Peaky Blinders Imagines

Michael Gray- Mr. Lover man

 (Y/D/N) - YOUR DOG'S NAME.

(Y/W/F/N) - YOUR WORK MATES NAME.

In this imagine the friend "Megan"has a camera which I know was very rare

It becomes clear to both of you what's happening on a day you're too tired to pretend anymore. The dark part of your brain jokingly refers to the day as the 'beginning of the end,' though you know it's been an internal battle for much longer. It's the beginning of the end as far as Michael is concerned.

Your cheeks are flushed from either the cold or your upset, the only emotion you'd felt all night that strayed from disinterest. Michael's gripping the steering wheel so tight you're beginning to become concerned, glancing back at him every few minutes to ensure he's not gotten so distracted by his inner turmoil that he's forgotten he's driving. So far, his concentration is surpassing your expectations.

You know where his anxiety is coming from and you can't summon the energy to soothe him, instead choosing to rest your head on the cool glass of the window. And you feel guilty. Michael was sweet, unapologetically and without fail, especially with you and for you to brush past it was so unlike you. You had no idea how it had gotten to this point, and had no idea how to get back to where you were a year ago. You didn't know if you wanted to go back.

"Please," Michael croaks from the driver's seat. "Just tell me what's wrong." It almost makes you tear up. It was such a Michael reaction, to not know if he's part of the problem and still beg to make it better.

You sigh, fingering at the seatbelt sitting on your collarbone. "It's nothing."

"It's not." He pushes. "It's not nothing. You're not acting like yourself." His voice cracks toward the end of his plea and you close your eyes, willing away the heartache that begins to crush your chest. Heartache for Michael. For his situation.

You want to tell him you haven't been acting like yourself for over a month. You want to tell him you are no longer the girl he fell in love with. There's no way to force the words out, so you say, "I'm just tired, Michael. Please drop it."

He's not satisfied but he abides by your wishes, falling silent beside you and focusing on the route home instead of whatever you're upset over.

Four years. Two apartments. Countless jobs for Michael and only one for you. You'd been together so long that you weren't sure exactly who Y/N was. Not on her own. You were, almost exclusively, it seemed, half of Michael and Y/N. Michael had become your identity and while that was something you'd once loved, something you'd almost been proud of, it now annoyed you.

When the two of you get home, you both follow your routines. Michael undresses, prepares the coffee machine for the morning, washes his face and brushes his teeth. You take off your makeup and wash your face, brush your teeth, and when you're sure Michael has fallen asleep, you look in the mirror and convince yourself you do not resent your boyfriend.

Several weeks later, when Michael wakes up in the morning, like most mornings the past few months, you're already out of bed. Though you aren't due for work for almost an hour, he can't hear you moving about the apartment. He sighs softly, sadness settling heavy under his skin as he savors the last few minutes in bed. He still isn't used to not hearing your singing, or your humming, or your excited chattering toward (Y/D/N) and he almost feels sick at the silence.

Michael knew. He had since your conversation in the car. There was no way for him not to. He'd been in love with you for years; he knew you down to the thread of your socks. How could you hide yourself from someone who knew the very depths of your soul?

When you and Michael had first become friends, when he was still desperately pining after you and you were blushing at every phone call he made , Michael had quickly learned that you were the most empathetic person he had ever met. That was what hurt him the most about the current situation: you were experiencing Michael's pain along with him.