He even stole a chocolate bar to console you— the little girl with braids and the sweetest laugh his ears were blessed to hear.

He swore he’d do anything to bring the smile back on your face. Engrave the lightness it carried in his heart.

You would know no woe. No grief.

Not as long as you had him.

You clenched your jaw, desperate tears starting to roll down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew your choice was the best but the sight of him leaving—even worse, hating you, made you sick.

“Tommy,” your voice broke,  “Please, you can’t leave now. Please…,” one last wretched attempt to get him to stay.

Time began to flow so slowly you could swear it stopped.

The clock didn’t tick. The fire in the hearth didn’t crack. The wind didn’t blow.

The world around you held its breath. Waiting. Carefully listening to your beating heart. Pounding against your ribcage. Each thump edging you to the forlorn void of despair.

But if there was one promise Tommy wouldn’t break, it was the one he made to the little girl with her braids and her scratched knee.

His greatest weakness.

You.

Fingers freezing on the doorknob, Tommy listened to your quiet sniffles. He bit his tongue, feeling the guilty grip around his heart.

The moment of hesitation— only a few seconds but it was enough time to put your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” your forehead rested against his as you whispered, your breath brushing against his lips. “But we can’t do this,” Tommy clenched his jaw, his shoulders slouching in apprehension. “You’re only doing this to feel better and I wish I could help you, I do. But I won’t let you wreck everything just to regret it tomorrow and probably the days after…because you love her.”

A trembling breath left your lips. “You're in love with Grace and you’re mourning and…”

“What?”

Tommy pushed you away, deep creases forming on his forehead. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Tom…”

“What are you talking about? Why would you say that, eh?” confusion in his voice turning into venom, the lack of sleep grinding his nerves.

“Y-You love her. You love Grace, she was your wife and I’m sorry if…”

“Is that what you think?” he spat out as your hands reached for him again.

The fatal blow.

Unexpected. Sharp. Lethal.

“What do you mean?” you stared at him, puzzled at his brusque reaction. “Grace was…”

“Stop saying her fucking name!” he snapped, eyes maddened by his own anguish.

The mere sound of her name was enough to stir the guilt overtaking his body— stabbing the same bleeding wound over and over.  

You stood before him, not knowing how to act.

Tommy rarely lost his cool. He always had the upper hand over his own emotions. You were used to that. You had learnt to deal with his seemingly unshakable façade.

This was different.

“Is that what you think, hm?” he repeated, cutting the stunned silence reigning “You think I was in love with her?”

You had no idea what to reply. You couldn’t grasp the reason behind his outburst. His anger and his hurt were part of a puzzle missing its central piece.

Twisting his words in your mind, you tried to find a clue— anything to help you understand. The accumulation of distressing events was the most obvious answer but it still didn’t explain everything.

“Tom, I don’t understand, I…” you finally admitted, powerless faced with his own torment.

Your confession made him scoff. Tommy’s chest heaved and he clenched his jaw, biting back the words burning his tongue.

The turmoil of emotion began to overwhelm him and he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, words would flow uncontrollably. The wise decision was to walk away.

Walk away and blame the concerning amount of whiskey in his blood the next day.

Just walk away.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Of course.

The heavy lump in Tommy’s throat seemed to explode, spreading its vehement poison across his body.

“I was never in love with Grace.” he spun around, facing your defeated expression “I was never in love with her because I’ve always loved you. You.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t say anything. But Tommy didn’t expect you to. “She was the mother of my son and I cared about her but the way I love you… You are the only woman that ever mattered and without you…” his voice broke, eyes watering.

The wave of emotion washed over him with such intensity, air barely reached his lungs.

Drowning.

He felt like he was drowning. Condemned in a tormented sea. Desperately gasping for air yet only allowing more water in.

Tommy considered the idea of forsaking— let the water burn his throat, churn at his insides as long as he could rest. As long as his soul didn’t ache.

But at the very last second, he felt hands pulling him out.

You embraced him, arms tightly knit around his neck, his head resting against your shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes, treasuring the small moment of peace granted to him.

Feeling the strength in his body failing, you guided your bodies to the carpeted floor. His arms tightened around you and you sighed.

His confession had been everything you ever wanted to hear and you desperately wanted to believe him. Craved to whisper those same words back.

But could you trust the words of a man so inebriated he would probably not remember by the morning?

“It was all an illusion”, you reminded yourself.

Tommy, your friend, may have been the man you loved but he was also a widower. Maybe it made no sense to act this way and maybe you should believe him because why else would he say this?

But it was unfair to expect him to “make sense” after what happened to him.

He needed comfort. He needed to stop being the man in charge, the “always standing” one. He needed you to be his friend.

Only that.

Your hands rubbed his back soothingly and you kissed the side of his head, chasing the voice in your head begging you to give in.

For now, you’d have to content yourself with that.

A gentle embrace, mending the scattered pieces of his heart in the dark hall. Tommy couldn’t let go. Your arms provided the solace he longed for—the lifebelt keeping him afloat.

And as you held him, he could only think about the time. The time he lost. The time he could have had.

If only he had said something…

The train platform turned into a sea of teary goodbyes, children escaping their mother’s grasp and boys, men— soldiers, leaving for France.

Clutching Tommy’s army jacket in your hand, you felt his fingers brushing the tears on your cheeks.

“Come on, sweetheart, you know I hate seeing you cry,” he attempted a soft smile.

“Then don’t leave us.”

And he knew he would. He would do anything if it dried your tears and erased the sad pout on your face.

“Please, just one smile. I want to see you smile.”

In case it was the last time.

Tommy searched through his pockets, waving a bright blue box in front of you. “Now you can’t cry anymore,” he muttered with a sly smirk.

You stared at the chocolate bar and couldn’t help the grin making its way through your tears. You swung your arms around his neck, cutting his breath short as you hugged him.

Tommy returned the embrace, closing his eyes.

He could never open them again and stay with you. He wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Just stay. Thread his fingers through your hair and kiss you and love you. He could just stay.

Neither of you wanted to let go. You were pretty sure neither of you could.

As long as you had him. As long as he had you. Nothing could reach you. Nothing could hurt you. If only you held onto each other tighter.

But a loud, piercing whistle resonated through the station, breaking the tender embrace. Tommy took a moment to admire you. Gentle features and radiant smile. That’s how he wanted to remember you. His thumbs reached under your eyes. No tears.

Not today. Not ever.

He wasn’t sure he could keep standing there as you cried and not cry himself. Blinking away, his jaw clenched, he let his fingers trail down your cheek.

His touch was so soft, so light—like feathers tickling your skin— it almost made you forget why he was leaving.

You tried to smile, even as a few rebellious tears tried to escape.

Oh, my darling Y/N...

And he thought he might finally admit it. Confess right here on the noisy train platform. Whisper the words into your ear and make you promise you’ll wait for him.

He was already walking towards death, he might as well free himself of the secret he kept for so long— the same way a condemned man would.

“Tommy?”

He focused his attention on you, the delicately embroidered handkerchief close to your nose. Your eyes reddened with tears, cheeks still damp.

Yes, he could say it.

But what if he didn’t come back?

What if he told you he loved you and died in some french field? What if the only thing you got back from him was a box of his belongings and nothing else?

“I…I just…” You wouldn't handle it. You were already terrified of what would happen, he couldn’t add to that some foolish confession just to feel better. 

He couldn’t risk it. 

“I’ll miss you. Take care, yeah?” he leaned in, kissing your temple.

“Come on, Tom! We’re gonna be late,” Arthur’s deep voice urged him.

“I’ll write to you all the time,” you promised, your hand reaching for his.

Tommy didn’t let go, holding your fingers until he was too far. He stepped onto the train, his eyes always set on yours.

One last glance. One last smile.

And he was gone.

Arthur and John found a compartment where they set their bags, greeting other soldiers. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention.

He had a chance. He could have said it.

No. No, it would have been too selfish to blurt it out and leave. He wanted to tell you he loved you but not under Death’s malignant threat.

He would admit he loved you only if he could live to fulfill that promise. When he could take you dancing. When he could be sure to fall asleep kissing you and wake up just the same.

What was the point of saying it if he never had the chance to show it?

But could he really risk dying without ever telling you?

If he died and you never knew he loved you, he would regret it.

One last whistle resonated through the train station. The train wobbled, slowly moving.

No. No. No.

Tommy left the compartment, running to the corridors.

“Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”

The last thing he wanted was to break your heart if he didn’t come back. But he couldn’t leave without you knowing just how much he loved you.

He just had to make his way back to you.

And he could. He could fight and floor his opponent if it meant coming home to you.

He just had to say it. He had to.

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

Pushing away soldiers, ignoring their exclamations and complaints, Tommy finally reached the last car.

It was full but it didn’t matter. He burst in, running towards the window. Quick. Before it’s too late.

I love you.  

Soldiers were staring at him as if he was mad.

Maybe he was.

I love you.

He leaned out, almost tipping over and falling. He didn’t care.

I love you.

Tommy spotted you amongst the crowd.

I love you. I love you. I...

But the train had already left the platform.

It was too far. It was too late.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, defeated.

No one noticed the tears in his eyes. The train rushed under the dim tunnel as regret filled his body with immense darkness.

Too late.

You woke up with a groan, shy rays of sunshine tiptoeing through your quiet apartment. But you couldn’t enjoy the warm weather. Not when every limb, every muscle, every fiber of your body ached.

On the floor. You had fallen asleep on the floor.

You groaned again, stretching your sore legs. As you tried to get up, the night before came back to your mind. 

At least you had an explanation for your aching neck.

You called for Tommy, expecting to find him in the living room but the room was completely empty.

The exhaustion in your body was enough to not question it too much as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a cup of tea. And maybe some sleep in your bed.

But as you moved towards the table to prepare your breakfast, you noticed a small piece of paper.

Recognizing Tommy’s clear writing, you felt a warm rush through your body and a smile creeping on your tired features.