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ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ sᴇᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏғᴛᴏᴘs ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴛᴀʀᴛʟᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ.

She was still in her nightdress, the soft lace tickling against her ankles as she edged toward the loveseat by the sill, peering over the edge sneakily. She hadn't heard of Michael's real ease yet, and so she hadn't expected d him to be stood outside her window, pebbles in one hand and the other raised and ready to throw another just as she waved down. Hanging rather gracefully from the ledge, Valentine smiled and dodged a pebble that came flying past her head.

It was easy to sneak him in. Her parents' room was in the other end of the house and her father had the horrible habit of snoring so loud that it could shake the house, covering the sound of their footsteps as they slid to her room.

Michael was dressed simply, only in an old shirt with a cover vest and smart trousers despite the typical, cold weather and looked as dangerously handsome as the first night she had met him in the pub, with dishevelled hair and heated cheeks. Footsteps were light as he trailed behind Valentine into the house, following the same path that they always did, ending in her lilac coloured bedroom. Valentine carefully closed the door behind them, enclosing them in silence, turning to finally look at the boy properly, as he had already been doing with her.

His brown hair was slightly sweaty, sticking to the side of his forehead and his eyes were irritated and bloodshot. For the first time that night, highlighted by the piercing moonlight that fled in through the billowing curtains, she could truly see how tired and beaten down he looked. Weakness was something she had learned that Michael never showed, no matter how hard it had become. But at this point, she thought, as he stood closely in front of her with droopy eyes, maybe it had become too much. Maybe it had finally knocked his hard exterior.

It was close to the truth. Michael had finally had enough and he was fatigued to the point of feeling as if he was simply sleep walking through the day yet laying wide awake and restless during the night. It wasn't until he was with Valentine, that he could finally let it show. He knew she wouldn't judge, wouldn't care that the 'gangster' wasn't as hard and as dirty as people had thought and hoped he would be; if anything she would only care for him even more than she already did.

Valentine stepped toward him, engulfing him with warm and comforting arms and a soft embrace. He melted into her, leaning his head on hers as his eyes fluttered closed. Carefully, she pulled away from him, gently taking his hand and tugging him to her bed. They sat down among piles of feathery pillows, tucked into one another. They hadn't shared any words yet, but they didn't need to. Their actions said more than a million words. The way Valentine took his hand so tenderly as she held him tightly.

They sat like that for ages, stealing glances between each other like they were little children again, back in school and sharing a secret crush for one another. Valentine was the first to speak.

"You were let out quite quickly, what happened?" Michael looked down at her as she asked this. He exhaled loudly and Valentine noticed how uncomfortable he had suddenly become and so quickly jumped to reassure him.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to. I would understand either way," she said, as she placed a hand gently on his cheek while being wary of his cuts and bruises.

Michael was silent for a moment and Valentine furrowed her eyebrows as she examined his cuts. They were deep and harsh, with obvious layers of crusted blood over it. They looked like injuries that had been done out of spite.

"You'll need some cream on your cuts or they'll go bad. We don't want them getting infected." Valentine couldn't understand why he had become upset after she had said that. She only wanted to help him.

"Polly said the exact same thing to me when I got out." His words were bitter, but more so toward his mother than Valentine and the young girl couldn't help but wonder what she had done to make her son so angry. He didn't even call her 'mum'.

"The screws were the ones who told me why I'd been let out. They thought it was fucking funny." Michaels voice had grown colder and lower upon telling her this and he stared forward with a clenched jaw. "My mother," he began, but paused to calm himself. "She fucked him. She fucked Campbell to get me out."

She stayed silent for a moment, her lips bitten between her teeth. He was clearly bitter and even Valentine couldn't quite believe it. But Polly was a strong and arguably admirable woman that didn't let men kick her around like shit. Polly Gray loved her son and would do anything for him as shown. Valentine believed in that above anything else.

Michael shrugged. "Maybe it is funny."

Valentine shook her head. "You didn't say that to her, did you?"

She took Michael's silence as an answer and turned to him with a pointed look, taking his jaw in her hand. "Michael Gray your mother loves you so much that put you in front of herself."

He shook his head slightly, not knowing what to think. Valentine lifted herself and repositioned, restless in annoyance.

"Campbell is a horrid excuse of a human. You should be grateful for it all. You would be rotting in a cell right now instead of lying here with me, had it not been for your poor mother."

Michael stared forward, his head down as he thought about how he had treated his mum. At the time he thought he was angry that she did such a thing because it was Campbell and it was disgusting. But really, he was mad that she had done such a thing for him. It was all his fault. But Valentine was right: she had done it all for him and that just showed how much she loved him.

He turned to face her with a smile on his face before he laid back. He brought his hands up to her waist slowly before tickling her, sending Valentine into fits of wheezes as she attempted to be quiet but instead ended up being equally as loud with her snorts and coughing.

"What was that for?" She gasped, turning to hit him lightly before shuffling to sit next to him against the metal headboard.

"You're always right."

"What's that got to do with you tickling me?" She asked with a playful chuckle.

"I don't know. Felt like a change in subject." Michael watched her as she chuckled and looked down, shaking her head with a smile.

"Do you realise how loud you're being?"

At that moment, Valentine didn't care. She almost hoped her father would come crashing into her room, seeing Michael sitting with her. At least then she wouldn't have to sneak around with him anymore. And who knows, maybe her father would be okay about it after some persistent persuasion.

"What do you think would happen if your family found me here?"

She knew her father would never be okay with this, no matter how much she hoped and prayed.

"I don't even want to think about the horrible things he'd do to any peaky blinder, never mind you. With all the chaos with the business and such in Camden Town, he's been so much more angrier."

"I was worried about you." Valentine changed the subject from her father, finally settling herself down and being quiet.

Michael looked down at her once more with a tender smile. "There was no need to worry about me."

"Doesn't mean I still won't worry," Valentine said as she laid her hair on his shoulder, bringing her blankets up to cover them both. "Tell me about where you grew up."

He was silent again, almost as if he was lost in thoughts of his old village, where life had been so much more simple.

"It was a quiet village, nothing ever happened. The same old boring faces, with the same old boring things to do and say," he said.

"I bet it was pretty though."

Michael smiled thinking about it, the bitterness in his voice disappearing for a slight moment. "It was pretty. Lots a green fields. You would have loved the flowers."

Valentine snuggled into him with a sweet smile and as Michael looked down at her, he couldn't help but imagine a life with her in their own pretty village where there was no one stopping them from doing anything they wanted to.

"But it was suffocating. The same thing each day. It felt like I was trapped in a loop having to brave a smile every day, be the perfect child," Michael explained. "At least here I can be my real self and no one will judge me."

"No more Henry." Michael added and Valentine looked up to him in confusion, her face scrunching slightly.

"I can't imagine you being called Henry."

He chuckled before yawning. "It would feel foreign to hear someone call me that."

"You look exhausted Michael. You need to sleep," Valentine soothed, brushing the hair from his face. His face was visibly worn, the silver of the moon trickling through the curtains casted a dark shadow under his eyes.

"I don't even know what sleep is anymore," he admitted, pulling her as close as possible.

Valentine was silent as she watched the movement of his chest as he breathed. Michael seemed calm as he lay with her. She couldn't help but lose her mind in the possibilities that seemed both endless and some unreachable. Maybe everything would be fine now. Michael was out of prison, her father didn't know about him and they were happy together.

I love you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, ready to be spoken. But she held back. She wasn't ready. Micheal wasn't ready either. The whole world wasn't ready, because when she loved someone, she wouldn't let go.

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