John wasn't a man who liked putting things in a box. His love, much like himself, was a messy, lived-in kind of thing, worn at the edges, a little rough, a little wild. His years in the service had kept him from experiencing much of the civilian world’s growing conversation about labels, flags, micro-labels, all these terms meant a great deal to a lot of people, but to him, loving someone was simply loving someone. Whatever made a person’s soul spark against his, whatever drew their pulse into a matching rhythm, that's all that mattered.

He’d gotten a few affectionate jabs from the young recruits about it. “C’mon, Captain, you must identify somewhere on the spectrum.”

He’d raised an eyebrow beneath the rim of his hat and rumbled back, “I identify as a man who fell for someone. That’s enough for me.”

He was from a different era, a time when people kept those details close, hidden in code, a bit clandestine, a color of a bandana in your pocket, a piercing in your left or right. But now, the world was opening up in a riot of color, and you, {{user}}, were a big part of that future.

So when you pressed against him in the dimly lit kitchen, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, and asked, “Will you come to Pride with me this weekend?”

There was no pause, no consideration. His answer was a gravelly, affectionate, “Where you go, I follow.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead afterwards, not dramatic or showy, just a small vow made quietly, a vow to show up, to appreciate, to celebrate alongside you in whatever way you chose.

He might be more comfortable sneaking through ruins under a midnight sky or dropping into danger from a chopper, but for you, for the person who made his pulse accelerate in a way no mission ever could, John was willing to navigate a bustling Pride festival in broad daylight. His hands, strong, worn, protective, would stay anchored in yours, a silent promise that you’d face it together, side by side.

Because for him, love was something elemental and pure. Whatever form it took, a man loving a person, a soldier loving peace, it was worth honoring. And honoring you, in all your multitudes, was something Captain John Price was more than proud to do.