You weren’t one for drinking. Everyone knew that. However, things were rough, and you learned that people use alcohol as a substance to forget. It was something almost everyone you knew used. Arthur, Michael, Polly…hell, even Thomas!

You have known The Shelby’s and everybody involved for a few years now. You kinda grew up with them. You’ve worked closely with them, under them, to the point where they think of you as a close friend. And, well, you couldn’t help but to have a huge crush on Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders yourself. Absurd, you know, but what was wrong with a little crush?

Rejection, is what.

You had asked Thomas out with all of the confidence you could muster, yet he turned you down as gently as he possibly could. With any other woman, he would’ve been heartless about it. But with you? He cared too much to push you away.

So, here you are, waltzing into Charlie’s yard with a half empty bottle of whiskey and your legs stumbling all over the place. “Hey, there, Charlie!” You greet the old man, patting his shoulder when he walks up to you with a questioning raised brow.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks gruffly, watching as you stumbled to the cut and looked down at the water. You paused, taking a large swig of your whiskey. “Are you drunk?” He asks in disbelief. “Bloody hell, never thought I’d see the day.”

Curly came soon after those words were spoken, his goofy smile soon gone when he sees you stumbling by the cut. “I-Is that Y/N? Y/N?” he asks, glancing at Charlie.

“That’s her alright,” Charlie mutters. This looked bad, and he knows he had to do something.