make room (we're taking over here) ━ tommy shelby x male!oc!

3.

Chapter Three: 

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A feeling of deja vu washes over Tommy as a young man dressed in a sharp suit and a stylish overcoat enters the bustling garrison. His neck is adorned in a thin scarf and strands of bright, red hair are peeking out from beneath his cap. Tommy blinks, finding a striking resemblance to Nine. The stranger even has the same scar; a jagged, pale line that slices diagonally through the middle of his eyebrow and stops just behind the top of his ear.

Tommy stands at the bar alongside John and Arthur, awaiting their customary drinks from Grace, and intently watches the stranger. The garrison is filled with a rowdy crowd, patrons long immersed in their alcohol. The boy, no older than twenty, expertly manoeuvres through the tables and among the men. Unimpressed and undeterred, he exudes a confidence that belies any fear as he makes his way toward the bar.

It can't be a mere coincidence, Tommy thinks, seeing Nine stride into the garrison next. His piercing silver gaze locks onto the red-haired boy, his unmistakable disapproval evident. 

Seizing the opportunity, Tommy catches Grace's attention behind the bar and communicates his decision with a single glance. "Give the redhead whatever he wants," he instructs, his voice low. With that, he swiftly turns on his heel, striding purposefully toward Nine. He's dimly aware of Arthur and John casting puzzled glances in his wake. 

"Rest assured, Mr. Shelby," Nine addresses Tommy without pleasantries, his gaze still fixed on the red-haired boy, "I'm not here for you."

"And I'm certain you're not here for a drink either," Tommy retorts, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Nine's gaze shifts to meet Tommy's. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Closing the distance between them, he leans in and murmurs, "Well, aren't you sharp today?” 

A rush of warmth floods through Tommy as Nine's hands, large and encompassing rest gently on his waist. Effortlessly, Nine guides Tommy aside, their positions shifting seamlessly as he brushes past him, heading for the bar. 

Left slightly breathless and unable to resist the magnetic pull, Tommy follows briskly after him. 

As they move, his hand instinctively curls into the back of Nine's long coat, tugging gently to halt his progress. Startled by his own audacity, he quickly withdraws his hand.

"That was uncalled for," Tommy says, tilting his head back to glare up at Nine. Why on earth did he reach out for his coat as if yearning to be touched once more?

A fleeting shadow of dark satisfaction flickers in Nine's grey eyes, his mouth curving into a cocky smirk. "No," he responds, filled with amusement. "It wasn't, was it?”

Tommy resists the urge to scoff, reminding himself that he is capable of exercising control over his impulses. His sister's words ring clear in the back of his mind, teasing, with a hint of knowing, ‘I think he fancies you.’ 

Something akin to anxiety eats away at Tommy's insides, but he refuses to break eye contact with Nine. A flush rises beneath the collar of his button-up shirt, though he attributes it to the whiskey he had earlier, dismissing any other possibility.

Nine's smirk softens, but his silver gaze remains as sharp as ever. He leisurely appraises Tommy with a deliberate once-over before turning and resuming his path toward the bar. There's no, ‘I expect my loan to be returned soon,’ or even a simple ‘good night, Mr. Shelby.’ 

Tommy watches Nine like a hawk, feeling a twinge of offence at the lack of acknowledgment.

At the bar, Nine exchanges brief greetings with John and Arthur before firmly grasping the red-haired boy by the back of his nape, akin to reining in a misbehaving pet, causing the young man to startle. No words are exchanged, but their gazes lock with instant recognition, a silent understanding passing between them. Without hesitation, Nine guides the boy through the bustling garrison, their connection palpable.