DELILAH SAT DOWN AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, A HOT CUP OF TEA PLACED IN FRONT OF HER. She stared at Madeline leaning against the kitchen counter, a cigarette between her lips as they silently tried to comprehend what to say. There was nothing Delilah could say to her grieving friend, especially after the meeting with Alfie Solomons. She was drained, exhausted and her friend's crocodile tears did nothing to brighten her mood.

"I didn't even have time to close my shop," Madeline shivered, her empty eyes staring at the redhead as if far away from her. "I can't — I don't even know what I am going to do now."

Delilah grabbed Madeline's hand and tightly held it on the wooden table.

"You can come back to your house," she assured. "After all, we are renting it. We will find somewhere else to live so you won't be endangered by our business and you will have your own peace."

"I don't want you moving out of this house, it belongs to you as much as it belongs to me," the blonde responded calmly, her fingers loosely wrapped around Delilah's hand. "I'm not scared about business either, you know. I could even help you."

"You won't," the redhead firmly stated, her tone affirming the blonde had no room for argument. "You can come back whenever you feel like it and we will move out."

Madeline stared at her friend, her eyes shining with tears. She was so thankful to have Delilah in her life, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting. Ever since the redhead had travelled all the way from London after a war that had exhausted her to the core, Madeline had known she would always be able to count on her. And since the very beginning, she had been right.

"I will be back in a week or so then," Madeline whispered, drifting her eyes through the apartment she had rented for the occasion. "It's too expensive here, and I feel like I belong in Birmingham now."

Delilah nodded in understanding, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. Madeline didn't deserve anything that was happening in her life, she was the sweetest woman the redhead had ever known. 

"Fleur would be so proud of you," Delilah stated, standing up from her chair to hug her friend tightly. "She was a wonderful woman, I am sure. You're welcome to come back whenever you feel like you need it."

Madeline started sobbing into her arms again, her hands wrapping around Delilah's forearms. Teardrops fell on the redhead's delicate skin and she felt her own throat tightening with contained tears.

A few moments later, Delilah broke their embrace to face Madeline completely, letting the blonde stand up as well. Her unfinished cup of tea didn't move when the women wrapped their arms around each other tightly, Delilah's mind already figuring out a solution for everything.

"I will call you and let you know when we have our own place, and you let me know when you want to come back to Birmingham," the redhead murmured in her friend's ear, running her hand through her blonde locks soothingly. "Meanwhile you take care of yourself."

Madeline sighed and broke their embrace, nodding her head with tears rolling down her cheeks. Delilah pursed her lips and walked to the front door, getting out on her own. Once outside, she brought her hair behind her ears and bit at the corner of her lips nervously, looking everywhere for Thomas's car. When the fancy vehicle parked in front of her, she climbed in without his help, not even glancing at the two Peaky Blinders in the backseat.

"I will have to stop at Charlie's yard," Thomas informed, frowning when Delilah slowly nodded her head.

"I cannot follow you there," she replied, her voice cold and distant as her wide doe eyes remained outside the window.

She stared as people walked down the sidewalk, greeting acquaintances and talking animatedly with their hands. They were all so unaware of the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, tying them to everyone else: one day, Fate would take them out of this world and turn them into dust. Forgotten and forever sleeping in a wet grave, six feet under.

"I was at Madeline Delacour's house," she finally explained, her voice neutral.

"Isn't she your landlord?" Thomas asked, trying his best to get her to talk.

"Precisely," Delilah responded, bringing a cigarette up to her lips and lighting it up carefully. "Her grandmother died. She wants to come back to Birmingham. I have seven days to find Angelo and me a new place to live."

Thomas didn't add anything; he didn't have anything to say. By the sound of her voice, he could tell that she was affected by Madeline's grandmother's death. Not only because her friend was grieving a beloved member of her family, but also because she had settled into Madeline's house quite comfortably and had grown to love this place. Every memory she had made with the Shelbys had echoed through the house's walls, recalled and recounted by the people she had learned to consider.

And so, they stayed silent until they arrived in Small Heath, the redhead asking to be dropped off at the Garrison. There, she was hoping to find Arthur. When she exited the car, slamming the passenger's door shut without a glance behind, Thomas realized just how much Delilah was hurt, and he drove away trying to figure out what he could do to make her feel a little bit better.

When the redhead pushed the Garrison's door open, Arthur was sitting at a table, his eyes staring into emptiness, a half-finished glass of whiskey wrapped in his large hand. He lifted his eyes when he heard her step inside and he stood up, taking the last of his liquor in one gulp. Delilah moved behind the counter, waiting for him to bring his glass so she could fill it at the same time as hers, and that was there that she noticed the shattered glass covering the floor.

"What happened to the mirror?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Arthur simply shrugged, slamming his glass on the wooden counter. "Arthur, I need to talk to you."

"I've done enough talking for today," he sighed.

Delilah filled their glasses and drank hers like a shot, putting it down softly.

"You don't have to talk, I will," she assured. "What you've been through in France was unfair. You were too young, unprepared and they asked you to fight for your country in a battle that didn't have anything to do with any of you. You shouldn't have seen this slaughter happening."

"How would you know?" Arthur scoffed, bringing his glass to his lips.

"I was a military nurse in Verdun," she responded. "My mother didn't want me to go, but I wanted to help. Angelo had been shipped away for a few months now and I wanted to see what he was seeing so that I could understand. I wanted to help these young and courageous soldiers who were serving their country at risk to their lives. People like you. And what I've seen wasn't a fair war, but a fucking massacre."

Delilah could see their shredded bodies when she was closing her eyes for too long, and sometimes she heard their sobs in her dreams. She had seen terrible things as well, half-dead soldiers abandoned to die in the cold corridors of her hospital wing because there weren't enough supplies for everyone. They had to save who was savable and pray for the others' souls. Their pain had haunted her for months.

"And I wasn't on the battlefield so I can't even begin to imagine what your experience looked like," she carried on, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. "But you need to know that hurting yourself won't ever make you forget. Drinking and staying high for hours and fighting on the ring, won't help you. What you need is healing. Opening new wounds hoping it would stitch up the old ones is just going to hurt you more and cause more damage. Just because Thomas and John healed quicker than you doesn't mean you're weaker than 'em. Sometimes, a stronger spirit needs some more time to accommodate to its new reality."

Arthur nodded, squeezing back her hand with a tear rolling down his cheek. She found quite funny the fact that the droplet of salty water got lost in his moustache but she didn't say anything about it, focusing on the task at hand: making Arthur understand that some people needed some extra time to feel better in their heads and that it was okay.

"Your brain is still stuck in the battlefield, and that is called trauma," Delilah whispered, her tone soft as silk. "It takes time to recover from trauma, and adding addiction to it will only make it harder to get back to your life. Happiness needs to be built from a solid foundation and recovery is the best way to do just that. Arthur, you need to heal. To get back to reality and to cease everything you're doing now to hurt yourself. You will never get better doing all of this."

These words would never open Arthur's eyes. But at least, she had tried; and some parts of her speech made her realize she also needed to heal from a few bleeding wounds hidden deep within the secret walls of her beating heart.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

All Delilah had dreamt about all day had been her bed. Now that she knew she would have to leave the house she had been renting to Madeline for almost three years, she wanted to avoid it. The hallways she had put so much effort in decorating, the bedroom she had made herself comfortable in, everything reminded her that, in a few days, she would have to leave her new home to a cold house and build a whole new life inside again. She didn't want to start over, she didn't want to move from the house she had grown accustomed to living in.

She released a sigh, swinging her thin legs in the air, her hands gripping the edge of the bridge tightly to avoid any unfortunate accident. It was cold outside and she was thankful for the thick coat she was wearing, the rough fabric rubbing against the soft skin of her arms. The cigarette hanging between her lips glowed in the dark when she took a drag, the stick staying stuck to her plump lips as she blew the smoke out of her parted mouth.

Footsteps echoed behind her but she didn't move, her eyes still staring at the slight moonlight noticeable behind the heavy clouds. They stopped beside her and she recognized Thomas's perfume as he leaned against the edge of the bridge, holding his own cigarette between his fingers.

"I am not planning to jump," Delilah spoke firstly, acknowledging the fact that the last time they had seen each other on the bridge was during Angelo's suicide attempt.

"I hope so," his hoarse voice responded, his hair blown by the gentle night breeze.

"I just didn't want to get to the house yet," Delilah explained, unwilling to call the house her home anymore. "How did you find me?"

"It just happened," Thomas answered, clearing his throat and taking another deadly drag.

Delilah hummed, taking the butt of her cigarette between her shaky fingers to examine it. The trace of lipstick had stained the filter and she felt disgusted. She threw it in the water, staring as the Cut swallowed it whole in its depth. The redhead wished she could hear the deafening silence of her grandmother's swimming pool, in Sicily. Underwater, there were no thoughts that mattered, nothing to trouble the peace of the quietness. Only the beating of a human being's heart slowly decelerating to survive and avoid any lack of oxygen.

"How do you think life's fairness works?" she asked, drifting her eyes towards Thomas's side profile, the curve of his full lips mesmerizing her all over again.

"I think it doesn't," he genuinely responded, throwing his still glowing cigarette underwater.

"Then there's no hope."

Just like during John's and Esme's wedding, her eyes got lost on the horizon, staring at nothing in particular. As Thomas's cerulean orbs landed on the side of her face, he wondered where she had gotten to. Which world was she currently living in, if it wasn't the one where she was by his side? Where was she travelling whenever she seemed so lost in her own brain, trapped in her thoughts and unable to escape? How could he bring her back so that she could feel better, away from her darkening mind?

"When I started working with my mother, I forcefully believed I was doing a good thing," Delilah started, her nails trying to dig through the stone building the bridge. "I'm not so sure anymore you know, when I see all these people dying around me because of business. First, Danny Whizz-Bang, then I almost lost Milo. I don't know what I'd do if I were to lose someone over business, someone I care about. I dragged them into this, nobody asked to work with me."

A tear rolled down Delilah's cheek and she was still looking away from him. Thomas didn't dare interrupt her, for she was completely opening herself from the first time. He didn't know what she could say next, all he knew was that he wanted to know so he could try and make everything hurting her disappear. Damn, now that he was thinking about it, he was about ready to burn Small Heath to fucking ashes if she was asking. She wouldn't even have to cry or beg; she just needed to say the word and he would do it.

"I, I just, you know, I just want the violence to stop," she sobbed, lowering her eyes to stare at her hands. "Like this kid Arthur killed, why is no one talking about it? He killed a kid, a fucking kid that was just playing around. Why is no one fucking worried about Arthur's mental health? Why has no one ever thought that maybe he would kill someone if we didn't take better care of him?"

This time, she turned towards him. For the first time, she was towering over him, sitting on the elevated edge of the bridge. Her red hair flew around her head like a fiery halo, closing her eyes for a second before wiping away her running nose with the back of her hand. Not very glamorous from such a woman, but he couldn't actually care less. What he was interested in were her words.

"Why do we always have to be bad people, Tom?" she whispered, the wind carrying her words away towards the ocean. "Why do we have to bloody our hands to make something of ourselves? It shouldn't be like that."

"What's wrong, Lilah?" he softly asked back, not venturing to touch or even talk louder than he already was.

"I just wonder why I'm still alive when good people are dying every day."

"Are you wondering because of Madeline's grandmother?"

Delilah was shocked he had bothered remembering this situation. Honestly, she'd assumed he would just brush it off and forget about that because it truly wasn't that important with everything going on in his mind. But, in his eyes, this detail had been important because it had somehow touched her.

"No," she chuckled, her fingers moving under her eyes to erase the running mascara. "Apparently the woman was absolutely crazy and even hit her a few times when she was a kid."

"So, who is it?"

"Well, um," she hesitantly started, a huff leaving her lips as she looked back down at her trembling hands. "You know I was in the war, in Verdun, and I met a guy. He had been brought in a hurry from the battlefield, you know, on the verge of death. I told you how we lacked supplies and we couldn't save everyone, so we had to make choices. Whoever could survive their injuries was to live, whoever couldn't would, unfortunately, die in a hallway or sometimes even in the trucks bringing them to the hospital. It was a bloodbath."

Thomas was carefully listening to her. It wasn't the first time she had mentioned the war, the first time being during one of their first meetings when he had tried to belittle and impress her. Thing was perhaps she had what it took to impress him too. He had impressed her since the beginning and he wanted to worship the attention she was offering to him, like a Goddess turning to a human.

"That day, I was arguing with a doctor about lacking supplies and having to choose who was to live," Delilah continued, remembering the day perfectly. "I still believed in God at that time but that day changed my mind. His name was Henry Parkson and he was literally taking his last breaths. He wasted them asking me to find his fiancée, Madeline, in Birmingham. He was a Londoner, just like me, and he asked me to tell her he loved her when I was to leave Verdun."

"This is how you met her," Thomas whispered, realization hitting him in the face.

"That pure human soul collapsed on the porch when I told her," Delilah explained. "I didn't have the heart to step into their home when he had died in the hospital because we couldn't save him. I can't stop questioning myself, why does she have to go through this while she is an honest worker doing everything she can to rebuild her life? Why don't I suffer from something greater for being who I am?"

Delilah sucked in a deep breath, her eyes drifting again to the flowing river underneath the bridge. She knew what she wanted to say, crystal clear in her head and words were already forming on her tongue, but she couldn't look at him while spilling them.

"Do you remember that day John found me by the train station, bleeding out and literally looking like a ghost?" Delilah asked and Thomas nodded, he already knew what had happened at the train station between Delilah, Grace and Campbell, but he wanted to know what she could add to the story. "I went there because I wanted to kill her. I wanted to kill the both of them. She shot me and I ran away and hid somewhere I knew no one would find me. Right before John found me, I realized I probably wouldn't die. Not because the shot wasn't lethal, it could have been to be fair, but because I was kept alive to feel that pain every day."

Delilah lifted her green orbs towards the sky, her hand harshly grabbing a half-full bottle of whiskey which she brought to her lips. She carefully placed it down on the edge of the bridge between them, silently offering him a swing but he kept his eyes securely on her stone-cold face, the freezing features he had been accustomed to for the better of a year when they first met. He couldn't believe this side of Delilah was back, after everything that had happened and every effort they had all put into making her feel better about whatever was troubling her on the inside.

"I guess I'm just a monster after all," she finally concluded, her hands flattened on the edge and her eyes staring at the firmament. Under the starlight, Thomas thought he'd seen her smirking as she contemplated her own words. "That's what power did to me. Turned me into a monster and hungry for more. That's why I met you, Tom."

"Are you saying I am a monster too, Lilah?" he asked, his voice hoarse and deeper than usual due to the low whisper it came out as.

"Oh, Thomas," she laughed, and he wondered what his name would sound like in a moan, "what good did we do together?"

She was somewhat right. Despite expanding both their businesses and making more and more money day after day, what good had they done so far? Killing people, serving wicked interests to climb the social ladder, neglecting their families to the point where brothers tried to kill themselves and bloodying their hands for nothing but more pain. Delilah was right, pain was a never-ending circle for them, engulfing them in her arms and holding them dearly to her chest as she would do a child.

But they could repair it. At least for one night, they could try and make something good out of their endless misery.

"Maybe we could do something good then," Thomas offered, holding his hand out for her to take. "For a change."

Delilah hesitated for a short moment. She trusted him enough to know he would never lead her somewhere dangerous and he had that genuine glint in his eye telling her he truly wanted to make her feel better. On the other hand, Delilah couldn't tell whether she truly wanted to feel better or if she just enjoyed her depressed state.

Glancing at the river running down under the bridge and leading towards the ocean, Delilah thought maybe she could be the forest surrounding the untamed waters and following them in the wilderness. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey still waiting on the stone edge, she swung her long legs over and jumped from the bridge, her hand easily sliding into his for support. Once her feet were efficiently balanced on the hard ground, she broke their contact, bringing the cold bottle to her numb lips and swallowed the rest of the alcohol.

Quickly, the hot liquid made its burning way down her throat and Thomas observed as she silently gulped the liquor, absorbing it as paper would water. She didn't stop until the last droplet of strong alcohol had slipped away from the bottle and she had thrown it into the river. Instead of landing in the water and getting dragged into the wild waters of the ocean, it hit the edge of the bridge and she jumped, spinning on her heels with her hand covering her mouth. The tears she had been spilling a little hour before had dried on her reddened cheeks and a playful glimmer shone in her eyes when she turned back to Thomas.

"I didn't think it would land there," Delilah chuckled, linking their arms and all but yanking him down the streets, her heels clicking on the pavement.

He followed through the streets after her, people glancing at them every once in a while. The Devils on both their shoulders reunited to cause mischief all through Birmingham must be scaring them, but Thomas found it quite exalting to know the only woman who had ever matched him both in power and coldness was melting while holding his hand. He would be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about sliding a golden ring around her tiny finger and promising to forever worship her ground in front of every priest in the world. He would do that for her, he would kneel in front of her and offer his whole being and his damned soul for her to take.

When Delilah stopped, it was in front of the Lion Den and Thomas thought for a moment that she had turned completely mad. The Irish ones would never agree to their presence in the pub. But, apparently, no one could say no to the pretty redhead and in a matter of seconds, they had descended the marches leading to the underground bar. The woman led him to the counter, her hand still securely wrapped around his bigger one, and she only let go when she was leaning forward to be heard by the barman paying attention to her few intoxicated words.

"Two Irish whiskeys," she ordered, her voice rising slightly until the barman could hear her correctly.

"Comin' right up," the barman assured, and in a second, she was handing the older man a few gold coins and outstretching a full glass towards her mate.

Delilah didn't toast but only swallowed the alcohol, slamming the glass on the counter for the barman to take away. Her eyes drifted towards the many people in the room and settled on the band playing a traditional Irish song, some men singing the lyrics louder than she had ever heard. Even Arthur couldn't be this loud, and he was the loudest she knew.

Thomas, seeing that she was growing bored of the bar, finished his own drink and once he had placed it beside hers, she grabbed his hand again and pulled him through the crowd. Once they had reached the stairs, her tiny hand let go of Thomas's and she was running up the stairs faster than he could, his shoulder bumping into some men. When he reached the top of the staircase, Delilah was waiting for him further up the street, a childish grin parting her lips and she turned around, running down the empty road, her heels echoing against the houses' walls.

With an amused sigh, he walked faster behind her, not bothering to chase her though he knew it was exactly what she wanted. Her red, glossy waves were bouncing in her back and her dark dress flew around her legs, sometimes exposing a bit of porcelain skin to his careful eyes. She disappeared at a corner and he stopped, his eyes following the two paths she could have gone to. He decided to go for the right one and her hand reached out to his, slender fingers lacing around his wrist to yank him on the left.

"Lilah," he sighed but her eyes were shining so brightly he couldn't help but grin at her drunken face.

"You're so bad at finding me," she giggled, dropping his hand and walking backwards to face him. "It's a miracle you always did."

"We both know I always will," he stated confidently, raising a dark eyebrow at her.

Delilah's lips stretched into a challenging smirk and as she outstretched her little fingers to intertwine them with his, at the last second she ran off again. It reminded her of Thomas's brothers right after their encounter with the Digbeth Kid and the happy memory made her smile a little wider. She stopped at the Garrison's door, her knuckles tapping against the wood and waiting for Thomas to join her. When he did and realized where she had stopped, his cerulean eyes fell on her enlightened face. She raised her eyebrow at him and he grabbed her hand for the hundredth time that evening, leading her through the back door.

Once they were inside the pub, Delilah wandered through the tables, running her fingers on the soft tablecloths. Funnily enough, she seemed bored again with the lack of music and the energy excess due to the liquor, and Thomas wondered what might make her have fun for real. Maybe his brothers would have had an idea, but they were busy at the moment and he wanted to be the one bringing a little bit of thrill into her soul.

"How come the pub is closed?" she asked, almost collapsing when her hip hit a table.

"Arthur's busy," Thomas responded with a shrug. "I didn't feel like opening it on my own."

"You like decorating this place, controlling everything," Delilah sighed, leaning her hip against one of the tables, "but you don't like serving customers. How posh of you."

Thomas snickered as she drifted her eyes towards the glassy double doors, the pub's name written on the surface in a beautiful shade of gold. The Garrison would never be the Eden Club or the Red Galleon, but it was simply beautiful in a way that wasn't fancy though sentimental. She loved this pub in a way she didn't the Eden Club for most of her good memories with the boys and her brother had happened in this place. Unlike the house, which was full of bad memories as well as good ones, she couldn't remember a day she hadn't celebrated in the Shelby's pub — except for the fateful day where she had thought Milo would die on a wooden table and Danny Owen's dead body was laying down in the snug, resting in eternal sleep. 

Delilah turned around to face Thomas, his face enlightened by the dim lights of the pub, and she thought for the hundredth time he was the most beautiful man ever created. It was as if his face had been carved by God himself, worth worship and breaking every women's heart with a simple glance. It was astonishing how someone whose hands were so bloody, reputed for his lack of mercy and monstrous soul could be so wonderful. His smile could light up a whole room and his eyes, deeper than the ocean, reflected everything he was feeling a little bit clearer to her now. 

Now that she was thinking about it, it was as if Delilah had always known Thomas. Her soul connected with his in a way she had never felt, making it hard to breathe when he was near and impossible to live when he was too far away. It was too late to carry on with her life without his presence, regardless of what he was ready to give her — a place in his heart or a simple glance here and there to maintain his leadership and her admiration. She would take it all; all his sins, all his mistakes and the blood on his hands to make it hers. Delilah would forget everything and everyone she had ever met before just to be tangled in his sheets in a blissful night, wrapped in his scent and held by his strong arms. 

"You are such a masterpiece," she found herself whispering, breaking the thick silence between them. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but she didn't want to take her words back or apologise for thinking so. Delilah would be ready to scream it outside the window for everyone to hear: she was his and had been since the beginning. Blonde barmaid or not, murders or not, dark soul or not. 

"Am I?" Thomas asked, the corners of his lips stretching upwards in a slight smirk. 

"Don't pretend you don't know it yet," Delilah quietly laughed, taking feline steps to approach him, tiptoeing to speak all against his plump lips, brushing them with hers. "Apollo has nothing to envy."

She softly kissed his lips, barely taking the time to appreciate their contact before sliding through the back door, leaving him alone in the pub. Thomas didn't waste time following after her, finding her petite form easily walking through the paved street with a bottle of whiskey she had probably stolen on a shelf in the back room. Her red hair, lit up by the street lights, shone and bumped in her back as she spun on her heels, once again walking backwards. He felt himself getting lost in her intense stare, her lips parting as she brought the liquor bottle to her mouth. 

Then, she motioned for him to follow after her, guiding him through Watery Lane as if he hadn't known the place his whole life. He stayed behind for a few moments before catching her side, snatching the bottle of alcohol from her hand to take a sip. Delilah's green orbs stayed focused on the sky, heavy with stormy clouds. She could smell the rain approaching above their heads, its harsh grip tightening by the second. Just as Thomas opened his mouth to speak, droplets fell upon their heads, quickly turning into a heavy rainfall, drenching them through their clothes and making their hair stick on their foreheads. 

"I can't believe this is happening now," Delilah chuckled, spreading her arms open as if offering herself to the meteorological tantrum. "We're the lucky ones!"

"How are we the lucky ones?" Thomas demanded, his deep voice louder to make himself heard. The loud echo of the rain falling on the pavement was making it hard to be understood.

"We are breathing, we are alive," she responded, taking a feline step closer. "We have everything in the palm of our hands and we can do so many wonderful things still. There is so much yet to be discovered. Life is precious, beautiful and quick to slip through our fingers. We should taste it more often, don't you think?"

Thomas observed her wet cheeks, droplets running down her porcelain skin. It looked like she was crying, but he knew better. At that moment, with rain falling all over her body and her eyes shining with the wilderness Polly had told him so much about, she looked the happiest she had ever been. A free woman opening up about herself so frankly it was dumbfounding, no longer shying away from his careful gaze and following her heart through every hard path. 

"I think you are life," he answered truthfully, placing his large hands on her cheeks. "And I think I will never taste you enough."

Delilah laughed and slipped through his fingers, lacing them together with her slender ones. She was running again, sometimes sliding on the ground and holding tighter on his hands to avoid an unfortunate fall. She hesitated to go back to her house with him behind her but it seemed he already had his mind set up when he stopped her mad rush on his doorstep. She lifted her eyes towards his face, stepping under the slim shelter his porch provided and brought her hand behind his neck, leaning him forward for a kiss. When their lips crashed against each other, almost hitting their teeth in the process, she thought she would crave his sweet embrace for the rest of her life.

He pushed the front door open, never separating their contact and pulling her inside. The door was barely closed behind them that he was lifting her from the ground, her impossibly long legs securely wrapped around his waist and her hands playing with his jet black hair. Her heels slid on the ground, scattering on the wooden floor as he rushed upstairs, her lips parting in a smile he could feel through their touch. His right hand was placed in her back, maintaining her against him — trying to melt himself into her body — as the left one opened his bedroom door, closing it behind them. 

Delilah barely registered the decoration around her as he threw her on his mattress, the springs squeaking under her weight and the force of the impact. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and only drifted them back on Thomas when he was standing in front of her, delighting in her incredible beauty. Her hair was spread around her face like a fiery halo and her eyes, these deep orbs he'd so many times lost himself into, shone with lust. It was like he had never seen her before and now he was seeing the true her, another degree of intimacy he'd never thought he'd reach. 

In a matter of seconds, their clothes were laying on the floor, wet bodies pressed together in a blissful embrace neither of them wanted to break apart from. His strong arms were wrapped around her waist, her hair often brushing against his skin and raising goosebumps on his forearms. Her hands were running down his shoulders, leaving crescent moon marks and reddening his skin when she would bite to avoid her throat waking up the entire household. Thomas found out Delilah was, indeed, a true goddess when her body moved against his, her lips locking with his in such a loving manner he thought he'd never kissed anyone before. The moment they had both been waiting for was spent between names being moaned, breath hitching and love being made under a stormy weather, in a bedroom devoid of happy memories since the war had happened. 

Delilah wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips running down his burning skin which warmed up her entire being. Their souls finally reuniting in a passionate grip she didn't want to let go of just yet, feeling good resting between his arms and sensing their love finally consuming them up. She was the lucky one, the one who had to be truly loved by a broken-hearted man. She was the one to help to make him whole again, making him feel like more than a soldier, more than a brain, more like a human being capable of caring tenderly and worthy of being adored entirely. In that tight embrace of his, she could feel all of the despair of a man that had been waiting for too long to be loved again, to allow himself to fall for someone he could fully trust. His hand were wrapped so tightly around her she thought he'd never let go of her, and she tightened her arms around him the exact same way, promising him she would always stay as long as he wished her to. 

Thomas felt protected. And while the Digbeth Kid was being beaten to death by a few of Sabini's men, he felt like nothing could ever hurt him anymore. Wrapped into her strong grip, hearing her moan his name in low whispers in his ear, discovering every inch of her skin both with his mouth and his fingers, inhaling her delicate perfume while burying his face in her shoulder to release his own moans only her could provoke, he felt like nothing would never bring him back into his troubled mind. As long as her fingers would brush his skin, lingering on the Romanian sun tattooed on the right side of his chest and literally adoring every inch of his broken body, he sensed the burn of true love rising up in his chest. A burn so delightful, so relieving he wanted to spare every minute of his miserable, dark life living like this. Holding her against him, kissing her in every place he knew that she liked, staring at her face when she bit her lips and closed her eyes with every movement he made inside her. 

Love could come in many ways, in many forms. Thomas never thought he would find the feeling again in a redheaded woman destined to bring him to his empowering goals. And at that moment, everything could wait. The family meetings, the business, their enemies; they were frozen in time, in their indestructible bubble of love and pleasure, in their own moment. 

That night, Thomas didn't hear the shovels digging through his bedroom walls. That night, Delilah didn't hear Henry's desperate calls to live or Madeline's heartbreaking screams. All he dreamt about was a moment, a time where they'd be safe together, sharing a life he didn't know he was still allowed to have with a woman he knew he'd love through everything. All Delilah dreamt about was the wilderness, the sun and a pair of cerulean eyes taking her to the most beautiful places in the world with their hands linked and their hearts preserved from the misery of their past lives.

Whatever would be facing them in the morning, they didn't think about it. Because Delilah was right: they were the lucky ones, wrapped in each other's arms and soundly falling asleep beside one another in a bed that seemed to be made only for love and passion, as long as it would last — eternity, if God would allow them.