WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL || tommy shelby x reader

chapter three

You awoke in the early hours of the morning. You hadn't eaten dinner, nor had you expected to sleep for so long. The moon still shone high in the sky when you looked out the window, but you knew that it wouldn't be long until dawn approached.

You tiptoed out of your room and down the hallway, headed for the winding staircase. As you did so, the moon shone upon the various artworks that Tommy and Grace had collected; their gold frames gleamed in the low light. The paintings themselves seemed to move upon their canvases, sending you scowls and hisses—

Imposter.

You don't belong.

You passed them quickly and quietly. You had no idea why you'd decided to vacate your room, but you found yourself walking down a long, dark corridor. It was much colder down here, and a lot less lavish than the main house. This was no doubt the 'servant's quarter' of the giant home.

You clicked open a door and found yourself in the kitchen. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled restlessly within your body. You grabbed at your nightclothes as if to tell it 'shut the fuck up'. You wouldn't know what to do if any of the others found you sneaking about the house late at night—

"Midnight snack?"

You stopped in your tracks, your stare immediately landing upon a figure sat the table—

"Michael," You breathed out. You'd be lying if your heart hadn't stopped beating just for a second. "Jesus—you scared me," You allowed yourself a relieved smile, before making your way to the table.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here," He said, a slight chuckle present on his lips. You watched as he raised a cigarette to his lips, the orange glow illuminating his face in the moonlight.

You were struck by a memory—

Tommy's office, the Birmingham moonlight, sitting opposite him in a large leather-bound chair—

The day he'd asked if you wanted to stay the night—

The day you'd refused him.

All of a sudden that sickness struck you. You swallowed forcefully, trying desperately to dispel the feeling. You bent over, clutching your stomach, intent on not throwing up in front of Polly's son.

"Y/N? You alright?" Michael chided, and you heard him get up from his seat and begin towards you. You stuck out a hand immediately, and he halted.

"Fine. Just need some air," You said, holding your breath. Michael made a B-line for a door that came off the kitchen. He unbolted it and opened it wide. Cold air hit you, calming you down significantly. You made your way to the door, sitting on the doorstep.

You felt the breeze float around you. It was pleasant, unlike the air that plagued Small Heath. It was free from industrial ash, solvents, smoke—

But not blood.

That would be caked on your skin wherever you went with the Shelby's.

Michael sat next to you slowly, bringing his knees to his chest and continuing to smoke.

"Do you by any chance have another?" You asked, referring to his cigarette. Michael retrieved a packet from his pocket and held it out for you. You plucked one for yourself, sticking it between your teeth. Michael flicked open a zippo lighter, holding the flame out for you. "That's one hell of a lighter," You observed, lighting your cigarette and inhaling.

"Mum gave it to me," He said. "Polly," He added. You let out a scoff.

"It's nice to hear you call her that," You'd never heard him call her anything other that Polly. The two of you had only met three times in total, throughout the weeks before you'd left for London. "Does she still baby you?" You asked, and Michael went silent.