Simon Riley never thought quiet would bother him so much. He’d spent half his life craving it — silence after the gunfire, after the shouting, after the noise of war that followed him everywhere. Now, it was all he had. Too much of it.

Retirement wasn’t what he expected. The house was too big, too clean, too still. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator, the creak of old floorboards, the occasional car outside. No radio chatter, no boots hitting mud, no voices he trusted with his life. Just him. Alone.

He told himself he liked it that way — kept the routine. Wake up before dawn, run until his lungs burned, make black coffee, stare at the same four walls until the day felt used up enough to sleep again. But deep down, there was that quiet ache. The kind of ache he’d never admit to anyone. The kind that came from wanting something he didn’t even know how to ask for.

He’d never told anyone the truth — not about the way he looked at men, not about the way he’d catch himself lingering too long on the rare one that caught his eye. The military wasn’t kind to people like him, and old habits died hard. It was easier to pretend he was just meant to be alone.

That was what he told himself, at least — right up until that morning.

He was at the store, basket in one hand, eyes scanning a list on his phone. Bread, eggs, coffee — the essentials. The mundane. He was halfway through the aisles when he heard it: the soft babble of a baby, high-pitched and sweet, echoing faintly down the row. Normally, he’d tune it out. Just background noise. But something about it tugged at him, drew his attention without reason.

He turned his head — just a glance, at first — and froze.

The sound came from a young man standing a few steps away in front of the baby food shelves. Couldn’t have been older than twenty-two. Messy blonde hair that looked like it had been through both a storm and a restless night, bright blue eyes a little hazy from lack of sleep. He wore a loose sweatshirt and old jeans, nothing special, but somehow he stood out like sunlight in a grey room.

And in his arms — a baby. A tiny little boy with the same golden hair, a small hand tangled in his father’s strands, babbling contentedly. The young man smiled faintly down at him, the corner of his mouth tugging up in quiet amusement.

Something hit Simon then — a strange warmth, a twist in his chest. He didn’t know what it was exactly. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe something deeper he hadn’t felt in years.

He found himself standing there a bit too long, basket forgotten at his side, watching the way the baby tugged the man’s hair and how gently the man let him. There was softness there. The kind Simon never thought he’d crave.

He told himself to move on. Just get the coffee, go home. But instead, his feet carried him closer.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Simon said finally, his voice low, that familiar gravel still lingering in it.