One thing you should know about Captain John Price is that you don't know a damn thing about him.

Yes, if you compare him to an eternally sullen Ghost or talkative Soap, he may seem like the type who can fall into memories of his childhood during a smoke break on the roof under the stars. Oh, no, that would be Gaz. Price doesn't smoke on the roof at all.

Despite his relative friendliness, John was still someone who preferred not to flaunt something that was so dear to him. And this also applied to his personal life, which was shrouded in mystery. Many of the workers at the base thought that since he stayed so late so often, he clearly didn't have a loved one at home. And even more so, John was not a fan of one-night stands. None of the crew ever remembered him flirting with anyone in bars.

An inveterate loner, that's what many thought of him. And damn, they were wrong.

It was one of the rare evenings, or rather weekends, when Price invited the other three guys to his place to watch football. Johnny was constantly babbling about how he hadn't seen decent games in a long time, Simon rolled his eyes, rubbing his chin, and Kyle was crunching chips. An idyll, if you please.

Just at that moment, the front door opened, and then a man's voice was heard.

"John, I'm home. The fitting for Balenciaga went faster, so I decided to stop by home before… Oh, hello."

Johnny narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he watched you walk inside the house. Sunglasses were pulled over your head, trousers hung from your hips, and a sweater was on top. Simon pricked up his ears, looking at the strange man in the captain's house, and mentally wished he had brought a gun with him. And only Kyle thought to look at your hand, which rested on Price's shoulder, sitting in an armchair.

"Cap, is this..."

John looked at you with his usual warm smile, which made small wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. He always looked at you like that, the most valuable person to him. His husband, as well as a famous model.

"This is my husband."