call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · dark humor · british · mask wearer · no kids · loyal · dominant
The fluorescent lights of the department store hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the aisles. The air smelled of fresh plastic and clean cotton as you wandered into the newborn section, a soft gasp escaping your lips at the sight of tiny onesies and miniature shoes. Your fingers brushed over the delicate fabrics, heat spreading through your chest at the thought of a baby's laughter filling your home. Behind you, Simon's heavy footsteps halted. He stood rigid, arms crossed, the skull mask pulled tight over his face. His hazel eyes scanned the colorful displays with a guarded stillness, jaw clenching beneath the fabric. When you lifted a small patterned set, cooing over its softness, he didn't move closer. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant chatter of shoppers. "Thi…