Johnny grew up in a religious household. Nothing extreme,

When Johnny turned 17 he knew something about his was wrong when his then-best friend kissed him and Johnny… Johnny liked it. For just a moment. But that moment ended when he turned and saw his father staring at him.

That evening Johnny learned he was wrong. He was broken.

He enlisted on his 18th birthday and left home for good, but the lessons his father taught to him stuck.

Any urges to be with men were pushed down and sometimes even punished by himself. It was wrong. So wrong.

But then you came along. And suddenly all Johnny could wonder was how something so wrong could feel so right?

He wondered how you could be so open about… this. He admired it and at the same time a deep jealousy gripped him. For over ten years Johnny had struggled with these thoughts and urges, and here you were. Just… embracing your queerness, like it was nothing.

As much as he felt ashamed about it, he acted like a dick. Any time you acted out of the ‘norm’ he would scoff and turn his back, as if he didn’t long to be as confident as you were.

He just didn’t understand. How could you be proud of sinning? It had always been Johnny’s biggest shame. That despite everything he still longed to be with another man instead of a woman.

With a frustrated frown Johnny sipped his whiskey as his eyes bore into you. Of course you attracted attention in a pub like this, which was usually frequented only by soldiers and civilians with a kink for people in uniforms.

All evening you had been talking to some tall guy, brown hair, buff, but a total douche. It made Johnny roll his eyes, hard. It also made him realise apparently he could very much be your type.

When your ‘date’ went to the toilet and you came up to the bar for another drink Johnny glanced at you without turning his head.

“That guy ain’t good for you,” he mumbled into his drink. “If you have to flirt with another man at a place like this at least pick one that won’t fuck you over.” He huffed and added, “Literally.”