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estellan0vella · 10 days ago

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Good For You Lee Felix x fem!reader (Peaky Blinders AU)

WC: 20.1K

CW: sex work, reader is a prostitute, talks of war, violence against women, time period appropriate stereotypical views of prostitutes, talks of shellshock, injuries, guns, substance abuse (opium use), death, sort of pre-established relationship General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The sharp smell of brine and steel hangs heavy in the air as Felix’s head lolls back against Minho’s shoulder. The three of them stumble forward, feet slamming against the slick, grimy cobblestones of the Birmingham docks, trying to outrun the trouble they’ve just stirred. Felix’s blood leaks in dark rivulets, soaking through his shirt and onto Minho and Jisung's coats as the two of them hold him between them.

“Fuckin’ hell, Felix,” Minho grunts, his voice low and rough, like he’s dragging each word out of his throat. “You’re heavy as shit when you’re bleedin’ out.”

Felix groans, his face pale under the weak lamplight. “I’m not heavy. You two are just weak.”

“You’ve just been stabbed, you daft bastard,” Jisung spits from Felix’s other side, his breath coming short as they drag him forward. “Shut up and let us save your sorry arse.”

The clatter of distant voices rises behind them, followed by the unmistakable click of bootheels echoing off the cobbles. The sound is distant, but it’s getting closer. Minho snaps his head over his shoulder and hisses a curse. “They’re still fuckin’ comin’. Move faster, Jisung!”

“I’m movin’ as quick as I can!” Jisung snaps, shifting to get a better grip on Felix. The man's knees buckle for a moment, and Jisung shoots him a glare. “Felix, if you die on me, I’ll kill you myself.”

Felix lets out a rough, breathless chuckle. “You talk too fuckin’ much, Jisung. Both of you do.”

Jisung’s face twists in exasperation. “We just stole a crate of guns full of enough fuckin’ weaponry to supply a small army, and now we’re draggin’ your useless body out of here, bleeding like a pig.”

Minho snorts. “He’s got a point.”

Felix coughs, wincing as the stab wound flares with pain. He leans heavier against Minho’s shoulder and mutters, “Your chatter’s not gonna stop ‘em followin’ us, is it?”

“We’re talkin’ so we don’t go fuckin’ mad,” Minho snaps. “Jisung, grab him tighter, will you?”

Jisung rolls his eyes but adjusts his hold, and they stumble faster toward the edge of the docks. Felix feels his head spin again, the throbbing in his stomach worse now than when the knife first went in. He tries to breathe, but the sharp sting of it makes him curse under his breath.

“You need to keep that blood inside you,” Minho says, glancing down at him, his tone serious.

Jisung cuts in, his voice sharp and panicked. “We need to get him to the Garrison. We’re closest to-”

“No.” Felix’s voice comes out harsh and ragged. Both men look at him, startled. “No Garrison.”

Minho furrows his brow, annoyed. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’, right? You’re bleedin’ out. You’ll die in the fuckin’ street if we don’t get you patched up proper.”

Felix shakes his head, sweat glistening on his brow. “Take me to the flats.”

“The what?” Jisung barks.

“The flats,” Felix repeats, his voice weaker but resolute. “The block not far from the Black Swan.”

Minho swears, his grip on Felix tightening. “You’ve lost too much blood to be makin’ sense, mate. You’re talkin’ about Fenian fuckin’ turf now.”

Felix grits his teeth against the pain and snaps, “I got someone there.”

“Someone?” Jisung echoes incredulously. “What, some girl you’re keepin’ tucked away? You’re gonna get yourself killed for a-”

“Shut it, Jisung,” Felix cuts him off, his eyes flashing despite the pain. “I said I got someone who can patch me up, and you two are gonna take me there before I fuckin’ bleed to death.”

Minho curses under his breath, his jaw tight. “This is a shite idea, Felix.”

“So was smokin' opium before stealin’ the fuckin’ crate,” Felix mutters, his voice weaker now. "We grabbed the wrong one"

“That was your idea!” Jisung hisses, his face a mix of frustration and worry.

“Doesn’t matter whose fuckin’ idea it was,” Minho growls, shooting Jisung a glare. “The coppers are probably sniffin’ around, and Felix here looks like he’s about two minutes from keelin’ over.”

“Then let’s move,” Felix grunts.

Jisung looks like he wants to argue, but he bites his tongue and nods, his hands flexing nervously around Felix’s arm. “We get spotted near that block, the Fenians’ll have us strung up. I hope you know what you’re doin’, Felix.”

Felix doesn’t answer. He just lets his head rest back against Minho’s shoulder, his body growing heavier with each step.

Minho swears again, louder this time. “Right. We’ll get you to the flats, but you owe me a new fuckin’ coat after this.”

Felix smirks faintly, his eyes fluttering. “Deal.”

“Don’t you fall asleep on us, mate,” Minho warns, shaking him slightly.

“I’m awake,” Felix mutters, though his voice sounds far away.

Jisung glances around nervously as they turn down a darker, narrower street. “We’re gonna regret this.”

“Shut it,” Minho snaps. “Keep your eyes open, and keep movin’. If Felix’s someone doesn’t patch him up, we’ll be buryin’ him in a fuckin’ ditch by morning.”

Jisung falls quiet, and the three of them stumble forward into the shadowy maze of backstreets that wind toward the block of flats near the Black Swan. The sounds of the docks fade behind them, but the weight of the trouble they’ve stirred lingers heavy in the cold night air.

The clock ticks softly in the corner of your small living room, the steady rhythm filling the silence as you turn the pages of Pride and Prejudice. A cigarette burns between your fingers, its smoke curling lazily in the air.

The soft fabric of your green dress shifts against your legs as you lean back into the armchair, the heels on your feet tapping idly against the wooden floorboards. A dull ache still lingers in your cheekbone, and the split on your lip stings faintly when you purse your mouth, but you don’t think about that.

You’re halfway through a particularly sharp exchange between Elizabeth and Darcy when a thunderous pounding rattles your front door.

You jolt upright, the cigarette nearly slipping from your fingers. Your brows knit together as the hammering continues, each knock loud and urgent, shaking the thin walls of your flat.

“Christ alive,” you mutter under your breath, stubbed cigarette hanging forgotten from your lips.

When you pull open the door, the sight nearly knocks the breath out of you. Standing there under the dim hallway light are two men wearing razor-lined Peaky caps, holding up a third between them. The man in the middle, blood-soaked and pale as a sheet, is Lee Felix.

“Hey, angel,” Felix croaks with a faint, bloody smile.

You blink in surprise, momentarily stunned, before the softness returns to your face. “Hello, Felix.”

Jisung, the smaller of the two with wide, panicked eyes, gestures impatiently toward Felix with a tilt of his head. “He said to bring him here, to you, so here we fuckin’ are.”

Minho, the taller and sterner one, raises a brow, taking in the gentle smile on your face and the way Felix clings to consciousness. “So, you two are...acquainted?” He jerks his chin toward Felix. “Who’s the girl, Felix?”

Felix lets out a breathy chuckle, though it turns into a cough. “This angel here is Y/N.” He winces as the pain pulls at his wound. “Y/N, this is Minho and Jisung. Don’t let their sour faces fool you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Minho mutters.

You shake off the shock quickly, ushering them inside. “Come in, quick. And shut the bloody door before the whole building hears you.”

The moment they step into your modest flat, you spring into action, clearing the small dining table of books and ashtrays with practised speed. You grab the half-empty bottle of rum from your cabinet, tipping a generous splash over the table to sterilize it, cigarette still dangling between your fingers.

“Put him on the table,” you say firmly.

Minho and Jisung exchange a look before hauling Felix’s weight across the room. “Watch his fuckin’ head,” Minho snaps as they lay him down. Felix groans as his back hits the hard wood, his breaths shallow and laboured.

Jisung hovers, wringing his hands. “We were at the docks-”

"Please don’t tell me anythin’. I don’t want to know”

Jisung clamps his mouth shut, looking sheepish. “Right. Fair enough.”

You glance at Felix’s pale face, eyes flicking to the blood seeping through his shirt. “You’ve really done it this time,” you murmur softly.

Felix grins faintly. “Only because I knew you’d fix me up, angel.”

Minho and Jisung take off their caps, flopping onto your small couch without invitation. Minho pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a grunt, leaning back with a sigh. “This is cosy.”

You glance up briefly. “Biscuits are in the cupboard up there if you want some.”

Jisung perks up immediately. “Oh, bless you, darlin'.” He springs up, rushing to the cabinet to root through it like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes before focusing back on Felix. You grab a pair of scissors and cut open his shirt, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room. Felix hisses as the cold air hits his wound, but you’re already examining it with sharp, trained eyes.

“Can you patch me up?” Felix asks weakly, looking up at you.

You give him a small, reassuring smile, pressing a hand gently to his arm. “Of course I can. I did it in France, didn’t I?”

Felix manages a faint smirk despite his pallor.

You grab the rum again and pour it straight onto the wound without warning. Felix arches sharply off the table with a shout, his teeth gritting. “Fuckin’ hell!”

“Stay still,” you say gently, though there’s no room for argument.

Felix’s breathing grows uneven, his hands clenching at nothing. You stride quickly to the stove, turning on the gas and grabbing one of your old kitchen knives. The faint hiss of the flame fills the room as you hold the blade over it, watching the metal glow.

From the couch, Minho squints at you. “What the fuck are you doin’ now?”

Felix groans faintly. “She’s gonna cauterize it.”

Jisung, halfway through his third biscuit, freezes mid-bite. “She’s gonna what?”

“This is gonna fuckin’ hurt,” Felix mutters.

You glance back at him, soft but firm. “Yes, it is. So prepare yourself.”

You grab a clean rag from the cabinet, placing it gently but firmly in Felix’s mouth. “Bite on that. And don’t you dare scream the whole building down.”

Felix meets your eyes, his gaze steady despite the sweat dripping down his temple. He swallows hard as you step back to his side. “Here,” you murmur, offering him your free hand.

Felix grips it tightly, his knuckles white as he prepares himself.

The knife in your other hand glows red-hot, the sharp edge blurred by the heat. You bring it down with precision, pressing it firmly to the wound.

Felix screams into the rag, his body jerking violently against the table. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, sharp and metallic. Minho and Jisung glance over, both grimacing as Felix’s muffled cries ring out.

“It’s alright, Felix,” you murmur. “Just a bit longer now.”

Felix squeezes your hand tighter, tears springing to the corners of his eyes as you finish the cauterization. When it’s done, you pull the knife back, tossing it into the basin with a clatter.

“There,” you say softly, pulling the rag from his mouth. “It’s over.”

Felix’s chest heaves as he slumps back against the table, his hand still gripping yours weakly. “Jesus...fuckin’...Christ.”

You offer him a small smile as you begin to wrap the wound with clean bandages. “Told you I could fix you.”

You finish bandaging Felix up with careful hands, the sound of his shallow breaths filling the quiet of the flat. Minho and Jisung, sprawled on your small couch, smoke their cigarettes like they haven’t a care in the world despite the chaos outside. You straighten up, wiping your hands on a rag, and glance at them.

“Alright,” you say, folding your arms. “Are you gonna be alright gettin’ him home?”

Felix’s head turns slightly on the table, his voice rough but clear enough. “About that…” he pauses, catching his breath. “Uh, can we lie low here for a few hours?”

You blink, surprised.

“I’ll pay you,” Felix adds quickly. “For your time and for patchin’ me up.”

Jisung nods, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re too close to Fenian turf right now, love. If we step outside, we’re liable to get our heads kicked in. We’d be outnumbered.”

You look between the three of them. Felix, pale and sweat-slicked, Minho blowing smoke like he’s in his own bloody living room, and Jisung perched on the arm of the couch like a stray cat. You sigh softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Sure,” you say, leaning back against the table. “You can stay as long as you need. Just don’t be makin’ a mess of the place, alright?”

Jisung grins and Minho nods in approval.

Felix exhales in relief, his hand settling over his stomach. “You’re an angel.”

You shake your head fondly, stepping closer to him as he pants quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. His hair sticks to his damp forehead, and instinctively, you reach down, brushing it back with gentle fingers. His eyelids flicker open, warm brown eyes locking onto yours.

“What happened to your face?” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with concern.

You freeze for a moment before forcing a small smile. “Nasty client.”

Felix frowns deeply, his gaze narrowing as his hand moves up to you. Before you can stop him, his thumb brushes gently over your split lip. The touch is soft, far more tender than it has any right to be, and it sends a pang through your chest.

“I want a name,” he says, low and serious.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Felix,” you reply quietly, pulling back slightly.

Felix’s jaw tenses, his voice firm. “Name.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. You know he won’t let it go. “That guy who works at the docks. The one whose wife went to the nuthouse after givin’ birth. He’s got a scar runnin’ through his lip.” You pause, your voice dry. “Didn’t pay for his time neither.”

Jisung stops mid-chew, his mouth still half full of biscuits, and frowns. Without a word, he reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and thrusts it toward you.

You blink at the offering. “What’s this for?”

“Compensation,” Jisung says simply. “For that bastard.”

You hesitate before taking it, shaking your head. “You lot are somethin’ else, I swear. Thank you.”

Felix glances over toward Jisung. “You’re payin’ that prick a visit tomorrow, yeah?”

Jisung shrugs, nonchalant, like it’s just another item on his to-do list. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll sort him out. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good.” Felix’s voice drops low, dangerous even as he lies there half-dead on your table. He lets his head fall back again, his gaze lingering on you.

The silence is broken when Minho pipes up, his tone blunt and cutting through the air. “So, are you a whore?”

“Oi,” Felix snaps, his eyes blazing as he jerks his head up. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Minho.”

You hold up a hand before Felix can say anything more, your voice calm and even. “It’s alright.” You glance at Minho, unbothered. “Yeah. Not much use for a war nurse when there’s no war anymore, is there?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and blows out a long stream of smoke.

Jisung, surprisingly quieter than usual, speaks up. “So, is that how you met Felix, then?”

You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips as your gaze flicks to Felix. “Yeah. Felix is one of the few good ones.”

Felix hums softly, smiling faintly despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “Actually met her in France, y’know. But that’s a story for another time.”

The room is quiet for a moment, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the hiss of Minho’s cigarette burning.

With Minho and Jisung settling into their cigarettes on your worn-out couch, you turn your attention back to Felix. He’s pale as a sheet, the blood loss catching up with him, and even though his breathing has evened out slightly, you can tell he’s struggling.

“Alright, Felix,” you say softly, brushing your hands against your dress. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable before you pass out on me.”

He grunts softly, trying to sit up as you help him off the table. He’s heavier than he looks, leaning on you with most of his weight. “I’m alright, angel. I got this.”

“Shut up,” you mutter gently. “You’re about as sturdy as a sack of potatoes right now.”

He chuckles faintly, his arm slinging around your shoulder as you guide him toward your bedroom. You take it slow, your heels clicking softly against the floor, every now and then catching him as he stumbles. Minho glances up as you pass, but you wave him off.

By the time you get him through the door and onto the edge of your bed, he’s panting faintly, sweat slicking his brow again. You help him ease back onto the mattress, fluffing the pillow behind his head as he exhales shakily.

“It’s lucky I like you, Lee Felix,” you tease softly, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. “I was readin’ Pride and Prejudice when you decided to bang on my door.”

A faint smile pulls at his lips, though his eyes are still half-closed. “Sorry, angel. I know how much you like readin’ your books.”

You smile despite yourself, gently smoothing a strand of his damp hair away from his face. “You’re lucky I’m sweet on you, or I’d have thrown you lot straight back out into the street.”

Felix’s warm hand suddenly reaches out, catching yours. His grip is gentle, but there’s a desperation in the way he holds onto you, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. You look down at him, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

“Why won’t you marry me?” Felix asks, his voice quiet but steady.

Your heart skips a beat. “Felix...”

“No,” he cuts in softly, his voice rough around the edges but insistent. “I want to know. I’ve asked before. I’m askin’ again. Why won’t you?”

You sigh quietly, your free hand resting in your lap as you look down at him. “Felix, you know why.”

He shakes his head, not letting go of your hand. “Say it. I want to hear it from you.”

You meet his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because neither of us leads safe lives.”

Felix’s jaw tightens for a moment before he speaks, his voice calm but firm. “I’d keep you safe. You know I would, angel. You know I’d kill for you if I had to.”

Your chest tightens at the earnest look in his eyes. He means it, every word, and that’s what makes it harder. “And what if you don’t come back one day, Felix? What then?”

“I will,” he replies stubbornly, his hand squeezing yours. “I always come back.”

“You can’t promise me that,” you murmur, but the words lack conviction.

Felix’s lips tug into the faintest smile, his gaze softening. “Then let me promise you somethin’ else. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure I come back to you. I’m not a good man but I’d be good for you.”

The words settle heavily in the quiet room. You take a deep breath, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

Felix’s brows lift slightly. “Promise?”

You nod, your smile faint but sincere. “I promise.”

Felix exhales, the tension leaving his body as a tired grin spreads across his face. “That’s good enough for me, angel.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows, your hand still tucked gently in his. You stay there, perched on the edge of the bed, watching him rest.

You’ve always been sweet on Lee Felix, more than you’d care to admit. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll think about it after all.

The cobbled streets of Small Heath glisten faintly under the weak evening light, leftover rain pooling in the cracks. Felix walks with a steady but deliberate stride, flanked by Minho on his right and Jisung on his left. The three of them are heading to the Garrison, the Peaky Blinders’ stomping ground.

“You know,” Jisung says suddenly, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “you’ve been seein’ that lovely lady of yours for nearly a year now, right? Since the war ended?”

Felix stiffens slightly, side-eyeing Jisung. “Shut the fuck up.”

Minho chuckles under his breath, looking amused. “It’s a fair question. You did say last night that you met her in France, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Felix mutters, his voice clipped. “Now stop askin’ me fuckin’ questions I ain’t gonna answer.”

Jisung huffs, pulling a face. “Miserable bastard.”

Felix shoots him a glare. “Twat.”

The three of them keep walking, boots smacking against the wet cobblestones. The Garrison’s golden light comes into view up ahead, the hum of life and noise spilling faintly from behind its doors. As they push inside, the smell of beer and cigarettes hits them like a wall.

The regular crowd is scattered throughout the pub, but Felix doesn’t slow. He leads Minho and Jisung through the haze of smoke and noise to the back room where Bang Chan and the rest of the Peaky boys are waiting.

Chan is perched at the head of the table, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as he looks up, dark eyes narrowing. “Where the fuck have you three been?”

Jisung immediately takes centre stage, his grin sharp and boyish as he leans against the doorframe. “Well, after Felix here got himself stabbed last night, we took him to meet his lady friend who patched him up. Sweet girl, that one.”

Felix groans, rolling his head back against the doorframe. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know shit, Jisung.”

Jisung snickers, undeterred. “What I do know is that Felix here’s a proper gentleman for this particular prostitute.”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

Hyunjin, leaning lazily in a chair with his feet propped up on the table, bursts out laughing. “That’s where you’ve been slippin’ off to? Gettin’ your dick wet?”

Felix rolls his eyes and mutters, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”

“Oi, don’t look so sour,” Jisung pipes up, grinning wide. “He calls her angel, you know. To be honest, prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time.”

Minho nods approvingly, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the table. “I’ll fuckin’ drink to that.”

Changbin leans forward, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “What, mate, you tired of women throwin’ themselves at you, so you’re payin’ for it now?”

Felix throws him a flat, unimpressed look. “You’re all a bunch of arseholes.”

Seungmin, ever the one to stir the pot, pipes up, his voice edged with sarcasm. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, Felix. She’s a prostitute.”

Felix’s head snaps up, his glare sharp as a blade. “Shut the fuck up before I cut your tongue out of your head.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungmin scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re in love with a whore? She can probably tell you’re sweet on her and is playin’ up to it so you’ll keep payin’ her.”

The room goes quiet for a beat, the tension thick enough to choke on. Felix pushes off the wall, stepping forward, his eyes blazing. “She ain’t like that, you fuckin’ gobshite. None of you know her, so shut your mouths.”

Chan raises a hand, his calm, measured voice cutting through the silence. “That’s enough.” His sharp gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on Seungmin before landing on Felix. “If Felix loves a whore, he loves a whore. His choice.”

The room relaxes slightly, though Felix still stands taut, his fists clenching at his sides. Minho, sitting back with a glass in hand, offers a shrug. “She’s a nice girl, minus the whole fuckin’ half of Small Heath for money thing.”

Changbin snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Is this why you go around cuttin’ up half the men in Small Heath, Felix? Because they’re fuckin’ your lady?”

Jisung shakes his head, his tone serious now. “Nah. It’s because they’re smackin’ her about and not payin’ her. Her face was busted up yesterday when Minho and I met her.”

That shuts Changbin up quick. Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, his usual teasing edge gone. “She got roughed up?”

“Yeah,” Jisung confirms, arms crossed, his grin gone. “Split lip. Bruise on her cheekbone. Bastards.”

Chan’s gaze sharpens. “Is that why there was a dead dockworker found in the Cut?”

Jisung raises his hand like a schoolboy. “That was me. Felix asked me to pay him a visit.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t like lady-beaters, so I went happily.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, but there’s a faint glint of approval in his eyes as he slouches back against the wall again, folding his arms over his chest.

Chan exhales a cloud of smoke, his expression unreadable. “Well. I can’t say I blame you.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of voices drifting from the main bar.

Felix finally speaks up, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “She ain’t just some whore to me.”

The room turns to him, but no one interrupts. Felix’s gaze is steady as he looks around at the group.

“She’s a good girl,” he says quietly, like he’s daring anyone to argue with him. “And she’s done more for me than most people ever have.”

Chan leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and tilts his chin toward Felix. “Well then, let’s see this patch-up job, eh?”

Felix sighs, already knowing he won’t get out of this. “For fuck’s sake…” he mutters, but he stands up with a grunt, shrugging off his coat. He tosses it lazily onto the back of the chair before his fingers start working on the buttons of his vest. The room watches, waiting, as he undoes his shirt next, then carefully rolls up his undershirt to expose the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

Chan leans forward, squinting slightly as Felix sits back down and rests his hands on his thighs. The white bandages are clean, no trace of blood leaking through. That in itself is impressive. “Seungmin,” Chan says sharply. “Scissors.”

Seungmin flicks open his coat pocket, pulls out a small pair of scissors, and tosses them over the table to Chan. Chan catches them without looking, the blade flashing briefly in the low light.

“Sit still,” he says to Felix.

“I am still,” Felix grumbles, flinching just a little when Chan starts cutting through the bandages.

The fabric pulls away with a faint ripping sound, revealing the cauterized wound underneath. The skin around it is red and angry-looking, but the burn itself is neat and precise.

Chan lets out a low whistle, sitting back and tilting his head as he takes it in. “Well, I’ll be fucked. Your lady did a good job.”

Felix smirks faintly, his expression proud despite the lingering pain in his side. “She’s good at what she does.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Felix rolls the undershirt back down, wincing slightly as he shifts in his seat. “She was in France, just like the rest of us,” he says, his voice quieter now. “War nurse. It’s how I met her. That shrapnel I took to the chest in the Somme? She’s the one who patched me up. Sat by my bedside and everything.” He pauses, a faint, faraway look in his eye. “All the soldiers loved her.”

Changbin grunts, leaning back in his chair and smirking. “A regular Florence fuckin’ Nightingale, huh?”

Felix doesn’t deny it, just shrugs and reaches for the bottle of whiskey in the centre of the table. “She’s got a good heart. Better than most.”

Minho leans forward, slinging one arm across the back of his chair, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Pretty as a picture, sweet as a songbird. Wore a green dress, looked nice on her.”

Jisung laughs, tapping his glass of whiskey against Minho’s with a smirk. “She’s got a face that belongs in the pictures. Could be a bloody movie star, that one.”

Hyunjin, perched casually with his boots up on the edge of the table, grins like a devil. “Well now we have to meet this lady of yours.”

Felix’s smile drops instantly, replaced with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Not happenin’.”

Hyunjin raises a brow, his grin widening as he gestures to himself. “Worried she’ll fall for my beauty, mate?”

Felix snorts, unimpressed. “No. Just don’t want her meetin’ you pack of fools. She’s a nice girl. Classy.”

Seungmin scoffs, leaning forward with a crooked smirk. “How classy can she be if she’s spreadin’ her legs for half the city?”

Felix’s glare snaps to Seungmin, his entire body tensing as he fixes him with a look that could kill. “Say that again"

Seungmin shrugs, unbothered. “Relax, Felix. I’m just sayin’.”

Jeongin, who’d been quietly nursing a beer in the corner, pipes up softly. “I think it’s sweet, actually.”

Changbin laughs loudly, slapping his hand against the table. “Of course you do. Our soft Innie.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Piss off, Changbin.”

Felix sits back again, shaking his head in frustration. “Listen here, none of you pricks are meetin’ her. The only reason Jisung and Minho saw her at all was ‘cause I was bleedin’ out, and she knows what she’s doin’. That’s the end of it.”

The room falls quiet for a beat as the boys exchange looks, smirks hidden behind cigarettes and whiskey glasses.

Hyunjin breaks the silence first, his tone sing-song and teasing. “Felix has gone soft on us, lads.”

“Say what you want,” Felix mutters, pouring himself a drink. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

Chan watches him carefully, his sharp gaze unwavering. “You trust her, then?”

Felix nods once, firm. “With my life.”

No one argues after that.

It’s early morning, and the pale light filtering through the curtains turns the room a soft grey. You sit at your brand-new dining table, the rich mahogany smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly trace a groove along its edge. Felix had marched in with the damned thing two weeks ago, stubborn as ever, claiming he wasn’t going to let you keep “that bloodstained piece of shit” after he’d bled out all over it. You’d told him you didn’t mind, but he wouldn’t hear it.

Now, it’s your favourite spot in the flat. You sit there quietly, cigarette between your fingers, the thin line of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. A steaming cup of tea sits beside you as you thumb through the worn pages of Little Women. The words blur slightly as you lose yourself in the story, a soft hum of peace settling over the room.

And then your door is kicked in.

The splintering crack of wood jolts you out of your thoughts. The door smashes open with enough force to rattle the frame, and the heavy thuds of boots follow immediately after. Four uniformed police officers spill into your flat like a pack of wolves, their faces hard and eyes sharp.

You don’t flinch. You don’t even move. You just take another slow drag of your cigarette and exhale softly, letting the smoke drift toward the ceiling.

The men start tearing apart your flat immediately. Books tossed off shelves, cushions ripped off chairs, drawers pulled out and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. The sound of it is deafening.

You finally speak, your voice calm and even, as if discussing the weather. “If you’re lookin’ for somethin’, you can just tell me, and I’ll help you find it.”

One of the officers pauses long enough to glare at you. “Not your fuckin’ business what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Alright, then,” you reply, unbothered, turning another page in your book. “Suit yourselves.”

A heavy thud makes you look up sharply. The flat has gone quiet save for the slow tap of a cane against your wooden floor. A tall man strides in, his polished shoes clicking crisply with each step. He’s older, with silver streaking through his dark hair, and his sharp suit speaks to someone with authority. He removes his hat and nods at you with an unsettling politeness.

“Inspector Park,” he says smoothly, the cane tapping as he moves toward you. “Miss L/N, correct?”

You meet his gaze, your expression still soft despite the chaos around you. “That’s me,” you say with a faint nod.

He hums as if satisfied, then turns to the officers. “Grab her.”

Two of the uniformed men step toward you, rough hands clamping down on your arms and hauling you up out of the chair. Your cigarette falls from your fingers, landing on the floor with a faint hiss.

“Oi, watch the tea,” you say dryly, wincing at the tight grip.

Inspector Park steps closer, his shadow falling over you. He reaches out, his gloved hand gripping your chin firmly and tilting your face upward to look at him. His dark eyes scan your face as if searching for something. “Where are the guns?” he asks, his voice steady and cold.

Your brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What guns?”

The question earns you a sharp slap across the mouth. The crack of his palm against your skin rings out in the quiet, the force of it turning your head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste fills your mouth as blood trickles from the corner of your split lip.

“Where are the guns?” he repeats, his voice unchanging.

You turn back to face him, unflinching despite the sting, your eyes meeting his steadily. “What guns?”

Inspector Park stares at you for a long moment, his hand gripping your face again, thumb brushing across the split on your lip almost mockingly. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies you.

Then he hums, low and thoughtful. “Hmm… You don’t know, do you?”

You blink. “Know what?”

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, as if suppressing a smirk. He lets go of your face abruptly, turning back toward the men still tossing your flat. “Alright,” he says. “Let her go.”

The officers release you, their rough hands falling away as you straighten your dress with quiet dignity, ignoring the blood on your mouth. Inspector Park places his hat back on his head, adjusting it carefully before speaking again.

“I’ll be back with more questions, Miss L/N.”

You offer him the faintest of smiles, sweet and steady. “I’ll have biscuits and tea ready and waitin’ for you, Inspector Park.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, annoyance, perhaps, but he doesn’t respond. He taps his cane sharply against the floor, signalling to the officers, and they follow him out, leaving your flat in shambles.

You stand there in the centre of the wreckage, cigarette still smouldering on the floor and your tea cold on the table. You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands down your dress, and murmur to no one in particular:

“Rude bastards.”

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for your cream coat, pulling it from the hook near the door. It settles over your shoulders, the soft fabric a small comfort in the chaos left behind by Inspector Park and his thugs. You glance down at your blue dress, smoothing it as best you can before bending to pull on your matching cream heels, wincing slightly as the motion tugs at your already aching lip.

Blood drips slowly from the cut, leaving faint crimson streaks down your chin. The bastard’s signet ring left a deeper mark than you’d thought. You press your fingertips to the wound briefly, hissing softly at the sting, before slipping on your cream gloves.

On your way to the small stand by the door, you grab your clutch and slide the switchblade Felix gave you into your coat pocket. You never thought you’d actually carry the thing, but after what just happened, it feels like an extra layer of armour. Felix had handed it to you weeks ago, muttering, “Just in case, angel,” and now you find yourself silently thanking him.

The door groans on its hinges as you pull it closed behind you, unable to latch it properly after it had been kicked in. As you glance over the landing, you notice other flats being stormed, doors thrown open, officers pushing their way inside. Women yell in protest, children cry, and belongings, clothes, photographs, dishes, are strewn carelessly onto the stairs and into the hall.

You swallow hard, keeping your head down as you make your way toward the staircase. A sharp pang runs through your lip as you press your gloved hand against it again, catching another small drop of blood before it falls. Your feet hurry down the creaking stairs, heels clicking against the wood, each step a little faster than the last.

The streets of Small Heath are no better than the building you left behind. You keep your shoulders back and head high as you weave through the alleys, cutting across familiar roads until Watery Lane looms ahead. It’s quieter here, the noise of the raids lingering in the distance, but the tension in the air is unmistakable.

As you approach the heart of Peaky Blinder territory, you spot a black car rumbling down the street, its wheels kicking up dust from the cobbled road. You pause on the pavement, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, watching as it slows.

From a distance, you can see Felix. He’s in the back seat, his face shadowed but unmistakable. Bang Chan is driving, his hands firm on the wheel, with Minho beside him in the passenger seat. In the back with Felix are Jeongin and Changbin, all of them looking out at the mess the police have left behind, homes torn apart, belongings littered across doorsteps.

Felix’s eyes flick toward you almost instantly, as if he’s been scanning the streets for someone. When he spots you, his entire posture changes. Without a word, he shoves Changbin aside, earning a muffled complaint, and climbs over him to get to the door.

“What the fuck?” Changbin grumbles as Felix hops out of the moving car.

Felix slams the door behind him, ignoring the curses thrown his way as he strides across the street, his boots crunching against the gravel. You stop where you are, frozen as his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing ever-so-gently across the cut on your lip.

“Christ,” he murmurs, his brows furrowing deeply as he takes in the injury. “What happened, angel? Who did this?”

Before you can answer, Changbin leans halfway out of the car window, grinning like a devil. “So, Felix,” he calls, “you gonna introduce us, or what?”

Chan, still at the wheel, smirks. “Yeah, you’ve never jumped out of the car before. Lazy fuck.”

Minho leans back with a grin, turning to face the others. “That’s Felix’s Florence Nightingale.”

Jeongin cranes his neck from the back seat, wide-eyed as he takes you in. “Oh, you and Jisung were right,” he says softly. “She is pretty as a picture.”

Minho throws an arm across the seat, his grin smug. “I’m always right.”

Felix groans softly, his hands reluctantly falling away from your face as he turns to glare back at the car. “You lot are insufferable.” He exhales, gesturing lazily. “Angel, meet Changbin, Chan, and Jeongin. Obviously, you already met Minho the other night.”

You smile politely, despite the blood on your lip. “Nice to meet you three,” you say softly, then glance at Minho. “And nice to see you again, Minho.”

Minho tips his cap with a small, easy smile. “Pleasure, love.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but the tension hasn’t fully left his face. “So,” he mutters, his voice low, “what happened? Was it another client?”

You shake your head slowly, looking past him toward the car. “I think this is a discussion I need to have with him.” You tilt your chin toward Chan, who’s watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression.

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he nods, seeming to understand as he climbs out of the car. “Felix, drive the car back. I’ll walk with her.”

Felix hesitates, his jaw clenching. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Chan replies firmly. “Get the others back to the shop.”

Felix grits his teeth but relents, stepping back. “Alright. Bring her to the bettin’ shop once you’re done talkin’.”

Chan nods, already climbing out of the car as Felix heads back, grumbling to himself as he slips into the driver's seat.

You turn to face Chan, who offers his arm to you as you both begin walking down the street, his gesture smooth and gentlemanly despite the grim circumstances. You hesitate for only a moment before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a cigarette, placing it between your lips. Before you can even fumble for a match, Chan produces a lighter from his coat pocket, flicking it open with a click. The flame flares to life, and he holds it up for you, his gaze steady.

You lean in slightly, letting the cigarette catch, inhaling deeply before straightening up with a soft “Thank you.”

Chan nods wordlessly, tucking the lighter back into his pocket as the two of you walk in the direction of the cut, his boots crunching faintly against the gravel. The noise of the streets begins to fade behind you, replaced by the distant lapping of water and the faint calls of the morning hawkers.

“My flat block got raided,” you say softly, breaking the silence. Smoke drifts lazily from your lips as you glance at him.

Chan doesn’t react right away, but his brow furrows slightly. “Raided?”

You nod. “But an inspector came to my flat.”

Chan’s steps falter for the briefest second, but he recovers quickly. “An inspector?”

“Yeah,” you reply, flicking ash off the end of your cigarette. “Tall man. Walked with a cane. Polite enough, but a fuckin’ brute when he wanted to be.”

Chan’s jaw tightens faintly, his eyes darkening as he processes that. “And what did he want?”

You pause, exhaling smoke into the crisp air. “He asked me about guns.”

Chan comes to an abrupt stop, his gaze snapping to yours. You keep walking a few steps ahead before turning to face him, one brow raised.

“I don’t know anything about any guns,” you continue calmly, holding his gaze, “but I figured you’d probably want to know, because I reckon you know exactly what guns the inspector’s talkin’ about.”

Chan stares at you for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw working as he thinks. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You both continue walking until you reach the cut. It’s quieter here, more private. Chan pulls out a cigarette of his own and lights it, leaning against the low stone wall that lines the water. The river reflects the grey sky above, rippling faintly in the breeze.

“What I’m about to tell you,” Chan says finally, his voice low and serious, “is only known by myself, Minho, Jisung, and Felix.”

You nod, understanding the weight of what he’s about to say.

Chan takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking again, his gaze fixed on the water. “That night Felix got stabbed, they were stealin’ a shipment from the docks. Job was simple, or so we fuckin’ thought. Only they grabbed the wrong shipment.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him as he talks.

“They got it to the BSA factory to hide it,” he continues, “and when they opened the crate, Minho, Jisung, and Felix found enough weaponry for a small fuckin’ army. Guns, ammunition. All bound for Libya. Then walkin' through the docks, Felix gets himself stabbed"

You blink, absorbing the information. Slowly, you nod, blowing out a stream of smoke. “So this inspector?”

Chan flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. “I’ve got coppers on my payroll, ones who hear things. He’s from Westminster. He’s been sent here with one purpose, retrieving those guns and makin’ sure anyone who knows about them swings.”

The faint sting of fear pricks at the back of your mind, but you keep your face calm. “So you’re the only ones who know?”

Chan nods once. “For now. I’ll only be tellin’ the trusted ones.”

You hum softly, taking another pull from your cigarette. “Well, this inspector,” you begin, your voice even, “I’ve been hearin’ about him. He avoided service, you know. That’s why they’ve shipped him off down here. He’s hated in Westminster.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, interest flickering across his face. “Oh?”

You nod, shrugging lightly. “A lot of coppers pass through my bed, Chan. One of ‘em told me three nights ago. They don’t like him. Not one fuckin’ bit.”

Chan takes a moment to process that before a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Useful to know.”

Silence stretches between you briefly, both of you standing there smoking, the distant sound of the water filling the quiet. Finally, Chan glances at you, his expression thoughtful.

“How would you feel about bein’ under my employment?”

You arch a brow, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. “How so?”

“You keep doin’ what you do,” Chan replies, “and you tell me what you learn about Small Heath. Things that might concern me and the Peaky Blinders.”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “And here I thought Bang Chan knew everything.”

Chan smirks faintly, the glint in his eye sharp. “I know most things, sweetheart, but there are some things a man will only tell after receivin’ the touch of a woman.”

You huff a soft laugh, taking one final drag from your cigarette before flicking it into the water. “Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “What do I get?”

Chan doesn’t hesitate. “A steady wage on top of what you already earn. Anyone gets rough, the Blinders will deal with them.”

You nod slowly, your lips curling into a small smile. “Alright, Mr. Bang. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Chan adjusts the cuff of his coat as he turns back toward Watery Lane, nodding for you to follow him. “Come on,” he says, his tone light but purposeful. “I’m gonna tell the rest of the boys about this shitshow. And while we’re there, might as well introduce you as the newest employee.”

You let out a small laugh and shake your head, slipping your arm back through his like before. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Time is a luxury we can’t afford, sweetheart,” Chan replies simply, glancing at you with that sharp gaze of his.

As you fall into step beside him, you glance up and ask softly, “So who are you tellin’, then?”

“Seungmin, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jeongin,” he says, voice firm and steady. “Obviously, myself, Felix, Jisung, Minho, and now you are already in the know. All the other Blinders aren’t goin’ to hear a word about this. This has got to be kept quiet.”

You nod slowly, taking that in. “You think the inspector will come for you directly?”

Chan scoffs faintly, shaking his head. “He’s too smart for that. That’s why he’s shown up on your doorstep. Someone’s probably told him Felix’s a regular client of yours.” He pauses briefly, casting you a sideways glance. “And while we’re on the topic of Felix, you wanna tell me why one of my men is in such a tizzy over you?”

You smile faintly, pulling your coat a little tighter around yourself. “He wants to get married.”

Chan stops mid-stride, staring at you incredulously. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “That’s about what I said.”

Chan’s expression shifts into a smirk, his brows raised as he starts walking again. ��You’ve surprised me, sweetheart. And that doesn’t happen often.”

“Believe me,” you say, the cigarette dangling delicately from your lips as you speak, “I was surprised the first time he asked.”

“How many times has he asked?”

You shrug with a small, almost shy smile. “A few.”

Chan’s grin deepens. “And you don’t wanna marry him?”

“I do,” you admit quietly, eyes fixed ahead. “It’s just… it’s more complex than that.”

Chan hums thoughtfully, though he doesn’t push you for more. “I reckon it is.”

The two of you finally step onto Watery Lane, the bustling energy of the betting shop growing louder the closer you get. Men shout wagers, coins clatter against counters, and the general hum of Small Heath’s finest at work fills the air.

Chan gestures toward the shop, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “This is where the magic happens.”

You glance around, taking in the organized chaos of it all—the well-dressed men standing behind counters, the constant motion, the careful way it’s hidden behind the front of an ordinary house. “Felix tries to keep me away from all of this,” you say softly, an amused lilt to your tone.

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “Well, he’s gonna blow a fuckin’ bollock when he finds out you’re now on my payroll.”

You don’t have time to reply before Chan whistles sharply through his teeth, a short, commanding sound that cuts through the noise like a knife. Within seconds, Changbin, Seungmin, Felix, Jeongin, Jisung, Minho, and Hyunjin filter into the dining room at the back. The room is tucked neatly behind the main betting den, a trick to keep the real business hidden in plain sight.

You glance around, lips curling into an impressed smile. “Neat little trick.”

Chan smirks proudly. “I try.”

You settle into one of the wooden chairs at the dining table as the others filter in, pulling out chairs or leaning against the walls. Seungmin’s eyes narrow slightly as he gestures toward you with his chin. “Who’s this?”

Jisung wastes no time, grinning like a cat who caught a canary. “This is Felix’s lady friend, Y/N.”

Hyunjin grins widely, bowing slightly in your direction. “Oh? Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’.”

Felix groans softly, rolling his eyes as he drops into the seat next to you. “Give it a rest.”

Jisung, clearly enjoying himself, plops into the chair on your other side. “Nice to see you again, sweetheart,” he says with a teasing grin, leaning back comfortably.

Chan doesn’t waste time. He steps toward the head of the table, his voice firm. “She’s also our newest employee.”

Felix straightens sharply in his chair. “What?!”

Chan holds up a hand before Felix can explode. “I’ll explain why in a minute.” He gestures toward Hyunjin, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin. “First, I gotta fill you four in on somethin’.”

Jeongin, ever the youngest but always calm, grabs a bottle of whiskey from the nearby shelf and begins pouring out glasses for everyone. He sets one down in front of you with a polite nod, the amber liquid swirling faintly in the glass.

You take a sip, flinching as the whiskey touches your split lip. Felix, noticing, pulls out his lighter, and without a word, he lights a cigarette and holds it out for you. You take it with a faint smile, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”

Chan leans his hands against the back of a chair, his sharp eyes sweeping across the table as the boys settle in. He doesn’t mince words, his voice low and steady, carrying a weight that silences the room instantly.

“Two weeks ago,” he begins, “Minho, Jisung, and Felix went to pick up a shipment from the docks. A simple job, should’ve been, anyway.” He glances briefly at the trio in question. “But these three idiots decided to puff on opium before they went. Isn’t that right?”

Minho shrugs nonchalantly, but Jisung grins sheepishly while Felix scowls at his boots, muttering under his breath.

“So,” Chan continues, ignoring them, “they grabbed the wrong shipment. When they opened it, machine guns, shotguns, grenades, any kind of weapon you’d find useful in a fuckin’ war.”

The room falls into a tense silence as the weight of the words settles on the group.

“Five days ago,” Chan adds, “an inspector showed up here in Small Heath.”

Seungmin, ever the pragmatist, leans forward with a frown. “He’s here to find the shipment?”

Chan’s jaw ticks as he straightens up. “I am the only person who knows where those guns are. And I’ll be the only person to ever know.”

Changbin snorts softly, glancing toward you with an arched brow. “Alright, so why’s she here, then?”

Chan turns his gaze on Changbin, voice sharp. “Because she can give me information I don’t have on the inspector.”

You lean back in your chair, cigarette perched between your gloved fingers as you speak. “The constable was one of my clients three nights ago. He told me the inspector arrived two days before that.”

Hyunjin whistles low, his grin fading as he crosses his arms. “He moves fast, then. Showin’ up five days ago and already raidin�� houses and flats this mornin’? That ain’t just quick. That’s planned.”

You nod, blowing out a thin line of smoke before continuing. “He’s a conscription avoider. Rumour is he busted his knee on purpose to dodge the war. No one in Westminster has a kind word to say about him, and the coppers down here aren’t much fonder. He’s been sent here to fix his reputation.”

The boys glance at each other as you pause. “He doesn’t find these guns? His career’s over.”

Chan nods approvingly. “This,” he says, gesturing to you, “is why she’s now on our payroll and under our protection. She’ll get a fair wage, and if anyone gets rough, we deal with them.”

You glance at Felix, whose smirk is as subtle as a brick through a window. “Inspector probably went for her ‘cause he knows Felix’s a regular,” Chan adds.

You sigh softly, offering a small, teasing smile as you murmur, “My most frequent client.”

Felix’s smirk widens, clearly pleased with himself.

“Right,” Chan says, cutting through the murmurs. “I want one of you to move into the flat next to hers.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “This inspector’s gonna keep gunnin’ for her. Won’t surprise me if he becomes a client himself to try and get close. It can’t be Felix.”

“I’ll do it,” Minho says, his voice calm and sure before anyone else can speak.

Chan nods once. “Good. You’re movin’ in tonight.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to Minho. “Any of you lot any good at fixin’ doors? Mine got busted when they kicked it in this mornin’.”

Minho raises a hand lazily. “I’ll fix that for you.”

You smile, gratitude softening your features. “Thank you.”

Minho pauses, then snorts, sitting back in his chair. “Wait. I just volunteered to hear Felix fuckin’ her at all hours.”

Felix’s smirk is immediate, his voice dripping with smugness. “Jealous?”

Seungmin, who’s been silent up until now, quirks a brow and mutters dryly, “And every other man in Small Heath, while we’re at it.”

Felix’s eyes snap toward Seungmin, the playful edge gone in an instant. “Seungmin, shut the fuck up.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Just statin’ the facts, mate.”

You hold up a hand, clearly amused despite yourself. “Boys,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the bickering like a gentle blade. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t need the lot of you fightin’ over what I do or don’t get up to in my own bed.”

That shuts them up quickly enough. Jisung snickers under his breath, but Minho nudges him sharply, and even Felix relents, though he mutters something you don’t catch.

Chan, who’s been watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, finally speaks again. “Alright, enough of that. Focus. We’ve got bigger things to deal with than Felix’s love life.”

Felix huffs quietly, but you can see the way his shoulders relax ever so slightly now that the attention has shifted away from you.

The smell of roast chicken and buttery potatoes lingers in the air as you set two plates down on the table, the dishes mismatched but charming all the same. The light of the single lamp casts a warm glow over the small flat, turning the edges of your blue dress into soft ripples of fabric as you move. Your hair is pinned up messily, stray curls falling around your face, but you don’t mind. The front door creaks faintly, sturdy once again after Minho’s handiwork earlier that evening.

Minho, seated across from you, cuts into the roast chicken with a satisfied grunt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his cap tossed onto the chair beside him. “You know,” he starts, mouth half-full, “this whole neighbour thing ain’t too bad if I’m gonna be gettin’ home-cooked meals like this.”

You laugh softly, taking a sip of water before replying. “Only if you keep chippin’ in for the groceries. Food doesn’t pay for itself, Minho.”

He smirks, holding up his fork in surrender. “Fair enough. That’s a deal.” He chews thoughtfully for a moment before glancing at you. “Felix said you was in France too.”

You nod, twirling your fork through a bite of potatoes. “Yeah. Nurse at the Somme.” You pause for a moment, the memories brushing against you like a cold wind. “That’s where I met Felix. Shrapnel to his chest. He was brought to the ward where I was workin’. My ward…” Your voice lowers slightly. “It was called the Final Destination.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at that. “Sounds fuckin’ grim.”

You offer a faint, sad smile. “It was. Soldiers named it that themselves. Most of ‘em didn’t leave it alive.” You take a breath. “They called me their angel in white. I’d hold their hands, tell ‘em stories to distract ‘em. Most of them died.” You look down briefly before meeting his gaze again. “Felix was one of the ones I managed to save.”

Minho sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a low whistle. “We all thought Felix was a goner, y’know. Seungmin and Hyunjin dragged him off the battlefield, chunk of shrapnel buried right in his chest, blood everywhere. The rest of us were shootin’ like mad bastards just to cover ‘em.”

“I remember when he came in,” you say softly, staring at your plate as if seeing the past instead. “He was a fuckin’ mess. Barely conscious, covered in mud and blood.” You smile faintly, shaking your head. “And you know what the first thing he started doin’ was?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What?”

“Flirtin’,” you say with a small laugh. “Said I was heaven-sent just for him.”

Minho lets out a loud bark of laughter, shaking his head. “That fuckin’ sounds like Felix. Romantic bastard, even with one foot in the grave.”

You chuckle, a soft warmth settling in your chest as you remember.

Minho picks up his fork again, grinning as he points it at you. “So are you why Felix fuckin’ reads now? ‘Cause I’ve known that man since we were lads, and he’s never so much as looked at a book. I was pretty sure the bastard couldn’t even read. But now, the fucker’s readin’ Jane Austen and Emily Brontë and shit.”

You laugh again, the sound light and easy. “Probably. I read a lot, always have. When he was in the ward in France, I’d recite him quotes while he was in and out of consciousness. Maybe it stuck.”

Minho snorts, shaking his head with a grin. “Felix, readin’ Austen. Unbelievable.”

The mood shifts slightly, and his tone lowers. “Did you see any combat?”

You pause for a moment, twirling the edge of your napkin between your fingers. “Some. One time, a whole group of field medics got took out. They asked for volunteers to go out on the field. Nurses stepped up. I was one of them.”

Minho frowns, clearly caught off guard. “You went out on the field?”

You nod. “We tucked our hair into our helmets, put on oversized medic uniforms. They gave us all guns like we had any fuckin’ idea how to use the bastard things.” You chuckle bitterly. “I didn’t even know how to load it properly. Still don’t.”

Minho shakes his head, visibly impressed. “You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that.”

You smile softly and shrug. “You do what you’ve got to do.”

Minho takes another bite before looking up again. “So, how’d Felix end up becomin’ a regular?”

“Well,” you start, setting your fork down as you lean back slightly, “he figured from my accent that I was from Birmingham. He promised to come find me after the war was over. And he did.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Showed up on my doorstep Christmas Eve, just after the war ended. Bladed cap on his head, gun at his waist, and that smirk of his plastered all over his face.”

Minho chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

“By then, I’d already started workin’ as a prostitute. He didn’t judge or nothin’. Just sat and had tea with me.” You pause, smile softening. “And then he became my most frequent client. We don’t even fuck half the time. Sometimes we drink tea, and I read to him, or we talk. But he always pays for my time.”

Minho’s fork pauses mid-air, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Wait. Felix sits and drinks tea and talks?”

“Sometimes,” you tease, smirking faintly. “We get real posh and have biscuits before we fuck.”

Minho snorts so loudly he nearly chokes, laughing as he sets his fork down. “Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

You grin, taking another sip of water.

Minho shakes his head, still chuckling. “I see why he fuckin’ hid you all this time. You’re a diamond, y’know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “None of you knew?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue,” Minho admits. “I mean, we all figured he was seein’ some bird, but this…” He gestures around the flat with his fork. “This is not what I expected. Didn’t expect him to tell us to bring him to some pretty woman’s flat to get patched up, either.”

You smile softly. “Well, you save a man from death, he’s gonna trust you to patch him up again.”

Minho nods, a grin tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the flat settling around you. Minho finishes off the last bite of his dinner, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “You’re alright.”

You smile as you begin clearing the dishes. “You’re not so bad yourself, Minho.”

And for once, the night feels calm. Peaceful, even.

Two months have passed since Minho moved into the flat next door to you, following Chan's orders. In that time, the uneasy silence that had once hung between you and Minho has turned into something more comfortable. He’s become one of your closest friends, and the bond you’ve developed over quiet conversations and shared meals has built a trust between the two of you. He’d never admit it out loud, but you’ve managed to break through his tough exterior.

Tonight, Minho lounges in his flat, sprawled out on the couch with his legs stretched lazily across the cushions. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he reads Pride and Prejudice. A request from you, of course. You’d begged him to read it, and he’d agreed.

“You’re makin’ me a bloody bookworm,” he’d grumbled when you first handed him the book. “But fine, I’ll read it.”

Now, two months later, he’s getting surprisingly invested in the story, his eyes scanning the pages as the words pull him in. He leans back further into the cushions, his fingers flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette as he moves through the chapters. Despite his tough exterior, there’s something about the way Elizabeth Bennet handles Darcy’s arrogance that seems to amuse him, and he’s enjoying it more than he expected.

But as he reads, a faint sound catches his attention. A soft murmur from the other side of the thin wall that separates his flat from yours. He shifts slightly, his ear straining to hear.

It’s you.

Your voice, gentle and soothing, drifts through the walls, but it’s not the usual low murmurs you share with your regular clients. There’s no grunting or heavy breathing, no hints of the usual physicality that comes with a visit. Instead, it’s calm. Too calm.

Minho’s eyes flick up from the book, his cigarette momentarily forgotten. He listens carefully, catching bits and pieces of the conversation. Your tone is patient, comforting, almost maternal as you speak to someone, but not in the way you usually do with your clients. This is different.

Shell shock, Minho thinks, his mind clicking into place. You’ve had other men like this. Men who couldn’t bring themselves to be touched, men who needed someone to listen, to talk to. He’s never really asked you about it, but he knows, from the way you’ve subtly mentioned it, that you’ve had your share of war-torn souls, men who came back from the frontlines broken, needing someone to hold the pieces together.

He shifts uncomfortably on the couch, closing the book as he leans forward, listening intently.

He hears you again, your voice soft but firm. “I know it’s hard, love. You’re not alone. I’ll be here to listen, alright? You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Minho’s gut tightens. He knows enough to recognize the signs of shell shock. The symptoms, the disassociation, the silence that follows when a man’s mind can’t make sense of the horrors he’s seen. It’s the kind of thing that can make a man flip without warning, and Minho knows you’re too kind-hearted to turn them away.

You continue talking, but Minho can’t quite make out the rest. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the tone you use, the soft empathy that fills your words. You’ve dealt with men like this before, he knows that much. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling protective.

Minho stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary. His eyes flick toward the door, debating whether to check in, but then he hears your voice again, low and steady, easing whatever tension had been building.

“You’re safe here,” you say, and Minho feels a small knot in his chest loosen. “Just take a deep breath. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

He leans back again, but his eyes remain trained on the door. He knows you can handle yourself. Hell, you’ve been through worse than this. But still, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that one of these days, things might tip over the edge.

Minho picks up the book again but doesn’t read, his thoughts lingering on the conversation next door. He knows that, sometimes, the men you help aren’t in any state to be helped. It’s a fine line you walk, and he worries, more than he wants to admit, that one of them might cross it.

He flicks through the pages idly, not really reading, but still keeping his ear trained on the walls. He’s waiting. Waiting for any sign of trouble. Shell-shocked men can flip on a dime, and Minho knows that better than most. You don’t need to be touched to snap. Sometimes, it’s just the sound of a voice or a sudden memory that drags a man back into the horrors of war.

His fingers tighten around the book, his mind racing, but the sound from the other side of the wall stays calm. You’re still talking to him, still reassuring him, and the tension slowly eases from Minho’s shoulders.

Minho exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath. He goes back to the book, forcing himself to focus again. But there’s no denying the soft spot you’ve managed to carve into his hardened exterior.

Minho’s eyes flick to the door as a sudden crash echoes from next door. The sound is harsh, unnervingly violent, followed by a gasp from your voice, strained and panicked.

“Calm down, Eun,” you plead, your voice trembling, a tinge of fear bleeding through the calmness you’re always so good at holding. The sound of furniture crashing against the wall cuts through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Then, the worst, your voice, strangled and desperate, as you gasp out, “Please, calm down!”

Minho doesn’t waste a second. He shoves the book aside, eyes wide with instinctual panic. His hands fly to the side table, grabbing the gun he keeps there, fingers gripping the cold steel as he slides it into his coat pocket. He doesn’t bother to make noise, doesn’t bother with anything that might slow him down.

Running, he bursts out of his flat, racing next door toward your door, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

He kicks the door in with one swift motion, the splintering sound echoing through the small flat as he rushes inside, gun in hand, his body coiled and ready for anything.

The sight that greets him almost knocks the breath out of his lungs.

You’re on your hands and knees, barely clothed in just your underwear, coughing violently as you struggle to breathe, one hand massaging your throat as if trying to force air back into your lungs.

Your eyes are wide and terrified, and next to you lies the man unconscious, sprawled out on the floor with a shattered lamp beside him. The lightbulb has exploded, glass shards scattered across the room, marking the evidence of whatever struggle you’d just been through.

Minho swallows hard, his heart racing as he takes in the scene. The instinct to protect you kicks in hard, overriding the cold, calculating part of his mind.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice rough as he scans the room.

You don’t move, still on your knees, your breathing ragged as you slowly raise your hand from your throat, your face strained. You cough again, the sound raw and sharp.

“Y/N!” Minho calls, his voice tight with worry, stepping forward quickly. His gun stays in his hand, just in case, as he crouches beside you. “Are you alright? What the fuck happened?”

You glance up at him, shaking your head slightly, your lips trembling. “Shell shock,” you rasp out, voice still strained. “He thought he was in France again. He- He snapped, Minho. Thought I was someone else.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minho says sharply, his voice hardening. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Before you can protest, Minho’s already standing, storming out the door. His boots pound against the hallway floor as he moves quickly, eyes sharp as he reaches the flat next door.

He bangs on the door, not bothering to be polite. The man who opens it looks startled, blinking up at him, but Minho doesn’t waste time with niceties.

“Go find Lee Felix or Bang Chan right now,” Minho demands, his voice low and full of menace. He thrusts a wad of cash into the man’s hand. “Tell 'em Minho needs 'em. And if you fuck me over, I swear I’ll kill you. Got it?”

The man’s eyes widen as he looks down at the money, his expression turning into a grimace of fear. He nods quickly, backing away from the door.

“Good,” Minho grunts, his voice colder now. “Get moving.”

The man doesn’t argue. He darts past Minho toward the stairs, the sound of his footsteps disappearing quickly as Minho hurries back toward your flat.

When he steps back inside, he finds you standing, struggling to pull a robe over your shoulders. Your hands tremble as you finish tying it, but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are fixed on the man lying unconscious on the floor.

Minho pauses for a second, just watching you before walking to the dining table and setting the gun down on the edge. He sits beside you as you sink heavily into the chair. His eyes sweep over your bruised neck and the red marks around your throat. You’re shaken, but you’re holding it together.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, voice gentle but firm.

You glance at him, the corners of your lips twitching as you force a smile. “He didn’t mean it. It’s just the war in his head.” You take a deep breath, your voice shaky but trying to hold steady. “Eun... he’s usually sweet. Watches half his comrades die over there, and when I’m with him, I just listen. I don’t fuck him. I just sit in my underwear and let him talk. That way, he knows I’m not holding a weapon, that I’m just here to listen.”

You take a long breath, reaching for the bottle of rum you’d left on the counter. You pour two glasses, your hand steady despite everything. “I’ll be fine. I know how to handle it.” You slide a glass toward Minho, and he takes it without a word, letting you pour one for yourself.

“Shit’s fucked, isn’t it?” Minho mutters, his fingers curled tightly around the glass.

You nod, swallowing some of the rum as you lean back in your chair. “Yeah. But it’s the only way to keep ’em calm sometimes.” You glance at the unconscious Eun, then back at Minho. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Minho takes a deep sip from his glass, eyes hardening. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this, Y/N.”

You smile faintly, your eyes softening. “I know.”

As you both sit in the dimly lit room, the silence stretches between you. There’s a soft tension in the air, but Minho’s presence is a comfort, steady and solid as the world outside keeps turning.

Ten minutes pass in relative silence, the soft clink of glasses and the occasional breath breaking the quiet tension. Then, the sound of heavy boots echoes in the hallway, and the door to your flat swings open.

Chan steps in first, his eyes scanning the room with practised calm. Felix follows closely behind, his eyes darting between you and Minho before falling to the unconscious man sprawled on the floor.

Without missing a beat, Chan's gaze sharpens, his voice low and cutting. “I expected more from you, Minho.”

Minho’s lip curls into a wry grin, his shoulders rolling in a casual shrug. “That wasn’t me. That was Florence Nightingale here.” He nods toward you, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Chan’s expression softens for just a second, but it’s gone quickly. “Nice job,” he says, his tone genuine but with a subtle edge of tension.

Felix, who’s been quiet up until now, crouches down next to you, his hand lifting to examine the bruises around your neck. His fingers hover lightly above your throat, but he doesn’t touch, just inspecting the damage. His face hardens as he looks at the marks, his voice low but filled with disbelief.

“Fuckin’ hell, dollface,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Looks like it hurts.”

You blink, your gaze flicking to Felix’s face before shrugging slightly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine.”

Chan, sensing the underlying tension, steps closer, his voice smooth but authoritative. “We’ll deal with him. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still trying to remain calm despite the aches in your body. “Please don’t hurt him. He has shell shock. We just talk, but then something just flipped, and he lost it.”

Felix glances at you, still kneeling beside you, his eyes narrowing as he processes the situation. “You talk in your underwear?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

You nod slightly, shrugging. “Then he can see I ain’t got no weapons on me.”

Felix exhales sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ.” He stands up, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, but he ain’t bein’ your client no more.”

You look at Felix, nodding in agreement, though you feel a pang of sympathy for Eun. “I agree. I won’t see him again.”

Chan gives a sharp nod before turning to Minho and Felix, his voice firm. “Minho, Felix, get him home. Once you’re done, come back here. We’ve got more to sort out.”

Minho stands without a word, his eyes still calculating, but he nods in agreement. Felix steps over Eun’s body, grabbing his arms to help Minho drag him up. Together, they lift him as carefully as they can, mindful of the fragile state he’s in.

As they make their way toward the door, Chan sinks into the nearest chair, tossing his cap onto the table with a soft thud. He leans back, his eyes never leaving you, his thoughts clearly at work. The soft scrape of the chair legs against the floor sounds too loud in the heavy silence that’s descended.

Once Minho and Felix have left, the door shutting behind them with a quiet click, you sit back in your chair, the tension starting to loosen in your shoulders, but the exhaustion sets in quickly. The adrenaline that had kept you going is fading, and you find yourself feeling the weight of everything.

Chan leans forward slightly. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I’m fine,” you reply, though the lie feels hollow in your chest. “Just need a minute.”

Chan nods, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on the marks that mar your skin. “You’re one tough woman,” he says quietly. “But I can’t keep lettin’ this happen.”

You look up at him, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve got to do what I can, Chan. It’s all I know.”

Chan pulls a thick wad of cash from his coat pocket, the bills crisp and tightly packed. He places it on the table between you, his fingers lingering just a moment too long before he withdraws his hand.

“Your wage for the month,” he says.

You look down at the money, a small but genuine smile playing at your lips as you nod. “Thanks, Chan.”

He watches you for a second before his gaze sharpens. “How’s it goin’ with the Inspector?”

You sit back slightly, the smile fading, replaced with the exhaustion you’ve been trying to keep hidden. “He comes every week, Wednesday at nine. We fuck, he cries, and then spills his secrets.” You shrug slightly, not making it sound like a big deal. “It’s routine by now.”

Chan nods slowly, his brow furrowing just slightly. “He said anything of use yet?”

You sigh, glancing down at the pile of cash before looking back at him. “He’s under a lot of pressure from Westminster. I mean, he’s been here two months and has found nothin’. I’m steering him to believe it was someone from the BSA, and I think he’s startin’ to buy it.”

“Good,” Chan mutters, his voice low and approving. He leans forward slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “But?”

You take a breath, knowing what’s coming. “But he’s still keepin’ an eye on you lot. He mentioned raidin’ the wharf where you lot stock your important imports that aren’t on the books.”

Chan’s face doesn’t shift, but his eyes darken slightly. “Alright,” he says calmly. “I’ll get that moved.” He pauses, staring at you for a beat longer. “Has the inspector been rough with you?”

You wince slightly, the question hitting a nerve. But you don’t shy away from answering him. “A few times. Nothing I can’t handle. Minho always comes in once he leaves, patches me up.”

Chan’s jaw tightens for a second, the muscles in his neck shifting as he watches you. “You want out?” His voice softens, but there’s an edge to it.

You shake your head, your eyes meeting his without hesitation. “I can handle it.”

Chan stares at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, he nods once, as if he expected you to say that. “Good. I didn’t want to have to pull you from it.” He hesitates, then asks, “He said anything about Felix?”

You think for a moment. “I’ve made him believe that Felix loves me,” you say quietly. “and that I use that to keep a good income. It works. He doesn’t question it.”

Chan’s eyes flick to the glass you’re holding, his fingers tapping on the edge of the table again. “Does he know Minho lives next door?”

You nod. “Yeah. I managed to convince him it was unrelated, something to do with the landlord owing money to the Blinders, and Minho’s intimidatin’ him into paying it back.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, impressed. “You’re good at this.”

You smile faintly, taking a slow sip of your drink. “Have to be.”

Chan leans back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. “You got any drink?” he asks, the first sign of a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you reply, walking over to the cabinet and pouring two glasses, one for yourself, one for him. You return to the table and slide his glass toward him. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the glass and looking at you. The faintest warmth in his gaze is all that’s left of the cold, calculated man who usually walks into the room. “For what?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Chan’s smile widens just a fraction. “For saving Felix back in France.”

You shrug, lifting your glass slightly before taking a long drink. “Just doin’ my job, like you boys were doin’ yours.”

Chan hums softly, the sound more thoughtful than anything else. “What shit jobs they were,” he mutters, his fingers curling around his glass.

You smile again, a little warmer this time. “I’ll drink to that.” You lift your glass and clink it gently against his. “To the shit jobs.”

Chan laughs quietly, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his glass.

Minho and Felix return, their footsteps muffled in the hallway as they come back from dropping off Eun. The door creaks open, and Chan finishes his drink in one smooth motion. He gives you a knowing glance, his eyes softer than usual.

“I’ll leave you in Felix’s capable hands, sweetheart,” he says, his tone lightly teasing, but there’s a warmth in it that makes you smile.

“Night, Chan,” you reply. You watch him as he heads toward the door, the heavy sound of his boots retreating into the hallway.

Minho, ever the mischief-maker, raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean wanderin’ hands?”

Felix, stepping in behind him, smirks. “My hands can be both,”

Minho chuckles but doesn’t argue. “See you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder, and you wave him off.

Once the door shuts behind them, the sound of Minho clattering around in his flat next door fills the quiet of your flat.

Felix lets out a long sigh. “Noisy bastard,” he mutters, half under his breath.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “You’re one to talk.”

Felix doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walks over to the small table, uncorking the rum bottle and pouring a generous glass. He takes a deep swig from it before patting his lap, a lazy, confident grin on his face.

“Come here,” he says, his voice warm with a playful edge.

You glance at him, a smile tugging at your lips as you cross the room. Without hesitation, you settle yourself in his lap, your legs draped over his as you adjust comfortably. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he takes another drink.

He looks down at you, his dark eyes softening. “Make a toast, angel,” he murmurs.

You raise your glass, your fingers grazing his as you bring it to your lips. “May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you’re dead,”

Felix raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You sayin’ I’m goin’ to hell, angel?”

You smile coyly, tilting your head. “Aren’t we all?”

Felix laughs, the sound low and rich in his chest. “True enough,” he says, taking a long gulp from his own glass. “But I reckon Chan’ll probably run the place. We’d all be livin’ the life of Riley down there anyway.”

You chuckle, swirling the rum in your glass before taking another sip. Felix leans back in the chair, his hand resting on your leg as he watches you with an unreadable expression.

“Felix,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

He hums, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes another slow sip of his drink. “Yeah, love?”

You hesitate for just a second, then speak, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “Once this business with the inspector is done… I’ll marry you.”

His face lights up in a split second, the seriousness in his expression fading to pure joy. He sets his glass down and leans in, pulling you toward him in one swift motion. His lips crash against yours, and for a moment, everything fades. The world, the tension, the uncertainty. It’s just you and him, lost in a kiss that says more than words ever could.

When he pulls away, he’s grinning, his breath a little heavier than usual. “I’ve been waitin’ for you to say that, angel.”

Without another word, he stands, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your heart pounding as he carries you toward the bedroom.

The door shuts softly behind you, and as he lays you down on the bed, his hands trailing over you with a gentle, possessive urgency, you can’t help but smile. There’s no turning back now. And maybe, just maybe, this life you’re living might finally be worth it.

Felix strolls into the Garrison, whistling a tune under his breath as the smoke from his cigarette curls lazily in the air. His boots click sharply against the floor, a confident rhythm that matches the grin plastered on his face. He’s in a good mood tonight. Too good, by the looks of it.

The moment he steps into the backroom, the entire card game comes to a halt. The chatter dies down, and every set of eyes in the room turns toward him, as if they’ve just witnessed a ghost walking in. Felix’s grin widens, and he takes a long drag from his cigarette before flicking it away carelessly.

Jisung, unable to hold back, breaks the silence. “It’s finally happened.”

Hyunjin, his eyes narrowed in disbelief, adds, “He’s lost his fuckin’ mind.”

Changbin looks Felix up and down, clearly bewildered. “Whatever it is, it’s makin’ my balls shrivel just watchin’ it.”

Felix simply shrugs, unfazed. He tosses his coat onto one of the chairs and flings his cap onto the table with a satisfying thud. He heads straight to the bar, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, not bothering to acknowledge the questions or the stares.

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Did you smoke opium before you came here?”

Felix takes a sip of his whiskey, savouring it, before looking at Jisung. “No.”

Seungmin, never one to let an awkward silence pass, asks, “Are you drunk?”

Felix shakes his head, giving a low chuckle. “No.”

Seungmin, sensing the tension building, tosses in his own theory. “You get hit on the head or somethin’?”

Felix takes another swig of whiskey, clearly amused now. “No.”

That’s when Chan, who’s been quietly observing, leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow. “Did she finally agree to marry you?”

Felix freezes for a split second, eyes widening in surprise before he grins widely. “You knew I asked her?!” he exclaims, genuinely surprised that Chan was in the loop.

“Yeah,” Chan replies casually. “She told me. Shocked the shit outta me.” He looks at the rest of the group, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Felix.”

Jisung’s mouth falls open as he lets out a loud whistle. “You proposed to Y/N?!”

Felix rolls his eyes, taking another deep sip of whiskey. “I’ve been tryin’ to get her to marry me since before you cunts even met her.”

Minho leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, still eyeing Felix. “Well?”

Felix smirks, clearly enjoying the attention. “I’m gettin’ fuckin’ married once that Inspector packs his bags and gets the fuck outta Small Heath,” he announces proudly.

The rest of the room erupts into cheers, loud whoops and clapping filling the air. Even Changbin can’t help but laugh, raising his glass. “That’s fuckin’ fantastic, mate!”

Changbin’s celebration dies down quickly, though, as he narrows his eyes at Felix. “Well, why the fuck isn’t Y/N here to celebrate with you?”

Chan takes a long drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. “It’s a Wednesday.”

Felix chuckles, his gaze turning toward the door. “She’ll be here once the inspector leaves her flat.”

Minho grins at that, raising an eyebrow. “Is this why you fucked her all night long?”

Felix’s smirk is all too knowing, the corners of his mouth curling even further. “Yeah. What’s it to you, Minho?”

Minho slouches in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I had to listen to it all night, you bastard.”

Jisung laughs loudly, clearly finding the situation amusing. “Poor Minho,” he says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

Minho, his expression exaggerated in mock despair, nods. “Saint fuckin’ Minho right here. Bang, bang, bang against my wall all night. The poor girl. Can she even walk?”

Hyunjin, always quick with the banter, adds, “Not if Felix did it right.”

Changbin cackles, his deep laugh echoing in the room. “Well, did you do it right, Felix?”

Felix’s grin widens, an unspoken confidence in his expression. “You’ll find out when you’re married, mate.”

Everyone laughs, but Jeongin, who’s been quiet for most of the conversation, chimes in innocently. “Why wouldn’t she be able to walk?”

The room goes silent for a moment as all eyes land on Jeongin. Chan, looking at Jeongin with a bemused expression, shakes his head slowly. “Don’t mind Innie,” he says. “He makes love to all his girls.”

Jeongin looks genuinely confused. “I treat them nice,” he protests, his voice earnest. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Jisung bursts into laughter. “You can fuck them hard and still treat them nice, Innie,” he says with a teasing grin.

Jeongin sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I don’t think I need to do anything extra.”

Felix, still enjoying the chaos around him, chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Well, whatever works, mate. Just don’t get caught up in it too much. That’s when you get into trouble.”

Two hours later, you walk into the Garrison with the smooth grace of someone who knows their worth. The green dress hugs your figure perfectly, the heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor, announcing your presence as soon as you step in.

The coat draped over your shoulders adds an air of casual elegance, the red lipstick on your lips a bold contrast against the soft curl of your hair. You take a drag from the cigarette between your fingers as you move through the room, the smoke swirling lazily in the air.

As you pass by the patrons, all eyes follow you. You can feel their gazes like a heavy weight on your skin, their murmurs rising in the air.

"That's Lee Felix's whore," someone whispers too loudly, clearly hoping you’ll hear. "Anyone who touches her wrong ends up in the Cut."

The whispers ripple through the room like a wave, but you don’t flinch. You walk with purpose, keeping your head high, letting their words fall away like nothing more than noise. The patrons look you up and down as you breeze past them, their eyes widening with a mix of fear and admiration.

You continue on to the backroom, the heavy door creaking open as you step inside. Felix, seated at the table with the others, immediately breaks into a grin as soon as he sees you.

"Oh, if it ain’t the bride-to-be," Chan remarks from his chair, his tone teasing but warm.

You smile, a glimmer of pride and amusement in your eyes as Felix immediately pulls you into his lap. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you settle against him comfortably, the familiar scent of him grounding you.

Chan watches the two of you with an approving smirk. “So, how was the Inspector?”

You sigh, letting the tension from the outside world fall away for a moment. “Same old,” you reply. “Finishes in a few minutes, cries his heart out about being a failure, spills his secrets, and leaves.”

Hyunjin looks at you sympathetically, shaking his head. “You poor thing,” he says, his tone genuinely pitying.

You nod in agreement, the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on you. “It’s not so bad. It’s all routine by now.”

Minho leans back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches you with a knowing look. “It’s sad to hear through the wall. He’s a proper crier.”

You laugh softly, resting your head against Felix’s chest as he holds you close. “He really is. But it works for us. Keeps him talking.”

Chan looks over at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Anything of note?”

You straighten up slightly, giving him a sharp look. “He’s going to be coming at everyone full force. He’s been given two weeks to find the guns. So Minho and I are setting up a scapegoat for him.”

Changbin, never one to hold back, leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “Who?”

You grin, the plan already beginning to take shape. “We’re setting up that BSA man who lives in my flat building. The one who beats his wife. Gonna make the Inspector believe he sold the guns to the IRA.”

Minho flicks his cigarette and looks at you with approval. “It’ll be easy. He spends most of his time drinkin’ in the Black Swan. He’s been seen with IRA members before. We just have to plant papers in his flat, make it look like he’s involved.”

You nod, eyes flashing with confidence. “Then I’m gonna tell the Inspector that he came to me as a client and spilled his heart out to me. Two birds, one stone.” You look at the group with a satisfied grin. “We’re in the clear, and the Inspector’s out of a job for failin'.”

Chan looks at you for a long moment, the approval in his eyes unmistakable. “You’re getting a fuckin’ raise.”

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “Thanks, Chan.”

Jeongin, who’s been silent for most of the conversation, raises his glass with a grin. “To getting the bastard out of Small Heath, so Lee Felix can get fuckin’ hitched!”

The rest of the room erupts in cheers, everyone raising their glasses in unison. The clinking of glass rings in the air as they join in the toast.

“To Felix and Y/N,” Chan says, his voice strong, as the rest of the room follows suit. “May the bastard get out, and may you two live the life you deserve.”

Felix’s grin widens, his arm tightening around you as he leans in to kiss your temple. “I’ll drink to that.”

You chuckle softly, feeling a warmth in your chest. The tension from the past few months is finally starting to melt away, replaced with a sense of relief, and even something more. Hope. The road ahead still has its bumps, but for now, you’re here, safe, and surrounded by the people who have your back.

And for once, it feels like things might actually go your way.

The tea room is quaint, quiet, and comfortably warm, the clink of china and low murmurs of other patrons filling the air. You step inside with the confidence of someone who’s been in rooms like this before, and yet, the anticipation courses through you. The plan is coming together, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing on your shoulders.

You’re dressed for the occasion. A light blue dress that hugs your frame just right, a cream coat draped over your shoulders, cream gloves, and a matching cream beret perched atop your perfectly curled hair. The red lipstick is bold, a stark contrast to the delicate details of your outfit, and it’s all part of the act. You know how to play your part, how to make the Inspector see exactly what you want him to see.

As you sit at a table by the window, you pull a cigarette from your bag and light it with a slow, deliberate motion. You don’t look around when the door opens, knowing exactly who it is. You wait, letting him approach on his own terms.

The Inspector spots you immediately, his face softening as he walks toward your table. You can see the slight flicker of something in his eyes, something you’ve noticed over the past few meetings. He’s starting to fall for you, and you know just how to use that to your advantage.

"Good evening, Inspector," you greet him with a soft smile, your voice smooth as silk. “I’m sorry to have called you here, but I have something I must tell you. I’m scared, and I believe you’re the only one who can help me.”

The Inspector sits down across from you, leaning in with an intensity that suggests he’s already anticipating what you’ll say. His gaze is hungry for information, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something personal.

"Tell me what worries you, dear," he says, his voice low and thick with concern. He leans closer, his attention fixed entirely on you.

You allow yourself a moment of hesitation, just enough to make him lean in further. Then, you drop the bait. “It’s about the guns,” you say quietly, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. You can see the shift in him, the way his posture straightens as he registers the words.

The Inspector’s eyes widen slightly. "You’ve finally found something for me?" His voice has a hopeful edge now, like he’s clinging to the idea that this will be the breakthrough he’s been waiting for.

You nod slowly, your hands wrapped around your teacup as you take a delicate sip. “There’s a man in my flat building, a BSA worker. He came to me as a client last night and... he confessed to having stolen the guns from the docks.”

The Inspector’s face hardens, the weight of your words sinking in. "Where are they?" he demands, the desperation clear in his voice.

You glance around the room for a moment, making sure no one is listening, then lower your voice. "He was sayin' he’s been talkin’ to some Irish folk in the Black Swan. He got paid to ship the guns to Ireland. They’re in the hands of the IRA now. He said it all went down about a month ago."

The Inspector’s face drops, his eyes widening with disbelief. “The guns are with the IRA?” His voice cracks slightly, as though the realization is a blow he didn’t expect.

You lower your gaze for a moment, feigning regret. “I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you, Inspector,” you say softly. You see the way his shoulders slump, and you know this is hitting him harder than he wants to admit.

You stand, smoothing out the creases of your dress and adjusting your coat. The moment is over, and now you’re done with him for tonight. You give him a soft, sympathetic smile before turning and walking toward the door.

The Inspector remains seated, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

Once you step out of the tea room, you breathe a sigh of relief. The hard part is over. You turn into an alleyway around the corner, just as planned, and there they are. Felix, Chan, and Minho, waiting for you.

Chan’s eyes narrow as he steps toward you, his gaze sharp. “Did he buy it?” His voice has a tinge of impatience, but there’s also pride in it, as if he’s already expecting a positive answer.

You smile, the satisfaction evident in the curve of your lips. “Of course he did.”

Minho lets out a low whistle. “Shit, that was quick. I was worried he might start questioning you.” He leans against the wall, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Guess he’s more of a fool than we thought.”

Felix smiles, the warmth in his eyes cutting through the usual sharpness of his expression. “He’s already fallen for her,” he says, his tone teasing but affectionate. “No wonder she’s so damn good at this.”

Chan grins, tapping his cigarette on the ground before putting it out. “Good work, sweetheart. That’s one step closer to gettin’ rid of the bastard.”

You nod, feeling the tension leave your shoulders. “Now we just have to set the trap. Once the Inspector moves on this BSA guy, he’s done.”

Felix chuckles lowly, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you close. “He’s finished. And then we get to move on to the next chapter.”

The group falls into an easy silence for a moment, the weight of the plan sinking in. You know the road ahead is still long, but tonight, it feels like the pieces are finally falling into place. And with Felix at your side, you’re certain there’s nothing you can’t do.

The morning air is damp and cold, fog lingering low over the street like a blanket of smoke. The sound of shouts and heavy boots echo up through the narrow lane, breaking the stillness of the early hour. Minho stands next to you in the doorway of your flat, both of you leaning against the weathered frame. Cigarettes dangle lazily between your fingers, smoke curling from the tips like quiet spectres as you both watch the chaos unfold across the way.

The BSA man is being dragged from his flat by two burly police officers, thrashing wildly like a man drowning on dry land. His shouts are loud, almost frantic, but no one in the surrounding flats dares step outside to intervene. Not when the coppers have their batons raised and ready.

“Get the fuck off me!” the man bellows, twisting hard, trying to wrench his arms free from their grip. “I didn’t do nothin’! You’ve got the wrong bastard!”

The officers ignore him, their faces hard and impassive as they shove him toward the steps. When he plants his feet and resists, one officer raises his baton and cracks it across the man’s shoulder. The impact is brutal, the dull thud audible even from where you stand.

You exhale a slow breath of smoke, watching as the man lets out a strangled yell and staggers forward. “That must hurt,” you comment idly, your voice light, as if you’re watching something far less brutal than the beating in front of you.

Minho glances at you sideways, cigarette perched between his lips as he takes a long drag. “Probably,” he mutters around the smoke, his tone as disinterested as yours. “But he’s a wife-beating bastard, so I ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.”

The man collapses to his knees on the cobblestone as another officer lands a sharp blow to his side. “I didn’t fuckin’ do it!” he screams again, spitting blood onto the ground. His voice cracks, a mix of desperation and rage. “I didn’t sell nothin’ to the Irish!”

Minho chuckles quietly under his breath, a sardonic smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, this is a nice way to start my day,” he mutters, flicking the ash off his cigarette onto the doorstep.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you pull another drag from your cigarette, the smoke filling your lungs before you exhale slowly. “I’d have thought framin’ someone would’ve been harder,” you muse, your gaze fixed on the scene in front of you as the police finally get the man on his feet and start hauling him toward the waiting black mariah.

Minho snorts, his voice dripping with casual arrogance. “For foolish people, maybe.” He turns his head to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But not us.”

You meet his gaze, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you nod in agreement. “Not us.”

You both turn back to the street, watching as the BSA man is thrown unceremoniously into the back of the police wagon. The heavy doors slam shut with a loud clang, and the officers wipe their hands on their uniforms as if to rid themselves of the man entirely.

“That’s that, then,” Minho says, leaning back against the doorframe and stretching lazily, cigarette still burning between his fingers. “One less problem for Chan to worry about.”

You hum softly in agreement, a small, satisfied smile still lingering on your lips. “And one more nail in that Inspector’s coffin.”

Minho turns to look at you again, an approving smirk on his face. “You’ve got a knack for this. Chan’ll be pleased.”

You shrug, feigning modesty, but the pride glimmers in your eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep the lot of you out of trouble.”

Minho laughs, a deep, genuine sound, before shaking his head. “Keep talkin’ like that and Chan’ll start payin’ you more than me.”

You smile, leaning back against the frame beside him as the street slowly settles back into uneasy quiet. The BSA man is gone. The trap is set. And Small Heath will never know what hit it.

The flat is quiet except for the faint tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. You sit with Felix on the worn couch, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders, the both of you bathed in the soft light filtering in from the window.

You’re wearing a cream-coloured dress, one of your nicer ones, the fabric soft and elegant against your skin. Felix’s fingers trail absentmindedly along your arm as he talks lowly about something, his words a faint hum in the back of your mind as you stare out at the empty street below.

Then comes the knock. Sharp. Loud. Demanding.

Your spine straightens, and Felix’s hand stills on your arm.

“Miss L/N!” The voice calls through the door, unmistakable. Inspector Park.

Felix tenses immediately, his gaze darkening as he pushes himself up from the couch. He leans close, pressing his lips to your ear. “I’ll be in the bedroom.” He slips off silently, his boots barely making a sound as he heads to your room, closing the door behind him without a word.

You smooth out the creases in your dress, steadying your breath as you make your way to the door. The knock comes again, louder this time, as if he’s ready to break the damn thing down. You swing the door open, greeting him with a soft, practised smile.

“Inspector,” you say, the sweetness in your voice veiled by a hint of steel. “What a surprise. I thought you’d be back in Westminster, tryin’ to save your career.”

The Inspector stands rigid, his hat low over his eyes, his face set in a scowl. He steps inside without invitation, the door creaking on its hinges as he crosses the threshold.

“I know you set that man up,” he says, his voice low and full of venom.

Your brow arches delicately, your smile unfaltering. “I’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

He steps closer, the tension rolling off him like heat. “It’s all too perfect,” he says. “He just happened to have all the proof in his flat. He confessed to you when no one else can corroborate it?”

You tilt your head slightly, taking a slow step back, giving him just enough space to realize how ridiculous he sounds. “I don’t know,” you reply evenly. “Sounds to me like the case is closed, and your career is fuckin’ done.”

The Inspector’s face flushes red, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You conniving little whore,” he spits, his voice trembling with rage.

Your smile sharpens, your eyes glinting like polished glass. “If you can prove any of your accusations, Inspector, then you’re more than welcome to return,” you say coolly. “Otherwise, I bid you farewell and hope you enjoy unemployment.”

His eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring as he takes another step forward. “It’s for him, isn’t it?” he sneers. “That Blinder bastard. Lee Felix. You lied to me. You made me believe you loved me.”

At that, you laugh softly, tilting your chin up as you meet his glare without hesitation. “How could I ever love a man who injured himself to avoid servin’ his country?” you ask, your voice cutting through the room like a knife. “I spent two years tendin’ to your fellow countrymen in France while you sat at home, hidin’ from the frontlines.”

The Inspector freezes, his entire body going stiff. His hand moves suddenly to his coat, and before you can fully process it, he pulls out a revolver and aims it directly at you. The metallic click of the safety being released fills the air, but you don’t flinch. You hold your ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on your face.

“I love you!” he shouts, his voice unhinged, cracking at the edges.

“I don’t love cowards,” you reply simply, your voice calm and even.

His hand trembles on the gun, his eyes wild as he stares at you. For a brief moment, the silence is deafening. Then, Minho’s door bursts open.

In one swift motion, Minho grabs the Inspector from behind, locking his arm around the man’s neck in a tight headlock. The gun falls to the floor with a loud clatter as the Inspector struggles, gasping and thrashing against Minho’s grip.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Minho mutters, his voice low as he tightens his hold.

Before the Inspector can react, the sound of doors opening fills the hall. Chan, Seungmin, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Jisung all step out of the surrounding flats, guns drawn and pointed squarely at the Inspector. The hallway is filled with the clicking of hammers being pulled back, the ominous sound cutting through the tension like a blade.

You can’t help but grin, the sight of them appearing like ghosts in the mist bringing you a deep sense of satisfaction. Felix steps out of your bedroom then, slipping up behind you as he wraps his arm around your waist protectively.

Minho looks down at the Inspector, whose face is turning red from both rage and the headlock. “In the eyes of the posh twats in Westminster, you failed,” Minho says evenly, his voice dripping with mockery. “And you did. But not because you were too slow catchin’ the criminal. It’s because we’re too smart.”

Minho glances at you briefly, his grip still unrelenting. “That woman you’re in front of? She’s smarter than all of us. She’s the reason you failed—because you underestimated her.”

The Inspector’s eyes dart between all of you, sweat dripping down his temple as he tries to catch his breath. “At the end of the day,” he spits, his voice hoarse, “all you’ll ever be is a woman. A whore.”

Chan steps forward, his gaze icy as he lowers his gun slightly. “You lost, Inspector,” he says calmly, his tone firm and final. “And ain’t no one gonna believe you lost to a prostitute engaged to a gangster.”

The Inspector goes still at those words, realization finally sinking into his face. He’s beaten. Outplayed. Done for.

Felix leans down close to your ear, his voice soft and full of pride. “You're the smartest one of us all, angel.”

You smile, resting your hand over Felix’s arm as you stare down at the defeated Inspector. For all his threats, all his bluster, he’s nothing now. A crumpled man, bested at every turn. And you? You haven’t flinched once.

“Get him out of here,” Chan says with a flick of his head, and Minho drags the Inspector down the hallway, his struggles growing weaker with every step.

The Blinders watch him go, their guns still in hand, but the moment the man disappears down the stairs, the tension in the room finally breaks.

You turn to Felix, your smile softer now as you glance up at him. “Well, that’s that, then.”

Felix grins, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s that.”

The day dawns cold and crisp, the sky over Small Heath a patchwork of slate grey and pale blue. Despite the chill in the air, there’s an unexpected warmth that hangs over everything. A feeling of quiet joy that no one dares speak aloud, as though doing so might somehow break the spell.

You stand in the small chapel on the edge of town, your cream dress simple but elegant, with lace cuffs at the wrists and a modest train trailing softly behind you. Your hair is curled perfectly, pinned back to frame your face, and a soft cream veil falls gently from your curls. Your cheeks are flushed with excitement, the red on your lips a bold contrast to the softness of your gown.

Chan stands beside you, looking sharper than usual in a clean black suit and tie. He tugs at the collar with a slight grimace, muttering something about how “bloody tight” it is, but when he looks at you, his expression softens. For all his roughness, there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes that makes your throat tighten.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, his usual teasing tone softened into something more genuine.

You smile up at him, your gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. “Sure as I’ll ever be.”

Chan exhales, nodding slowly before offering you a small smile of his own. “Alright then. Let’s get you married, sweetheart.”

The chapel is small and bare, the kind of place where no one expects much ceremony, but it’s perfect for today. A row of pews sits half-filled with the Blinders, all cleaned up for the occasion. They look wildly out of place in their sharp suits, caps left at the door, but there’s something solemn in the way they sit quietly, waiting for the moment to begin.

Minho glances back as the doors creak open, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees you. “About bloody time,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Jisung to snort beside him.

At the altar, Felix stands waiting, his black suit tailored just right, his blonde hair swept back neatly. His hands twitch slightly as he adjusts his cuffs, betraying his nerves, but when he looks up and sees you, his face breaks into a wide, boyish grin that’s nothing short of breathtaking.

Chan clears his throat and offers you his arm, leading you forward as the small organ in the corner starts playing. It’s a soft, simple melody, but it carries enough weight to make the moment feel grand.

“Don’t trip,” Chan mutters under his breath as you begin walking, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You roll your eyes, smiling softly. “Thanks for the confidence, Chan.”

“I’ve got to keep you grounded,” he replies with a smirk, though his grip on your arm is steady and reassuring.

The room falls into hushed silence as you walk down the aisle, your heels tapping softly against the wooden floor. Felix’s eyes don’t leave yours for a second, and there’s something so tender in the way he looks at you that it nearly steals the breath from your chest.

As you reach the altar, Chan pauses, turning to you with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Your parents’d be proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges.

You blink, the words hitting harder than you expected, and nod as you squeeze his arm lightly. “Thank you, Chan.”

He steps back, giving Felix a pointed look as he places your hand in his. “You take care of her, or I’ll come for you.”

Felix grins, his fingers curling around yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Chan.”

Chan steps aside and takes a seat with the others, leaving just you and Felix standing at the altar. Felix’s thumb brushes over your knuckles as he stares down at you, his grin softening into something warmer, deeper.

“You look beautiful, angel,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“And you look nervous,” you tease, though your voice is gentle, filled with affection.

Felix chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Nah. Just can’t believe I finally convinced you to marry me.”

The ceremony is short and sweet. The priest says the necessary words, his voice steady and calm, though it’s drowned out in your mind by the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Felix’s hand remains in yours the entire time, his thumb still tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. When the vows are said and done, and the rings are exchanged, simple gold bands that glint faintly in the dim light, there’s a brief pause before the priest announces:

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Felix doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you to him, his hands cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is warm and lingering, and for a moment, it feels as though the rest of the world has disappeared. When he pulls back, there’s a bright, giddy grin on his face that makes you laugh softly.

The Blinders erupt into cheers and whistles from the pews behind you. Jisung lets out a loud, triumphant “Finally!” while Minho smirks and mutters, “Poor girl doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into.”

Hyunjin shouts, “Oi, Felix, save some for later!” as Chan rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

Felix laughs, slipping his arm around your waist as he turns to face the group. “Piss off, all of you.”

“You’re stuck with us now,” Changbin calls out, grinning broadly.

Felix presses another kiss to your temple, holding you close. “You alright, angel?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “More than alright.”

As you both turn to leave the chapel, the rest of the boys trailing behind you, there’s a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. The road ahead may not be perfect, nothing in Small Heath ever is, but for now, you’re happy. You’re home. And as Felix squeezes your hand in his, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

“Mrs. Lee Felix,” he murmurs as you step outside into the chilly afternoon air.

You laugh softly, leaning into him as you walk down the steps. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Felix grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Perfect.”

The Garrison is alive with laughter, shouting, and the unmistakable sound of whiskey glasses clinking together. The backroom is stuffed full of the familiar faces that have become like family. The air is thick with smoke, the table cluttered with bottles of whiskey, half-empty glasses, and discarded caps that no one cares about retrieving right now.

Chan sits at the head of the table, his tie loosened, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he watches the chaos unfold around him with a smirk. Felix has you tucked close at his side, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his cheeks flushed with drink. You’ve been smiling all night, cheeks aching from the endless laughter that fills the room.

Minho, having claimed the seat next to you, slams his glass down on the table with a little too much force. “Right,” he declares loudly, pointing a finger at you. “I’ve decided somethin’.”

You raise an eyebrow, already suppressing a grin. “Oh yeah? What’s that, Minho?”

He leans back in his chair, smug as anything, arms folded across his chest. “I’m stayin’. Permanently. I intend to be your neighbour until the end of bloody time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine by me, Minho. You’re one of the better neighbors I’ve had.”

“That’s because I’m a fuckin’ delight,” he says, jabbing a finger at his chest before reaching for his whiskey again. “Not like the others, you know, pissin’ about in the hallways. I don’t cause trouble. Well, not for you, anyway. Also, I’ve been thinkin’ about Little Women, you know, the book you lent me?”

You choke on your drink slightly, barely holding back a laugh. “You’ve been thinkin’ about Little Women?”

Minho nods solemnly, waving his glass for emphasis. “Jo deserved better. I’ll die on that fuckin’ hill.”

Hyunjin, sitting across the table, raises an eyebrow and squints dramatically. “Wait, Minho, you can read?”

The table erupts into laughter, and Minho shoots Hyunjin a murderous glare. “I’ll cut you, you lanky fuck.”

“Oi!” Felix says, throwing his free hand into the air like a referee. “No fucking fighting on my wedding day, or I’ll cut you both.”

You burst out laughing at that, pressing a hand to your mouth as Hyunjin shrinks back with a mock look of innocence. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Felix.”

At the far end of the table, Jisung stands up abruptly, stumbling slightly. “I’m off to the bar, no wait, someone, come with me, ”

Jeongin attempts to follow suit, but his foot catches on the leg of his chair, and before anyone can stop it, there’s a loud crash as Jisung and Jeongin trip over each other.

“Fuck!” Jisung shouts as he topples straight into Changbin, sending him flying backwards onto Seungmin, who’s been minding his own business.

The resulting heap of Blinders sprawled on the floor, Jisung tangled with Jeongin, Changbin sprawled flat on his back, Seungmin swearing profusely, sends the rest of the room into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

“Jesus Christ!” Chan calls out, grinning as he watches the scene unfold, his glass raised like a toast.

You and Minho are howling with laughter, tears threatening to spill as you clutch your sides. “I can’t breathe!” you manage to gasp, leaning forward as you try to recover.

Minho, doubled over, topples sideways out of his chair, still laughing, and you nearly go with him. Felix catches you around the waist at the last second, tugging you upright and pulling you safely into his lap.

“Careful, angel,” Felix murmurs into your ear, his grin wide as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t want you breakin’ anything.”

Minho, meanwhile, lands hard on the floor with a thud, pulling Hyunjin down with him in the process.

“Fuckin’ hell, Minho!” Hyunjin groans, his voice muffled as he sprawls halfway over Minho’s legs.

“I’m fine,” Minho declares dramatically from the floor, still laughing as he tries to sit up. “Didn’t spill my drink!”

“Priorities,” Chan says dryly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey as he watches the chaos with clear amusement.

You glance around the room, your head resting against Felix’s shoulder as you smile to yourself. It’s madness, pure and simple. Minho and Hyunjin fighting to untangle themselves from the floor, Jisung trying and failing to help Jeongin up, Changbin still swearing as Seungmin mutters something about idiots. But it’s your madness.

Felix watches you for a moment, his thumb brushing absently along your arm. “You alright?” he asks softly, his voice low beneath the noise.

You tilt your head up to look at him, your smile soft and content. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’m perfect.”

He grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before raising his glass toward the group. “Oi! To family, and to my beautiful wife!”

“To Y/N!” the rest of them shout in unison, Minho lifting his glass from the floor as Hyunjin finally shoves him off.

The room bursts into another chorus of cheers and laughter, whiskey glasses clinking together as you lean back into Felix’s embrace, surrounded by the only family you’ve ever known. For once, everything feels right in the world, and you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

“Welcome to married life, angel,” Felix murmurs into your ear, his voice full of affection.

You smile, your fingers lacing with his. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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