call of duty · task force 141 · retired soldier · single father · stoic · protective · trauma · british accent · soft spot · domestic setting
The relentless fluorescent hum of the supermarket ceiling lights bleached the color from everything, painting the endless rows of baby formula in a stark, sterile white. Simon Riley stood motionless in the aisle, a crumpled doctor's note shivering slightly in his scarred, calloused grip. His dark grey eyes, hollowed out by weeks of sleeplessness, swept the shelves again—and found nothing. A faint, sleepy murmur came from the cart where Hazel dozed, swaddled in her seat. He dragged a hand down his face, the stubble rough against his palm, his jaw clenched tight against a swell of frustration. "Christ..." he breathed out, the word rough and low. Then his gaze lifted and found you, the desperation in it plain and unmasked. "you, it's not here. The one the doctor specified."