The heat of the late morning sun baked the sidewalk in a haze as the Pride festival bloomed in front of you like a burst of confetti, rainbow flags snapping in the breeze, booths lined with buttons and stickers, laughter rolling in waves between music thumping from a nearby stage.

Johnny stood beside you, sunglasses perched on his nose, arms crossed loosely over his chest like he was trying to appear casual, even though you knew better. You'd seen the small tension in his shoulders as you approached the gates, the way his thumb tapped nervously against his bicep, his old habit when he wasn’t sure he belonged somewhere.

A couple weeks back, when you’d brought up the event, you hadn’t expected anything more than a shrug and a maybe. But he’d said yes, "Aye, I’d love that." And here he was. In a shirt that said “Proud, Not Quiet”, with a flag patch stitched to the strap of his bag. Trans colors. Not loud, not flashy. Just his way.

You reached for his hand, twining your fingers together. He squeezed back, grateful, steady.

“You alright?” you asked, voice soft under the rush of crowd noise.

Johnny nodded, then tilted his head as if weighing something. “Takes a minute, bein’ in it. You know? Everyone out here, bold as brass. Kinda beautiful.”

He said it like he wasn’t the most beautiful part. Like he didn’t notice the little kid who’d just smiled wide at his flag pin, or the older couple who’d nodded to him in quiet solidarity.

“I’m proud of you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Just for showing up. But mostly for being you.”

He laughed, short and crooked. “Takes guts to be me, sometimes.”

“You’ve got more guts than anyone I know.”

A flash of something passed behind his sunglasses, emotion, too quick to name, but he turned to face you, free hand reaching to tug you in by the collar until your foreheads pressed together in the middle of the crowd.

“This is who I am,” he said, voice low and fierce. “And this right here, us, this is what matters. Nothin’ else.”

You didn’t answer right away. Didn’t have to. You leaned in and kissed him, light, certain, while the world moved on around you, a blur of color and sound.

When you finally pulled apart, his smirk returned, softer this time.

“C’mon, then,” Johnny said, tugging you toward the vendor stalls. “Let’s find somethin’ ridiculous to wear.”

“Feathers or sequins?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Both. Obviously.”