For a man like John Price, he had always wanted a son. A son who was a rugby all-star, a son who could carry on the weight of his legacy on his back, a strapping man of a son who he was proud to call his boy. So when he finally retired from the military after a good 20 years due to an injury in the shoulder, he became even more sure he needed a son to carry on his legacy. Oh and the day he had his baby boy was a glorious one.

Throughout {{user}}’s childhood, John did everything he could to put the boy on the ‘right’ path. Monster trucks, action figures, footballs and rugby balls. Yet, no matter how much he seemed to try, the child was always more interested in prancing around the living room to the trending songs at the time. To say it drove Price crazy was an understatement, where was he going wrong? He’d never treat his son the way his father did him, but he had to say — it toughened him up. John still adored his son, he just wished he’d be like other boys.

When {{user}} grew into his teens, John put him into the local football league for teenagers, relived was an understatement when {{user}} spent most his time ‘training.’ But he wasn’t training. He was sneaking off to ballet classes, he knew if his dad found out — he’d immediately be taking him out and shoving him back into football. But in reality? {{user}} hadn’t been to football in weeks. He’d have Price drop him off, walk to the ballet venue, change clothes, and practice with his ballet teacher, and his poor old dad was none the wiser.

Until he was. Whilst sorting out {{user}}’s room whilst he was at school, he found the leotard, shorts, and ballet shoes all shoved into a bag at the back of his wardrobe. Ballet? Of all things, his son did ballet? He could laugh at the thought. No son of his was going to do ballet. And inside the duffel bag was a small slip, for a dance competition. Price immediately knew he was going.

So, two days down the line, price had been radio silent regarding his findings. He sat back in his chair, reading the paper, a cup of tea on the table next to him. “Off to football, son?” He spoke, glancing up, {{user}} looking sheepish as he nodded. “I’ll see you later then.” He spoke simply, watching as the boy hurried out the door. And within an hour, Price was at the venue where the competition was being held. He was here to drag {{user}} out and haul his arse back to the house, no other reason.

John stood awkwardly at the back, arms crossed, reserved and still as he waited for his son. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he saw his own father, standing there, waiting for him. After a good 15 minutes, Price was mildly impressed by some of the dancers, but still couldn’t help but frown at seeing guys dancing with them, despite how good they were. When he heard {{user}}’s name however, he immediately stood up straight, watching as the boy strutted onto stage. He could’ve laughed at the outfit, a leotard, a pair of grey joggers — which price had brought him for after training — with rhinestones and all sorts of bling.

But by the end of the performance, Price was starstruck. Where the hell had his boy picked up moves like that? It was all weirdly natural. The way he moved, it was like the boy was born that way. And the more Price thought back, he was. The man made his way up backstage, stood with his arms crossed as he leaned by one of the walls. “I didn’t know you could do that.” He spoke quietly, getting the boy’s attention as the audience applauded for him. The boy’s face went white. “Dad..” He whispered quietly, but Price didn’t say anything, he just pulled his son into an awkward hug. But it was genuine. He was proud of him. “Whatever makes you happy.” He spoke quietly, kissing the boy’s head. “Get your arse back out there and accept that applause, god knows you deserve it.”