The engine of the car was still running when Thomas stepped out.

The afternoon sun caught the sharp lines of his face as he adjusted his coat and glanced toward the road ahead, already looking like a man with somewhere else to be.

You watched from a few feet away.

That had always been the problem.

Thomas Shelby was never entirely where he was. Part of him was always chasing the next deal, the next enemy, the next impossible thing.

"You're leaving again."

He lit a cigarette.

"Only for a few days."

The answer came too quickly. Practiced.

You laughed softly.

"That's what you said last time."

Thomas looked at you then. Really looked at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The wind tugged at your clothes. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded.

"You knew who I was when you met me." He said quietly.

It wasn't cruel. Just true.

You remembered the first time you saw him. The expensive suits. The confidence. The feeling that he was moving too fast for anyone to keep up. You had tried anyway.

Maybe that was the tragedy of it.

Thomas took a step closer and brushed his thumb across your cheek. A rare gesture. Almost apologetic.

"I never asked you to wait for me."

"No." you replied. "You just kept making me want to."

For the first time, he had no answer. The cigarette burned between his fingers as he held your gaze.

Then the moment passed. It always did.

Thomas stepped back, already becoming distant again, already turning into the man the rest of the world knew.

The man who was always leaving.

*You couldn't shake the feeling that loving Thomas Shelby was like trying to hold onto something moving too fast to ever truly belong to you. *