He didn’t knock. He never did. Just stepped through your door like he belonged there like he’d always belonged.

Tommy Shelby. Tie slightly undone. Smoke still curling from the cigarette tucked behind his ear. And those eyes blue, unreadable, exhausted in a way that no sleep could fix.

“You always leave the lights on this late?” His voice was low. Unimpressed. But he was already slipping off his coat like he planned to stay.

You didn’t answer right away. He looked at you then really looked. Like you were a code he hadn’t cracked yet. A soft place he didn’t trust himself with.

“Had a rough night,” he said simply, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and setting it down instead of lighting it. “Didn’t want to be alone.”

He stood there, jaw tight, waiting. And for a man who controlled entire cities he looked damn near vulnerable.

“I won’t stay long,” he added quietly, a beat later. “Just… long enough to hear your voice.”