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ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘᴀssᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ sᴀᴡ ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ʏᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

It seemed that the world was pitted against her, the universe's full capability adamant on throwing her into the reality that she wished to avoid. She was equally as sure that it was her father's fault. He had done too much wrong and now whatever was above, whatever higher power one might believe in, had their punishments aimed to Valentine.

She sat in the Marquis of Lorne alone. The sight of Arthur Shelby ripping a man's throat still seemed to haunt her thoughts and the obvious ignoring that her brother seemed to be doing meant she felt like drowning in gin and whiskey, making the strong drink that was nursed in her hands well needed. She had picked the certain pub, not expecting any of the Peaky Blinders to be there. Although it was protected by the gang, they typically had nothing to do with it and so it was great considering not many recognised the young Dubois.

But, of course, Michael had walked into the pub with a handsome boy that she hadn't seen before. He was blocked from her sight at first by the boy, his dark skin gleaming with an excited sweat. Michael hadn't noticed her at first, though it was inevitable that he eventually did.

He saw her sitting in the corner, gun glass in hand. It was nothing like the first time he had ever seen her in the pub. She was not glowing with youthful ignorance or dancing carelessly with all eyes in her. She wasn't done up to perfection either, her hair no longer tumbling to her shoulders and lips absent of dark berry lipstick. But even in her solemn state, Valentine was beautiful. Her eyes were glossy, as if dazed by a dream. Her natural skin was clear, as if blessed by an angel. Beautiful couldn't even do her justice.

Isaiah noticed his friend staring across the room and followed his gaze, dark eyes landing on the girl, nodding approvingly. Micheal felt his jaw grip even at his friend mere glance toward her. He never knew himself to be possessive, but the feeling coursed through him, tending his shoulders and darkening his eyes.

"She's a looker. Know her?" Isaiah asked, nudging him playfully.

Michael shook his head and reluctantly turned his gaze. They stepped to the bar together once again, calling for another drink. After a few month in Birmingham, it had become muscle memory, second nature, to take a cigarette and order a drink. It was in his blood.

"I don't drink with blacks."

The horrid slur caught more than just the boys' attention. Valentine's head spun to look at the man behind the voice, her mouth swinging open. The man squared up, his fat shoulders widening as he stood with a glare.

"Here we fucking go," Isaiah exclaimed as he turned around slowly with a cheeky smirk, his chest seeming to inflate.

"Paddy, they're okay," the barman said hurriedly.

"Not with me, they're not." The drunk man pressed, pulling out his pointing hands as he walked towards the two boys threateningly. "I don't drink in pubs with blacks."

"So leave." Michael was calm and he had already followed his friend in stubbing his cigarette, expecting trouble with the man and his friends.

"Look, my dad is the preacher round here. He has connections, ask anybody," Isaiah said, brushing him off as if he were used to it, and knowing the vile men in the pub, he probably was.

"I couldn't give a fuck who he is."

"I'm telling you to leave it, Paddy." The barman looked panicked as the man pressed still, giving his friends a quick glance, which they responded to by standing and coming to gather around him. He crossed his arms before turning to speak again.

"And I'm telling this darkie to get out of here."

"You know something? Fuck off." Isaiah burst out, glaring as he shouted.

Michael grabbed his arm, pulling him from conflict as he told him, "It's all right, Isaiah, come on, leave it. We'll go to my cousin's pub."

But Isaiah was stubborn and didn't stray from glaring a menacing look to the older man. "I like it here."

"You fucking-" The man jumped on Isaiah, landing a hard punch on his nose. As soon as the racist slur was shouted, the man's friends jumped to help fight the two boys, who, despite their limited numbers in comparison, were able to fend off from the flying fists.

"Paddy! The white kid's a Peaky Blinder!" The barman shouted with wide eyes, watching as one man grabbed Michael in a choke hold and another landed another good punch on Isaiah's jaw. "He's Polly Shelby's son! He's Polly Shelby's son! Are you fucking suicidal?"

This one fact was able to hush the crowds in the pub, separating the groups as the men looked upon the boy's in shock horror. "Sir, Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Get out! Get out the fucking pub." Isaiah screamed, spitting his words out angrily as he pointed to the door.

The group piled out eagerly, away from the peaky boys. Michael turned, wiping the blood away from the cut on his forehead. "We ordered some drinks and we're going to drink them."

The barman hurried to place two glasses in front of the boys, more eager that ever to please the Peaky boys. He filled them tall, pushing them forward allowing them to grab them and finish the bronze liquid in one shot. Motioning for another, the boy's turned to grin at each other, a laugh on their lips as they remembered a punch that Isaiah had managed to land of the gut of an Irishman.

Countless number of drinks later, the boys were happily drunk and Michael had caught Isaiah staring at Valentine, who still sat at the bar with an empty glass and a cigarette. He had felt her eyes on him all night as she watched them with a ghost of a smile which Isaiah took as motivation for him to approach her.

"I'm going to do it mate. Watch and learn." Isaiah chuckled as he patted Michael's shoulder with a jump and made his way over to Valentine. Michael seemed to sober up as he watched them with a clenched jaw.

Valentine raised an eyebrow at the slim boy who had walked up to her, ordering her another glass of gin as he tried to chat her up. She had noticed Michael watching them from the first minute and so she slyly nodded along to Isaiah, taking a sip from her glass and excusing herself. She slipped outside of the pub, knowing Michael would follow.

And he did. Isaiah was disoriented and stayed in the pub, chatting with the other woman that were lucky enough to catch his attention. Michael slipped around the side of the pub, catching the young girl with a whisper of her name.

She turned, flashing him a smile as she stepped closer to him, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice. Going from seeing the boy almost everyday to having to avoid him had been torture for Valentine. She imagined he felt the same.

"I know we said we would end it," Michael began, placing his hands either side of her head as he leaned in, looking Valentine straight in the eye.
"But I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

"I want you to be mine." He grumbled, lowering his mouth to her neck.

Valentine exhaled as she felt his warm breath against her cold skin. She knew it was the drink talking. She knew he would go back to avoiding her the minute he sobered up. She knew it was toxic, wrong. But she leaned into his touch, pulling his chin up so he would look at her.

"Only mine," he added, eyes searching hers for a response.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" She murmured, her breath fanning against his cheek. "You're jealous."

"I can't stand how they were looking at you." He growled, admitting to his jealously. "Even Isaiah couldn't take his eyes off you."

She wanted to laugh at the mention of his drunk friend, but she refrained. Valentine pulled him closer, their lips not even inches apart.

"If only they knew that you were mine."

"But they don't Michael. They don't know and they can't ever know," Valentine stressed, bringing a hand tenderly to his cheek as he sighed.

"I want to see you again." Michael nodded in agreement to this but Valentine continued. "But if my father found out..."

She trailed off, not even wanting to think of what would happen to Michael should her father find out. No matter how much he loved his daughter, he wouldn't accept it, he couldn't accept it, and he would murder him in rage.

"Your father won't find out Valentine. And neither will my cousins or my mum or anyone." Valentine chuckled at his eagerness.

In a quick second, she was pulled into his grasp, kissing him passionately as if it had been years since their last touch. But within another second more, she had pulled back bitterly, the taste of her cherry lipstick and gin lingering tauntingly on his lips.

"If you end up blind or even dead, don't blame me." Michael shook his head with smile as he took her hand and placed a sweet kiss atop of it.

"I have to go Michael. I'll see you, mon amour." Valentine whispered and slipped her hands from his before disappearing around the corner of the Marquis.

"Michael!" Isaiah shouted and Michael made his way to the front of the pub where the boy stood. Isaiah placed an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders as they made their way back down the street, slightly giddy from the nights events. "Now lad, where did you slip away to? Was it that girl? Ey?"

Michael shook his head as Isaiah chuckled, pushing his arm playfully.
"I followed up the men."

"His face, man. Did you see his fucking face?" Michael smiled as he pointed to Isaiah, ignoring the blazing fires of the factories that roared beside them.

"You punch like a fucking kangaroo.
I seen one once in a circus, you punch like that." Isaiah joked along with Michael as they neared the Garrison, forgetting all about the girl that he had teased his friend about. "All right, anyway, I need a fucking drink."

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