Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 26

Michael

He dreads the rising sun.

Closes his eyes and inhales her deeply. Curls his fingers around her upper arm, her forearm, her hand. Wanting to hold her everywhere and savour the way she feels in his arms while it lasts.

His voice is no more than a hushed murmur in the first light of the morning. "Where do we go from here, Cal?"

She shifts in his arms. Admits quietly, "I don't know."

Michael's chest burns with all the things he wants to say. He feels sick with it, unable to sleep with it, completely tortured over it. His lips brush across her face, every part of it, as her arms tighten around his neck and pull him closer.

He wants so badly to love her. To say it, mean it, show it. But each time he tries, the words are pushed down with a wave of shame. Insecurity. Is this what love feels like? What if it's not, at all, and it ought to feel like something completely different? He'd be lying, hurting her. And hurting her is the last thing he wants to do.

All he knows is that the past week with her has been the first time he's felt peace. Not surface level peace — she frustrates him too much for that — but a deep peace. A sense he belongs, and he doesn't have to prove himself. It's been a respite from his constant grind.

And then he recalls how bad the grind will be if he comes home empty-handed. Already, the thin tendrils of Tommy's expectations begin to creep in. The familiar dread and unease settle once more into Michael's stomach.

"What about the bank account?" He asks.

Calloway stiffens. "What about it?"

Fuck. Irritation flares through him. Even after this, after everything they've shared, she still won't budge. He's given her all the proof the income will be legitimate. Wrote every entry himself. And it's still not enough.

He's still not enough.

"Nothing's changed, then?" His voice leaves him colder than he intended. Betraying a hint of his hurt.

She peels herself away, and he makes no move to stop her. "Apparently not."

There's only the sound of skin against bedsheets for a moment. Then comes the familiar tap at the window. The signal the truce is over. And this time's the last time.

Michael stands to his feet and wordlessly goes to take the first shower.

***

Everything's packed. The hints of their life together buried deeply in their trunks. The novel he never finished. The ones she never began. The only evidence of them left in the room are crumpled tissues smeared with her lipstick, piled in the rubbish bin. Her scent across the towels hung up to dry. Soon, the room will be serviced, and someone new will arrive to stay. It'll be as though they never happened at all.

Michael clears his throat. "You catching the train?" He asks.

"At ten."

"Me too."

Calloway steps into her shoes. Refuses to look at him. "There's no need for us to travel together."

"Agreed."

Part of him can't get away from her fast enough. Being near her only hurts, now. The tenderness, the warmth and reverence he felt for her all night has been diluted with anger and bitterness and vexation. He's failed. He's let his family down. And she's giving no sign she cares at all.

But the other part of him is a little relieved when she lingers by the door. When they step out together, when she glances up at him and blinks as they reach the staircase.

He finds himself needing to stop and re-tie his shoelaces as she checks out at the desk, and she becomes very immersed in a painting on the wall as he ducks into a meeting room to collect his certificate of completion. They do not speak to one another as they walk to the train station, but their steps sync into perfect unison.

On the platform, though, things become trickier. She misplaces a ticket, and he gets asked for directions to a nearby museum. By the time she's rummaged through her bag and he's told the man he doesn't know London, swathes of people have come between them.

Not that I care, he reminds himself. It's not as though he has any reason to see her again now.

So why, then, does his chest flutter when the train arrives and he takes his seat, and he catches a glimpse of her at the end of the carriage?

Why is he filled with such longing when their eyes lock?

Is he imagining the hurt in her own gaze?

But then the train lurches, and her jaw stiffens, and she returns to her book. Michael looks quickly away and out the window. He watches as the city streaks by, and then the countryside, obscured partially by the plumes of coal smoke wafting past.

By the time they reach Birmingham, rain is falling in thick, heavy droplets against the window. Tap, tap, tap. Michael counts them, and he hates himself for letting her under his skin, and he hates her for crawling in anyway and making a home there.

He hates that she's treating this as though it's nothing. As though it meant nothing.

He finds himself unable to smile in greeting when he sees his Mum on the platform.

"Hello, Michael," she says, pulling him in a quick hug. She pulls back, examines his face. Her lips curve into a small smile. "How was it?"

He sees Calloway through the crowd. Sees her look back at him just the once before she disappears.

His voice is tinged with exhaustion. "Challenging," he says.

Polly's brow furrows with concern as they walk together. "Are you alright, love?"

He takes a breath. There's no use in trying to detangle the complex mixture of emotions swirling inside him — he couldn't voice them if he tried.

"Fine, Mum," he lies. "Just tired."

She gently squeezes his shoulders. Michael glances back once more, hoping he'll catch one last glimpse of Calloway. But she's already gone, leaving him with an ache in his chest.