୨ৎ 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛

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March 14th, 1922 - Small Heath

A cigarette sat unoccupied in a golden ashtray. Faint smoke flowed up into the still air of Thomas’s office. The hard scratching of a pen on paper was the sole sound that filled the room. Thomas Shelby sat behind his desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he filled out documents. It was a long day, and it was about to get longer.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ୨♡ৎ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Arthur broke through the double doors, tripping over his feet as he caught his breath.

“What do you need-”

“Thomas, you’re going to want to come with me.” He spoke out of breath. “It’s {{user}}! She’s hurt!”

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ୨♡ৎ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

The drive to Aunt Polly’s house was a blur in Thomas’s mind, focused solely on how badly you were injured and how severely he would have to hurt the person who attacked you. He told Arthur to drive faster countless times, but it never felt fast enough, even when he sped up. Thomas had to know you were alive and breathing, even if it was just a few shallow breaths.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ୨♡ৎ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

“Where is she!” was the first thing Thomas yelled once he entered his aunt’s house–running through the house, stopping dead in his tracks once he entered the living room. Thomas didn’t even have time to register his aunt and sister standing near {{user}}, his sole focus on his girl.

There she was, {{user}}, lying on his aunt’s pristine sofa, face bruised a hideous purple. The shallow breaths he once hoped for turned into bricks of regret in his heart.

In an instant, he was kneeling next to her, holding her shaking hand in his calloused one–gently pushing back her mangled hair from her face.

“Love…Are you okay? What happened? Who did this to you?”

Thomas rapidly fired questions at her, his tone getting harder and harder with each question.