peaky blinders imagines

an inconvenient truth; michael gray

The snowstorm had crept up unexpectedly, covering Birmingham in a soft, white blanket in less than an hour. It was late at night, not quite so late as to be the dead of night but late enough that most respectable people were off the streets and home with their families. You and Michael, young, unmarried, and both blessed and cursed with trying jobs, fit none of that criterion. You generally worked in the office to the left of his, toiling away at Tommy's communications, sending letters on his behalf and releasing statements to the press when necessary. It had become apparent at around eight that night that you wouldn't be going home any time soon, and you'd moved your typewriter and papers into Michael's office for some company. It'd been mostly silent in the two hours following, occasional conversation springing up but never lasting more than two minutes before you lapsed back into your comfortable silence.
Neither of you had noticed the snow until around nine-thirty, when Michael had happened to look out of the curtains and remarked to you with surprise that it was snowing so thickly he couldn't see the reflection from the streetlights. You'd shrugged, commenting that it'd blow over soon enough and that you both couldn't afford to leave yet, but it quickly became apparent that wasn't the case. The snow didn't stop coming, piling up in drifts outside every window and forming temporary blockades outside the front door; you'd tried to foray outside to check how much precipitation had accumulated and were greeted by snow up to your kneecaps.
"I don't see how we're going to get home in this," you called to Michael.
"I think we'd better stay," he called back. "Quit on the work for the evening, I'll find dinner, you look for blankets."
You reconvened in his office eight minutes later after finding two blankets in Polly's office, tucked away in a back corner but mercifully not covered in dust. Michael held up a bottle of Tommy's gin as you walked in, staying with a laugh that "It's his fault we're here anyway, let's drink his shit and teach him a lesson."
Lightweight that you were, it didn't take long for you to become relatively tipsy. Michael wasn't helping, laughing loudly every time you cringed from the burn and encouraging you to take another swig, saying "it'll hurt less than the last one!" Laughter flowed easily between the two of you, you becoming more comfortable with placing a hand on his shoulder or leaning on his arm when your giggles faded. It was partially his own fault, his encouragement of your intoxication, that you didn't notice how red he turned whenever you touched him.
The bottle rapidly began to empty, and you settled down a bit, leaning down in your chair next to Michael's and brushing your right shoulder against his left.
"Truth or dare?" you asked.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's what it sounds like, you tell me if you want a question or a dare and I'll think of something."
"Fairly limited mobility for dares, I think."
"So you want a question, then?" you asked, tampering down a slight frustration.
"Sure, why not."
"Alright then..." you leaned back in your chair and regarded him briefly. "What did you think of me when I first started working here?"
"I didn't really know what to think of you, honestly. I thought you'd quit after a few weeks because Tommy would be a dick to you."
"He is a dick to me."
"I know," he said, laughing and reaching over to squeeze your knee with a warm expression. "You're strong. Definitely stronger than Tommy."
You sat and smiled at each other for a bit, before he straightened up.
"Alright then, truth or dare?"
"I'll take truth."
"What'd you think of me when you started working here?"
"I dunno...thought you were quiet, kept to yourself mostly. Then when you started talking I just thought you were full of yourself."
He looked at you a moment with an oddly uneasy expression. You were mostly used to him jovial, calm, or downright furious. Michael very infrequently was somewhere in between.
"Do you...still think that?"
"God no, Michael, God no." He relaxed largely, hand returning to your knee and laughing a bit, commenting on how intoxicated it is.
"No, honestly, I'm glad I met you," you said. "You've become a good friend."
"A friend?"
"Yeah, come on Michael, I don't want to just be your employee."
"You're not," he said, eyes hardening but allowing you a small smile when you reached out to squeeze his knee.
"Truth or dare?" He asked.
"Truth."
"Have I been not nearly clear enough or are you just completely oblivious to how in love with you I am?" He was leaned forward completely in his chair, hands gripping its arms and legs tense.
"You...what?"
"I am not nearly as kind to any of the junior employees as I am to you. You're not dumb, you don't think I'm a good man, but I have never been anything but kind an understanding to you."
You leaned forward to face him, foreheads almost touching, and gripped his hands, hoping he'd let you get a word in edgewise before he had one of his outbursts. You were never granted the chance, however, as he reacted violently to even that small touch. Michael shook his head and stood up rapidly, shoving his chair away so it hit the desk.
"Don't be nice about it. You're not obligated."
You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes and reached out to grasp his wrist.
"Do you want to know what I really thought of when I first started working here, Michael?"
He turned to face you, expression questioning and hopeful but still too stubborn to ask.
"I had the biggest crush on you for half a fucking year before I quit hoping because I figured you and Isaiah would bar hop and flirt with secretaries for the rest of your lives."
He rushed over to you, entangling both his hands in yours and pressing your foreheads together with an air of desperation.
"I love you. Please, let me prove it."
"I'll give you every chance you need, Michael Gray." His ensuing smile was the happiest you'd ever seen him, and as he leaned in to kiss you, you thanked every deity there was for inclement weather.