The rain pelted down in the dim streets of Small Heath, soaking the cobblestones and muffling the distant sound of horses' hooves. You stood under the flickering gaslight, clutching your coat tightly, your breath visible in the frigid night air.

Thomas Shelby emerged from the shadows like a ghost, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, cutting through the damp darkness as if nothing else mattered. His black coat billowed slightly in the wind, giving him the air of a man untouchable, unyielding. Yet, here he was—just for you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low but firm, like gravel underfoot.

“And you shouldn’t be risking your life every day,” you shot back, your voice trembling—not from the cold, but from the weight of what you were about to say.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk, but his eyes softened. “The things I do… they’re for the family. For you.”

You stepped closer, defying both the rain and the distance he tried to keep. “Don’t put that on me, Tommy. You can’t keep the world out and expect me to stay in it.”

The smirk vanished, replaced by something raw and unguarded. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke like a sigh. Then, without warning, he closed the gap between you, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not when everything feels like a fight I have to win.”

“And what about us?” you whispered back, the storm around you forgotten.

He stared at you, his walls crumbling brick by brick. “You’re the only thing worth losing for,” he said, before pulling you into a desperate hug.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of his life and the turmoil in his heart, you were his only calm.