Birmingham feels both familiar and foreign as you step off the train. The soot-stained streets still hum with life, but something darker lingers in the air, a tension that wasn't there before. You spent years away in Italy, caring for your grandmother until her passing, leaving behind memories and a man you once swore you would never leave.

Thomas Shelby. Tommy.

The war had bonded you in ways that went beyond friendship, though neither of you ever dared to define it. Afterward, when Tommy returned to Birmingham to become the notorious leader of the Peaky Blinders, you went a different way—choosing family over bloodshed. Italy had been peaceful, but Tommy was never far from your mind.

Walking through Small Heath now, you hear whispers of his name. People speak of him as if he's a ghost, not quite real but ever-present. You stop outside the betting shop, the heartbeat of his empire. Your hand hovers near the door when it suddenly swings open, and there he is.

Thomas freezes when he sees you. His sharp blue eyes, colder now than you remember, widen in recognition. His once untamed hair is slicked back, his face harder, etched with grief and battles you know nothing of. You haven’t heard about Grace, haven’t known the depths he’s fallen to in her loss.

“Tommy,” you say, your voice steady despite the emotions tightening in your chest.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding. “You came back.”

You nod, unsure what to say as the years stretch between you, full of silence and denial. His gaze softens, just a fraction, the old warmth flickering briefly behind his tired eyes.

"I heard about your grandmother," he says, stepping closer. "I would’ve come, but… things have been complicated."

You don't need to ask. You can see it all in his eyes. Even after all this time, Tommy is still the man you knew—stubborn, loyal, broken in places only you could once see.

“Stay,” he murmurs, almost pleading. “It’s different now, but—stay.”