Snow paved the cobbles, like the purity of its virgin white hue might just seep into the cracks and crevices of Small Heath and cleanse away the evidence of its tarnishing sin and misery. As though the collection of tiny glittering flakes that fell straight down from the open heavens above, could wash away any lingering trace of despair from the very city. That it might just obscure the true nature of the streets from the eyes of God.

It was a bold juxtaposition, the way the unscathed white coated the coal-stained cobbles, the contradicting shades fighting for dominance in a silent battle. For as the snowflakes fell, so did the fluttering ash of the nearby crackling embers. Melding together as though they twirled within the embrace of a waltz, before clattering to the Earth without a single sound to be heard.

Night stretched far and wide over the city, shrouding the Earth beneath it in an impenetrable blanket of indigo. It appeared nearly black however, as though a container of ebony ink had been knocked over by a clumsy hand and allowed to spill freely over the souls left wandering around below.

For it seeped amongst the atmosphere, saturating every inch in its path, until the evening's sky looked like not a trace of blue was left behind. The stars had vanished along with the pale beam of the cold January moon, leaving the sky above an utterly vacant void that stretched for miles to come, making the universe appear vast and empty. Cold and detached as though it was nothing more than a pit of nothingness, waiting to claim the lonely souls below and take them far beyond this place.

The candlelight tried its hardest to illuminate the shadows that continued to climb the wall, as if they were vines of ivy dipped in the darkest substance of ink imaginable. For they flickered up there upon the alter. Where disheartened souls and mourning mothers, wives, sisters, daughters and all those who had the strings of their beating hearts severed during and after the war, had lit their wicks in the hope that their prayers and their tears might be sent straight up to God's listening ears.

Their flames burned brightly with a deep saturation of citrine, it whispered its presence out amongst the first few rows of pews, as though through the timid breath of burnt amber, you could see the heat leaking along the floorboards. But as harshly as those candle flames burned, flickering with soft ebbing sways like they took notes from the flowing currents of the sea, their attempts to heat the sacred establishment were futile.

For you feared if a single tear leaked from your eye, dipping down from your fluttering lashes and teetering off the edge of your burning lash line, that the trace of salt and shed emotion might just freeze where it fell. Your exhales became soft clouds before your eyes, fogging up the sight of the alter where your absentminded gaze lingered, before dissipating like your breath had always belonged to the frigid atmosphere surrounding you. This Holy structure could be filled with warmth bursting at the very brim of the aged brick and scuffed up pews and yet, this evening, not even the hand of God could wipe away the ice that penetrated his very own house.

You knew he was going to find you sooner or later, sitting here in the darkness and the formidable cold, alone and on the verge of frozen tears, but something about Thomas Shelby's sudden appearance, like that out of thin air, still managed to take you by surprise.

Perhaps it was the sound of his footsteps, falling against the worn panels beneath him with a conviction he never not seemed to carry with him. As though he walked with a purpose, no matter where it was or why he was there, Tommy strode through life as if he were determined not to waste a single step.

Maybe it was the scent that followed his trail like he brought with him his own sense of oxygen, for it penetrated your own and the very space of the building around you. The sharp sting of tobacco, from a cigarette he'd discarded just a step outside of the doors to the church, for the scent still lingered on his clothing like it still burned freely within his clutch. The intoxicating blend of cologne that clung to his flesh, masculine notes and underlying tones of birch and leather and something fresh from the Earth.

But perhaps, what truly signaled you to his sudden presence, was the way in which Thomas Shelby knew how to fill a space.

For he hadn't a single hand to lay upon this establishment, not a single reason to stride through the surrounding pews as though he owned the damn place, or act as if he wasn't aware of his obvious misplacement in a house of God. But no matter where in the world Tommy found himself, he controlled the room as though it had always been his to possess. He commanded it, even when he relinquished the attention it demanded. The air that followed Tommy was undeniable, it was a force to be reckoned with, the way it could very well shift the atmosphere the second he strode through the doors.

It was a bewildering notion, that even here in a place of worship, Tommy's presence threatened to rival that of God's very own.

"What are you doing all the way in here, ey?"

His voice was gentle, as it floated along the current of a long-ago frozen stream. His words gathering in a breath that appeared before his eyes, as he made his way towards you, as though the letters strung together by the melodic rumble of his low Brummie voice, might just be incapsulated within the ice that touched each and every crevice of the dimly lit church.

The sound of Tommy's voice, puncturing the void of silence like a piercing tip of a knife, didn't startle you. It didn't make you jump where you sat nearly five pews deep, it didn't send new goosebumps rushing over your flesh like it might just outnumber the ones given to you by the bitter cold. It didn't make your head snap towards his approaching frame, for you knew with a few more paces, Tommy would soon be sitting beside you for your eyes to find with ease. It didn't startle you, but instead, washed over you like a calming breath.

The sound of the gold band wrapped around his pinky finger sounded softly in the quiet, as his hand slid across the edge of the pew in front of you, as Tommy made his way down to the very center of the wood you sat upon. His footsteps slowed as he reached you, sitting down with a soft creak of the wood beneath his sudden weight, taking control of the space to your left.

The brush of his long black coat nearly grazing against the fabric of your cardigan, his elbow almost touching your own if only you leaned into him barely an inch. He withdrew his razor blade rimmed cap worn snuggly like a crown around his head, dropping it at his side and shaking it loosely, letting the snowflakes collected within the threads of soft tweed tumble from the fabric, just to melt away at his feet. Tommy was silent, another word yet to be spared from his stilled lips and yet, his presence was overwhelming as he settled in beside you.

Maybe it was the way he overwhelmed every ounce of air that you inhaled, suddenly without a breath that smelled of his poignant scent, that felt of his inexplicable warmth that emanated up from his concealed flesh. The church was empty except for your two souls and yet, with Tommy Shelby sat nestled within the holy walls, the space felt claustrophobic. As though not a single building in the world was big enough to house Tommy's imposing and all-consuming presence.

You didn't look over at Tommy and you knew instantly that his cerulean scrutiny was not upon you. For you knew what it felt like to be beneath the weight of his gaze, waves of churning azure washing over you like a tide, all the while, burning as though rays of the sun beamed upon your shoulder blades. You didn't look over at him, as he joined you in the welcome silence that consumed the church, because you were hesitant to meet his eye and witness what he was thinking in this moment.

For you'd left him without a single word, abandoning him in a moment when it felt like the walls of your sanity were beginning to close in around you, fleeing into the cold and desolate night like its imposing shadows and formidable cold might just freeze away your troubles. The rush of guilt flooded you the second you stepped inside the abandoned church, regretting that you'd left him there to deal with the fallout, when you'd cowardly rushed away to avoid the pain.

It wasn't his fault that the evening went even worse than you'd expected it to go in your head, it wasn't fair to him to leave him standing idly by in a room you'd abandoned, it wasn't right that you were the one to escape when all the while, it was Tommy that your family had spoken so unfairly about.

"I just needed to be somewhere where it didn't feel like I was being judged at every turn."

Your voice was fragile, perhaps capturing the essence of your tears that you had forced back down your throat with all of your might. It was saturated in your shame of leaving Tommy behind to deal with your abrasive family, in your embarrassment of the things they had said so freely like he hadn't the ears necessary to hear them. But you also realized, as you heard the distinct tremor in your voice, that perhaps, you had been shaken by the notion that you loved this man more than you even knew.

For it was the first moment, you'd ever envisioned yourself abandoning your family for another. The first time you'd ever caught yourself thinking that maybe you'd be better off without them, if they were to treat you this way. It frightened you, to suddenly wonder if your love for Tommy was stronger than your fear of leaving behind the only life you'd ever known, with people who were suddenly different in your eyes than you'd ever seen them to be before.

Tommy shifted beside you, feeling as his arm brushed along the thinly veiled flesh of your own. You hadn't taken your coat with you when you'd run from your mother's house, you hadn't the clarity of mind when you'd dashed through the door, letting their words that tore through your heart like daggers, lingering in the warm embrace of the parlor behind you. It wasn't until you settled within the pew that you realized just how cold you were, bundled in nothing more than a loose wool cardigan of deep evergreen, over a dress of navy that nearly bled into the clutches of the night.

The sound of Tommy's voice draws you back, as you hear the soft muffled sound of amusement hum under his breath. "And you thought a church was the place?"

"Are you saying it isn't?"

You still have yet to turn your gaze to Tommy, peering over at the shadowy sight of him through your peripheral only, just enough to see the way his black shrouded shoulders shrug in a subtle manner. "Are you saying you aren't afraid God might be judging you for fucking a sinner?"

The sigh fell from your lips before your words could, coating the blanket of cold that wrapped its icy presence around you in a dense void of exhaustion and melancholy. "Don't say things like that Tommy."

You knew what he'd strived to do, you knew his words were as lighthearted and as mirthful as Tommy could ever get his words to be, in hopes that he might just puncture through the inevitable void that settled over your frames with a knowing presence. But he witnessed the way you hadn't even so much as rolled your eyes at his efforts, shrugging them off with simply a tone that told him you were too embarrassed, too hurt, too conflicted in the moment to handle anything other than the haunting truth of the night.

Tommy didn't say another word as the void of dense silence settled itself over your shoulders again, but his eyes fell upon the sight of your hands in your lap, twisting anxiously together like you didn't even realize you were doing so. The wash of his cerulean gaze creeping over the sight of your flesh blistered red from the stinging cold and Tommy couldn't help but wonder just how long you'd been sitting here cold and alone.

As his sight climbed its way up your frame, he witnessed the way your bones chattered softly. Shaking beneath the coverage of thin wool and futile cotton, but you hadn't complained and hadn't mumbled a single word about the chill that ate away at your goosebump ridden skin. Tommy realized, as he watched you stare absentmindedly up at the altar, that you were more concerned about how he might be feeling after being berated and damn near disowned right alongside you from your family, than your own health in this nasty January cold.

The warmth of his gaze had climbed its way up your arm timidly, only to falter and fall back down to his own lap. But you felt him shift beside you again, scooching forward against the pew as he slipped the warming wool fabric of his long black coat from his body. It was only when you felt him slide back beside you, reaching out with the fabric clutched tightly in hand, that you started to turn your head to look at him.

For he spoke not a word, breathed barely a breath to be heard in the overwhelming silence, but his actions said more than his voice ever could. Tommy took his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders, letting it drape down the sides of your arms, until you were engulfed in the warming nature of dark wool and intoxicating spice. It was instantaneous, the flood of warmth that overtook your frame and melted away any trace of the night's formidable cold. You hadn't even asked for it, but you didn't need to. You didn't need to say the words, you didn't need to inquire, Tommy simply saw you were cold and lent you his own source of overwhelming warmth.

Tommy had brought in with him the cold of the night, trailing on his heel as the snow dusted his each and every step. But his eyes, that should've been as frigid as the artic blue that swirled within them, were bewilderingly warm. For as their gaze washed over you, they melted away the traces left behind by the winter's bitter touch. A heat so strong, that you were convinced their presence could very well banish the ice forming along the surface of your bones.

Perhaps, it was the near lulling quality of the wool that smelt of his cologne and felt warm like his flesh, that eased your no longer shivering frame into his side. Allowing for his strong arm to wrap around you and pull you even closer, as though now he sought the warmth he'd given to you, perfectly happy to receive back a sliver in the form of your body nestled closely to him. Or perhaps, it was simply the pull in which your heart thundered for this man. This silent enigma of a man, who gave you his coat when you were cold, all the while, living in a head that was more frigid than your body could ever become.

Your ear rested against his chest, feeling the warmth of his silent exhales descending down against your flesh, as his chin rested delicately on the top of your head. The sharp curvature of his bone structure grazing softly through the fly away strands that threatened to tickle his nose but filled his senses with an overwhelming breath of sweet honeysuckle and the cold of the evening's breeze, that had become tangled within your thin strands.

Thomas didn't speak again, he just simply held you close as you felt the way his eyes scanned the alter ahead. The wash of his azure gaze flooding over the sight of flickering candlelight, as though the waves in his orbs might just extinguish the blaze.

You couldn't help but wonder what it was he was thinking, what he was truly seeing, as he gazed upon the stain glass saturated of rich hues and the very place where those with heavy hearts came to repent. For you knew Thomas used to believe, once. But God had abandoned him down in those tunnels, for there was no place for such salvation and heavenly peace there amongst the dead and the wounded. He used to believe, but war had a way of shattering everything into a million pieces, even something as formidable as human faith.

"I'm sorry I left," Your voice clips the silence that enveloped your embraced frames, nearly muffled by the strong muscle of Tommy's chest, but still meeting his ear just the same as you feel his chin shift slightly on your scalp. "I'm sorry they treated you that way, I'm sorry I introduced you in the first place."

You should've known better, really. You should've known better than to think that bringing home the very man your family hated as though they had good enough reason to, would somehow mend their opinions of him. Gypsy scum, your father would say. A Peaky bastard that'll run these streets into the bloody ground. Your mother would warn that he would surely tear you apart, for what use did a Peaky Blinder have with a young girl's heart? He'd treat you like a whore if you let him, they'd say.

For their eyes were skewed, much like most of the world. For they didn't see what you saw when you looked at Tommy, they didn't understand what resided inside of him, beneath the blood and the cuttings and the cold exterior. They didn't see the way you loved him, so fervently it didn't quite seem real. They only saw a gangster, a gambling man who took money from poor widows and hopeless men on fixed races. They saw his reputation, not the man underneath.

"If I took it personally every time someone around here thought I was nothing but dirt, I wouldn't be where I am."

His chin moved along your hair line, and the warmth of his explanation fanned along your flesh until the heat nearly seeped into the makings of your pores. His arm tightened slightly around you, not letting go or shifting away.

"They just don't understand," Your head shook as well as it could against his strong chest, eyes squeezed tightly as your words fell from your lips in a breath of deep desperation and sadness. "If they saw you the way that I see you--"

"They think I'm the fucking devil."

His words clipped the end of your unfinished thought, but it was the words themselves that forced you out of his strong hold, turning your bewildered gaze upon Thomas's calm demeanor.

For he continued to sit there, cerulean bathed scrutiny now firmly upon your shoulders, but he didn't appear fazed by the words he'd muttered. The preposterous and utterly unsettling words he spoke with such ease and a straight face, as though he believed each and every syllable. There wasn't a hint of mirth hidden behind the crashing waves of his azure burning gaze, not a tinge of a teasing tone saturating his voice, it was the way in which he watched you like he hadn't even spoken at all, that told you Tommy wasn't joking. That he was serious and the words he said, he felt them as if it had been his own observation and not that of prejudiced people who didn't even know him.

There was a deadly shift in the atmosphere, as you looked to Tommy with softened eyes. For you felt it, climbing up the cavity of your chest like it might just coil itself around your beating heart. It was like an open wound, being unveiled to the open air around it, for it sat there raw and nearly pulsating with fresh blood, just waiting for the salt carried in the open waters to burn along the injury.

It was heartbreaking, the void that suddenly overwhelmed you, but there was something undeniably human within the string as well. For the presence of the truth settled over you in an unwelcome breath of cold and haunting aches, the truth that this was how Tommy saw himself, the way he regarded himself as though he had nothing good left inside of himself to offer the world. It broke to you to pieces, seeing the true extent of damage left behind on his lonely and hurting soul. He wasn't this broken man, too shattered to ever be pieced back together again. He was simply healing and finding his way through what was left of his life.

"I don't think you're the devil."

Your voice is timid, like if you spoke any louder it might force the church to come crumbling down all around you. For your words carried more weight than you knew what to do with and the way familiar tears stung the corners of your vision, your whisper danced along his sense of sound with vulnerable steps.

"No?" Tommy hums under his breath, eyeing you with an expression within the churning waves of cerulean and along the stilled lines of his face that you couldn't quite read. "What do you think that makes me then, ey?"

You swallowed the next breath you could barely inhale, as it suddenly felt like the world had simply drained it all away. But you studied his eyes, the way the waves seemed to ebb and flow over the sight of you, emotion swirling within a locked-up cavern as he awaited your response.

He looked beautiful in this light, ethereal in a sinful manner, as if it went against everything in the universe and the very laws of physics itself. For he was a sinner, painted by the light of the redeemable savior, as the citrine flooded his flesh and softened the edges of his bone structure that shadowed beneath his warm skin. Tommy sat here deeply submerged with the Lord's house, when he hadn't so much as spoken to him since before the war, as a contradiction in the human flesh.

He was the crimson blood that stained the stark white snow, the temptation threatening to taint the virgin, the darkness that endeavored to seep into the light. Tommy was everything that this church was not and yet, when the holy light of God's gentle touch exuded over his frame in the late dwindling hours of the frigid winter night, his beauty was accentuated as if it were the sins and the scars that lined his soul, that made him such.

"I think you're a fallen angel."

Your words startle him as soon as they enter the air, crashing through the void like a shovel picking through the ice. For he hadn't expected them, hadn't anticipated the way they'd touch him like he hadn't a single defense left in place to conceal his battered heart. For the way you looked at him, the citrine of flickering candlelight illuminating your eyes in a way that made the sheen glisten like the light of the stars, it was like you were looking up at a man who didn't exist.

As though you were gazing into a fabrication of your wildest dreams, for no one had ever looked at Thomas and saw anything but the gangster that he was. But you didn't disregard the blood on his palms or the lives burdening his ledger however, you saw all of his sins. Perhaps, the way you looked at him shook Thomas's very core, because you saw all of him. You saw the good and the bad and the ugly and miraculously, somehow, you saw the redeemable parts as well.

His thumb brushed its way along the curvature of your cheekbone, spreading warmth beneath your skin like embers crackled from his tender touch. You thought he was an angel, but Thomas knew who he was. He knew the lies he'd told, the lives he'd taken, the things he'd done whether in the war or on the very cobblestone streets he'd been raised, he wasn't the slightest bit naive to who he was. But he also knew who you were, without a single trace of doubt. If anyone here in this very church were to have the foundation of an angel, it would surely be you.

For you saw him, all of him and you'd saved him regardless.

Tommy's bold gaze flickered between the sight of your watchful eyes and the sight of your lips, parted as if you were slowly letting all of your oxygen funnel through and go straight to him. He looked to your lips as though he wanted to ask permission, but he knew better. He was your gentleman, but sometimes, a gangster was a still a gangster. And so, he kissed you, leaning forward just an inch so that your lips met in a collision of natural warmth and January cold.

Tommy kissed you until you could nearly feel the heat of hell fire upon his lips, and he could almost taste the sweetness of heaven's gates on your tongue.

Why it was him and how it had been him, Thomas Shelby would never quite know. But he'd managed to discover his very own angel, right here in the heart of Small Heath and he never wished to let you go.

A/N: My heart is warm after this piece!!❤

This piece came together so spontaneously, honestly, the final dialogue line came to me suddenly one day and I fell in love with it!

I knew I wanted it to take place in a church, there's something so beautiful and raw and significant about that scenery and environment that I knew I wanted it to be based within and draw upon. Because there's something about it that almost feels like it really lifts the scenes and is just as important as dialogue and descriptions.

I was a little hesitant because I'd already written a piece a while back that took place in a church and I didn't want this to feel like it was just copying or taking something from that one, but I feel like this is very much its own and something special in itself. I hope you all enjoyed it and I would love to hear what you thought!!❤