Peaky Blinders Imagines

[John Shelby] - Anecdoche

Anecdoche: noun; [Ah-neck-doh-kay] a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening, simply overlaying disconnected words.

Family meetings were a nightmare, to say the least. You weren't a Shelby, nor a Gray, but you were as good as family to the Blinders. You were a friend, having grown up in Small Heath with the boys, and your family and theirs had been close over decades. You had a mind for strategy and tactics, a very smart one at that. Tommy had seen you as a valuable asset and allowed you to sit in on the meetings when necessary, knowing you had good contributions to make.

Over the years, you had become close to each of the boys in different ways. Arthur had taken to you like a protective older brother, because you were there for him without fail whenever he needed support, or when he was having a bad spell with his mental health. Each and every time without fail, you were there. In turn, Arthur had come to be a little more protective over you than the rest. Tommy came to care for you too, though you put that down to the multitudes of problems you got him out of almost weekly. Still, he too was protective of you, not wanting you to come into harms way if he could help it. Little Finn, he loved you and how you would read to him when he was smaller, tales of mythical beings that your parents had read to you. Then, there was John.

John was a little more complicated. There were times when John cared too much, reaching points of violent protection over you. There were other times, when he seemed like he couldn't care less about you. In your heart, you knew John cared, but your brain persuaded otherwise half the time. He made little sense, and it wasn't for the want of trying that you couldn't figure him out; even his family didn't have answers.

"Just the way he is, our John," Arthur would say.

"He's just a reserved lad," Tommy would say.

"Good luck figuring him out, love," Aunt Polly would say.

Helpful. As much as you loved the family, often you thought there was one solitary brain cell between them; most of the time, Polly was in possession of it. John confused you, still, however. You found yourself frequently pondering if you'd ever figure him out fully.

Here you were, amidst a meeting that was becoming more difficult to sit in on. Voices were talking but nobody was actually listening. As Tommy would speak one sentence, Polly would start talking before he'd made it to the last word. Arthur would argue with John or Michael and soon enough everyone was having separate conversations over one another. The sound was deafening and you'd had enough. Slamming your hands down on the desk, unaware of just how loud it was, you took off towards the back door and shut it behind you. Part of you had hoped nobody really noticed, too caught up in their own in-fighting to see. That part of you was out of luck.

You'd seated yourself against the wall on the floor, knees pulled up to your chin as you tried to calm your mind. When things got like that in the meeting rooms, it was difficult for you to cope with; too many sounds often overwhelmed you and set your anxieties to maximum setting. You focused on the grass, swaying softly in the slight breeze in Small Heath. For once, it was rather a nice day. So engrossed in the scene before you, your consciousness had failed to sense someone joining you until they seated themselves besides you silently.

"You alright?" Came a gruff voice, immediately recognisable as John. Turning your head to glance at him, he sat with his head forward, idly chewing on a toothpick.

"I am, it was just a bit much in there, you know?" It wasn't a question, per say, more that you didn't quite know how to weigh up the situation. John chuckled.

"Yeah, bunch of fuckin' idiots in there, Y/N, none of them'll ever listen to sense," John's voice was a little softer now, and you too gave a slight laugh.

Unknown to you, as you did laugh, John took a small look down to you, smiling to himself; seeing you smile always made him happy, and if he was the cause of it, that was even better.

Fewer words were spoken between you as the minutes passed, and soon a silence overtook you. A welcomed change from the mindless, nonsensical shouting inside the house. John placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. Your head came to rest snugly against his chest, just underneath his chin. It was comfortable, homely, and the familiar feeling of belonging washed over you.

"Never," he had started. "Let them lot make you feel stressed, Y/N. If you need to leave, do it. They won't see sense between each other anyway, and I know I probably wasn't helping. So, on my part, I'm sorry. Shout at them if you have to, tell them to fuck right off."

His playful tone on his last sentence had you chuckling, shaking your head.

"I don't think Tommy would let me live if I told him to fuck off, John," you half-joked; you weren't scared of Tommy, just his temper made you nervous from time to time.

"I'd kill him before he got close."

That fierce protectiveness that constantly confused you was back, and with John it was hard to tell where a joke ended and a threat started. Lifting your head, you were about to speak when the young Shelby had leant down and caught your lips with his own. A sweet kiss that lasted no more than a few moments, but said everything that needed to be said between you. The moments were over, and John pulled back, placing a hand on the back of your head and holding you in the crook of his neck.

Finally, you had figured him out. Finally, you knew; John Shelby did care.