million dollar man. peaky blinders

ᴄɪɴǫ

꧁꧂

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ.

She blamed her early rising and dressing on her insufferable inability to sleep longer than a couple of hours a day. It was as if her own body was forcing her out of bed, pushing in her finest clothes and painting the lipstick to her lips like a china doll. The woman in the mirror looked nothing like her, in fact. She had spent so much time ensuring that everything was perfect, that she had become absorbed within herself, seeing the face in front of her morph into that of another. A face that she could never unsee.

Valentine shook her head, attempting to clear her eyes of the blurriness that had overcome them from the long time sat at her vanity. They felt tired, though she knew she didn't need sleep. Rubbing them harshly, she opened them to see her hands shaking slightly. Was she nervous?

She bit back a laugh. Valentine Dubois didn't get nervous over a boy. Especially not a boy, who she knew nothing more about than the view of his face and body. But it seemed that as soon as he set foot by her door, her anxiety hit the roof and came toppling down in her head again like a hammer to a nail, digging her heels into the ground and clenching her jaw together with glue.

When Michael arrived, it was obvious that he wasn't as excited as she had been that morning.

He wore his usual suit, not new enough to make her think twice, but not old enough to make him look like the average Birmingham worker. It was paired with his signature lazy smirk, an unbothered glance adorning his handsome face, as a cigarette hung from between his teeth, trickling ash onto his relaxed tie and staining the air with its smoky texture.

Had it been any other day, she would have pulled him in by the shirt, shutting the door behind them and dragging him to her room as they always did, but today was different. This was different. He was different.

Michael stared at her as if he was pin-picking at each point of her face, memorising it, comparing it. His shoulders were squared and jaw clenched, and Valentine felt as if he was glaring at her, scrutinising her worth. Her once content expressions faltered as she noticed the same cold and calculating gaze he sent her way, which was usually reserved for the drunks in the pub that decided to move his way. It startled her- to see him so intimidating when he had only ever spent passion and list filled nights with him.

"What is your name?" He asked, remaining cold as he repeated more clearly. "Your last name."

Valentine looked at him confused. "I don't unders-"

"Just tell me your fucking name." His voice was calm yet demanding.

"Dubois." She replied simply, her voice lodging in her throat at the pure look of anger that spread across Michael's face at the mention of her name.

"Fuck!" He screamed, hitting his palm against the wall as he clenched his eyes shut.

"Michael, I don't understand, what's happened?" She asked, worried at his growing anger as he turned to stare straight at her once again.

Passionate glances that she had grown so used to had been thrown out the window as he pushed passed her, closing the door. Valentine leaned against the frame of the doorway as he walked to stand in the middle of the hallway, not looking at her.

"Valentine Dubois." He breathed out, turning to face her as he walked towards her, placing two hands at either side of her head and against the wall. "Valentine fucking Dubois."