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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."

She looked up to him finally, noticing how his jaw was still tensed and angry. Valentine's voice was unwavering and strong as she spoke. "What's the problem with my name Michael?"

She bit her lip at the mere sound of the question leaving her lips. Everyone who knew her name, knew the baggage that was carried with it, recognised the sharp edges and weighted insides. It was enough to make a person flinch away in surprise and yet she found herself asking anyway, pressing to hear the hurtful reality and truth come from his own lips rather from many others. But unknowing to her silent wishes, Michael ignored her question arrogantly and instead leaned into her further so his lips were beside her ear.

"Valentine fucking Dubois!" He was louder this time, as he repeated her name with a deep and menacing growl behind his voice.

"Is this supposed to scare me?" She asked.

She took his chin in between her fingers, urging him to face her, her own chin already up. Valentine looked up to him, noticing how his eyes visibly softened at her gentle touch. He leaned into her hand, placing his own on her waist as his eyebrows drooped.

But he still remained conflicted. She could tell by the hesitant touch to her side. She could feel the flinch that his hand would make every second or so. It was a feeling she knew to well, making her sigh.

"How could I have been so stupid?" Michael asked himself, still staring back into her eyes.

"You're right, you are looking quite stupid standing around and kicking the air." Valentine snapped, finally sick of her own cluelessness. "Now tell me what's wrong."

Valentine knew what was wrong. He was scared, of her family, her name and what it all inevitably brought with it.

"Michael Gray." He began with his name.

It added to Valentine's frustration. Why wasn't he leaving? Why wasn't he running away from her as if nothing happened? His grip on her waist tightened protectively, as she looked down at his red knuckles that were entangled in her white dress. It was as if he were going to be forced away from her at any moment.

"My mum is Polly Gray. Aunt of Thomas Shelby."

Michael's voice shook and his eyes never left hers. She knew what he was saying, what he was telling her. Valentine knew what he was now. But she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted the name to come from his own mouth, so she kept quite, her lips sealed in a tight, straight line.

"I'm a Peaky Blinder, Valentine."

She shook her head, as if attempting to force the information from her head. If she didn't know, nothing could go wrong, after all. But Michael had already told her, and there was no going back.

Michael was a Peaky Blinder. A member of the gang that her father hated more than anything else. A man who her father would have dead without even knowing his name.

She pushed his hands from her waist, suddenly feeling the cold touch to her skin. "How long have you known?"

"An hour. I didn't even know who the fuck your family was until Tommy mentioned it this morning." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration.

"How could we have let this happen?"

Her voice was pained as she looked at him. Michael looked just as distressed as she imagine she did. His shirt was untucked and faced flushed an angry red.

It was obvious how everything happened. That's why neither of them said a word more after her useless question. They had both wanted desperately to escape the reality of their names. But family would always catch up to them in the end. It always would, and loyalty wasn't a thing that Valentine was willing to test.

"What do we do?"

Michael shook his head. She was asking as if the had a choice. They could do nothing but ignore each other, severing the ties that had been forced to each other and forgetting about each night they spent together. Michael didn't think he could. How could he forget a face like hers? Or a voice as smooth as velvet? Or a mind as complex as an ancient language? How would he be expected to act as if he didn't know her?

He bit back his thoughts, coughing awkwardly as he wouldn't meet her eyes. "We can't see each other anymore."

"No we can't." She agreed, watching as he stepped backward.

But his feet were in front of her within seconds, and Valentine couldn't hide the desire she felt as he leaned to place his lips on hers. It was intoxicating. And kissing the enemy made it feel a whole lot more exhilarating.

"I needed to do one thing before I leave you." He mumbled, leaning in again.

It would be the last time she would feel his lips on hers, and so she savoured it. Valentine pulled him in closer, memorising the movements. Michael pulled away, placing his forehead on hers, breathing heavily before he turned and left her house without saying another word.

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