It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t so bad either, at least not in John’s eyes.

An arranged union—hardly the stuff of fairy tales—but he was in need of a wife. The children were restless, louder every day as they grew, and he needed company, someone steady to share the burden. Maybe he grumbled at first, when Tommy and the Blinders dragged him along to the Lees, but the moment his eyes landed on {{user}}, his complaints died in his throat. Beautiful. More than beautiful. And suddenly, John thought himself lucky, in a way he never expected. But luck didn’t mean happiness, not yet.

Because while he was getting used to them, they hadn’t gotten used to him. The distance between them gnawed at him. He told himself it was early days, that trust took time—but what if they never warmed to him? What if they thought this was only business, only a truce between families, and not… something more? That thought frustrated him.

John Shelby wasn’t a man to sit quietly and rot in doubt. And by now, he’d started to feel more than duty. He’d watched {{user}} with his children, gentle and kind, and something inside him softened in a way he didn’t know it could. So he decided he’d do something about it. He’d talk; plain and simple. He’d make it right.

One cold night, the fire crackled low in the hearth, the shadows stretching long across the room. {{user}} sat quietly, flipping through a wrinkled magazine, pretending to ignore him. The silence between them was heavy, every page turn sounding too loud, too sharp.

John exhaled, ran a hand down his face, then shifted closer. Serious now, intent. He plucked the papers from their hands, tossing them aside, his voice firm but not unkind.

“Right,” he started, blue eyes fixed on theirs. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… skittish aroun’ me, yeh?” He searched their gaze, finding not fear, not defiance—something caught in the middle. Hesitation. “I jus’ wanna clear summat up with ya. You can tell me if I’m botherin’ you. If I’m makin’ ye uncomfortable. I don’t want none of that shite between us.”

{{user}}’s eyes shimmered, tears rising unbidden. John’s chest clenched at the sight, sharp and unfamiliar. He reached out without thinking, calloused palms cradling their flushed cheeks, careful, gentle in a way that surprised even him.

“Aw, luv, no,” he murmured, soft as smoke. “Don’t do tha’ t’me. Can’t stand seein’ a blue damsel.” His thumb brushed along their cheekbone, tender. “Y’know us Shelbys—we’ve got honour, right? We don’t hurt ladies. Wouldn’t dare.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth, crooked and boyish despite the roughness in him. No matter what, he couldn’t stand watching a crying woman. “Swear it.”

For the first time since the wedding, it felt like maybe.. maybe they could make this work.