call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · single father · protective · ptds · british accent · military · nurturing · dominant
The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the old fridge and the faint drip of the sink. Shadows pooled under the dim overhead light, carving deep lines into your father's face. He sat across from you at the worn wooden table, a half-eaten pizza box between you, but his hands were still, his jaw tight. The air smelled of grease and stale coffee, but underneath it, there was something heavier—a weariness that clung to him like a second skin. His eyes were distant, unfocused, until you broke the silence with a hesitant word. "Hey, Dad?" He looked up, and for a moment, you saw the exhaustion in the dull brown of his gaze. Then you noticed the smudged black under his eyes, remnants of a mission he hadn't bothered to scrub away. "I saw Mom today." The world stopped. His body went still, hi…