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

9.

Chapter Nine: 
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Inside the bustling betting shop, a symphony of sounds fills the air. Soft sunlight streams in through the open window, casting a warm, golden hue over the space. Tommy occupies his office, seated behind his desk, his attention absorbed by the documents before him.

Aunt Polly strides into the room, purposeful steps bringing her closer. As she shuts the doors behind her, the clamour from outside the office dissipates, replaced by a hushed ambiance. A faint, upward curve graces Aunt Polly’s lips. "I've heard you pleaded with your hitman for some assistance," she remarks.

Tommy remains focused on the paper in his hand, not bothering to lift his gaze. "He's not my hitman," he asserts, his voice steady, "and I didn't plead.”

"That's not the story going around," Aunt Polly says, shaking her head in amusement. She gracefully takes a seat on the plush couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Tommy," she inquires, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "did you really go down on your knees and beg that charming—”

“—I didn't go down on my knees and beg," Tommy interrupts, placing the document in his hand flat across the desk. He contemplates whether it was Arthur or John who rushed to their aunt, eager to share the details of Tommy's affairs. Finally, he lifts his gaze, his expression now tinged with a slight frown as he regards Aunt Polly. "I simply asked Nine for some assistance regarding Freddie Thorne.” 

"Is that so?" Aunt Polly inquires, unable to contain her grin. Her words carry a playful undertone, making Tommy shift uncomfortably under her discerning gaze. It's as if he's been transported back to his childhood, feeling small and exposed.

"You're squirming," Aunt Polly observes, her tone laced with amusement.

"I don't squirm," Tommy retorts, attempting to maintain his composure.

Aunt Polly raises a single eyebrow, her expression holding a hint of scepticism. "I've heard that Nine managed to bring a smile to your face," she states, her voice filled with subtle knowing. "He even managed to elicit a laugh from you. That's quite a rarity these days.”

"He didn't," Tommy denies. His heartbeat pounds in his ears with the lie. "Whatever gossip Arthur and John are feeding you, I can assure you that they are nothing but lies.” 

Silence settles over the office with his words, and Tommy lowers his gaze, diverting his attention back to the scattered papers strewn across his desk. Strangely, a warmth begins to emanate beneath the collar of his shirt, causing him to wonder if he's coming down with yet another cold. 

"Tommy," Aunt Polly's voice softens, breaking through the silence, "I never said it was a bad thing."

Tommy does his best to dismiss her words, pretending not to hear. He randomly selects a document from the pile and scans it, attempting to regain his focus. Yet, his efforts prove futile, and he places the paper back down, stealing a glance at Aunt Polly while biting the inside of his cheek.

He refuses to entertain the idea that he's growing soft because of Nine. The mere thought of it is laughable. There must be something else afflicting him. Perhaps it's a stomach bug and surely, it will pass in due time.

A gentle knock on the door interrupts Tommy's thoughts, causing his attention to shift. Uncle Charlie peeks into the office, delivering the news. "That hired gun of yours is here," he announces. "Apparently, Zilpha sent him with—"

"—Hush now," Aunt Polly interjects, swiftly rising from her seat. She strides over to Uncle Charlie and grasps his ear, whispering something too faint for Tommy to catch. With a wince, Uncle Charlie is dragged out of the office, the doors closing behind them.