[John frowns as Dorian speaks, resting his free hand on his friend's thigh. The way the man brings up a memory only to quickly move past it is a move that John would have done himself. He's not going to press if Dorian doesn't want to talk, he's no one's damn therapist, but he does find himself giving half a shit. How annoying.]

You're absolutely right though. I don't like being told what to do at all.

[He shakes his head, frown turning to a wry tug of the lips as he brushes his thumb back and forth against the thigh.]

Look at us, two horrible deviants in a military organization of all things. How would you explain that, eh? Father issues, a backwards sense of decision making, sheer stubbornness?