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: You learn that John was actually the one behind one of the best birthday presents you’ve ever received, which leads to a sudden revelation…

:1708

:Swearing

It might have been the booze, or maybe you were simply drunk on life, but you could honestly say that you were happier in this moment than you had been in a long time. Longer than you could even remember, in fact. You told Ada so as you downed what could have been your fourth or fifth Scotch whiskey, beaming underneath the warm lights of the Garrison.

“It’s been a weird couple of years,” You said. “But it finally feels like things are returning to some semblance of normal.”
Ada snorted. “Normal? When is anything ever normal around here? We’ll see how long it lasts.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re always so bloody pessimistic. Honestly Ada, why are you always looking gift horses in the mouth?”
“Maybe because I know my brothers, and I know that nothing good ever stays that way where they’re concerned.”
“You can say that again.” A very drunk Polly retorted, sidling up next to the two of you at the bar.
You glanced at her, taking in her dishevelled appearance and the way she was swaying on her feet. “How much have you had to drink, Polls?”
She held her head high, nose in the air. “None of your concern.”
You spotted Tommy across the pub and he gestured you over. “Ada, make sure Polly stays on her feet.”
“You know I will, Y/N.”

You couldn’t remember life before the Shelby family, and you likely wouldn’t remember a life after them because you knew there wouldn’t be one. The Shelby’s were your life - your kin - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You had never known another mother aside from Polly since your own had died in childbirth, and your father - who had worked for the Shelby’s towards the end of his life - had been killed in an entanglement with an ‘enemy,’ as Polly had explained. Since the age of thirteen you had grown up in close quarters with Tommy, Arthur, John and Ada under Polly’s diligent care and while it had been an unusual childhood, you wouldn’t be who you were without it. Now, at the age of twenty nine, you lived in your own house (a birthday gift from Tommy) and spent most of your days helping Polly with the books when you weren’t writing your own. Words flowed steadily through your blood to your heart and kept you alive; you were in the process of publishing your first novel.

Tommy and John were sitting together in a booth by the front doors watching the grand reopening and taking it all in. They usually kept to a private room while at the Garrison, but right now they wanted to see their success materialising right in front of them. Drink in hand, you took the seat next to Tommy and followed his line of sight.

“Brilliant turnout,” You remarked. “But it’s very…”
“Gold?” Tommy inquired, the ghost of a smirk on his face.
“That’s one word for it…”
John burst out laughing. “Fuckin’ awful, ain’t it?”
You downed your whiskey. “I might’ve gone with a different colour scheme,” You snickered. “But it looks great.”

Tommy pulled his packet of cigarettes and a box of matches out of his inside pocket and offered you one. You gladly accepted and let him light it for you before he did the same. John was smoking a large cigar, regal as ever as he leaned back in his chair like he didn’t give a fuck - because he didn’t. Your stomach lurched when he caught you staring and responded with a wink. Ever since you were teenagers, you’d had a soft spot for John Shelby; if it wasn’t for the fact that Polly had forbidden any of her nephews from pursuing you romantically and your embarrassing lack of guts, you would have pounced on the opportunity to be with a man like John. There had never been anyone else for you and you highly doubted there ever would be, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t seem as though he reciprocated your feelings. Besides, Polly would never go for it. She’d have John’s head on a spike before she let him anywhere near you - in that way, at least.

“How’s the writing coming along?” Tommy asked.
“Don’t even talk to me about that,” You huffed. “Writer’s block is going to be the death of me.”
John frowned. “Thought you’d finished writing your book?”
“The first one, yes,” You explained. “Need to chase up the publishers, actually.”
Tommy raised a brow. “Need me to have a word?”
You appreciated the Shelby’s help - all of it, no matter what it was in regard to - but this was something that you wanted to do on your own. “No, it’s okay. Thank you though.”
“So if you’ve finished the book, what’s the problem?” John pressed.
“Well, I want to write another one, but I’m stuck for ideas.”
“You could write about us,” John grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Bet you’d sell thousands of copies. Millions, even. You can put my picture on the cover.”
You took a long drag of your cigarette. “Why would anyone want your ugly mug on their bookshelves?”
“Oh, Y/N,” John exclaimed dramatically. “You wound me!”
“It’s a good idea though,” You said. “Writing about you lot, I mean.”
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” You laughed. “You do occasionally come up with some decent ideas, John.”
Tommy stared at you. “That’s gotta be a joke.”
“Piss off, Tom.”
You smiled at John. “Maybe I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll write a book about growing up with the Peaky Blinders.”
Tommy finished his drink before standing up. “As long as you split the royalties.”
And with that, he was gone, off to talk to some guests. John took Tommy’s seat next to you. “You wouldn’t ‘ave to, really. He’s just taking the mick.”
“I know,” You grinned. “But he did buy me a house, so maybe I’d give him some of the credit.”

You and John were quiet for a long time, just enjoying each other’s company while people watching. Polly was dancing with a fellow that looked to be at least fifteen years younger than her, so Ada clearly hadn’t done a very good job watching her. You understood why she was off the rails tonight and you felt sympathetic for the woman who had practically raised you; finding out your son was alive and well but not being allowed to see him must have been a particularly agonising kind of torture, but you understood why Tommy was keeping the address from her. There were so many ways it could all go wrong. Your thoughts were with Polly while you nursed your next drink, and when John finally broke the comfortable silence, you had to ask him to repeat himself since your mind had been elsewhere.

“I said, Tommy never bought you that house.”
“What?”
“You really need me to say it again?”
You had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean, Tommy didn’t buy me the house?”
“Well, he sorted out all the paperwork and all that, but I picked it. And it was my idea.”
You recoiled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Just seemed right that it should come from Tommy.”
“But it wasn’t,” You felt strangely emotional upon hearing all of this. “It was from you. Thomas shouldn’t get the credit for everything, you know.”

John smiled sadly and you had to swallow the large lump that had formed in the base of your throat. When he looked at you like that with his wide, blue eyes it took everything in you not to lean over and kiss the man senseless. As much as you hated it, you understood where he was coming from; Tommy was the face of the company and the Shelby family overall. It had always been that way and it didn’t look like it would ever change.

But he didn’t deserve to get the credit for this.

“I love my house,” You muttered. “It’s perfect for me. Down to the bloody door frames.”
“I knew you would. That’s why I picked it. Who do you think got the bookshelves stocked? And put the typewriter on the desk?”

That did it. You stubbed out your cigarette and grabbed John’s hand, dragging him outside rather forcefully. The noise from the pub faded to a dull murmur as the door closed behind you both, and you realised suddenly that you were still holding John’s hand.

“Y/N, what-”
“Thank you,” You said sincerely. “John, thank you.”
“It’s only a house. But you’re welcome.”

He didn’t understand what it meant to you. You never thought that you would have a place to call your own, especially not after the deaths of your parents. And he certainly didn’t understand that it meant even more now that you knew it had come from him, so you told him all of this as best you could.

You were rather flustered by the time you finished explaining, and embarrassed to say the least. “Jesus, I’m supposed to be a writer but I can’t even get my fucking words out.”
“Y/N, just shut up, will you?”

With a defeated sigh, you dropped his hand and turned to go back inside the pub, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist to pull you closer to him. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you realised just how close the two of you actually were, and when he leant in you could have sworn that you’d stopped breathing.

“Stop thanking me, Y/N. I did it because you deserve it,” He swallowed. “Because I love you.”
“What?”
“You ‘eard me,“ He smirked. “I love you.”
He pressed his lips to yours and after the initial shock had subsided, you relaxed into the kiss, looping your arms around his neck. “I love you too,” You murmured against his lips. “So much.”

He was looking at you like you were the only person left in Small Heath, like you were the only thing that mattered. But of course he had to go and make a ridiculous comment. 

“Since the cat’s out of the bag, can I move into my house now?”