#johnny's suddenly very glad he took a gap year | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachychibi · 5 years

Text

ante merediem | Johnny

ante merediem

Genre: friends-to-lovers!au, college!au | fluff

Member: Johnny / Reader

Word Count: 1,600+

Warnings: n/a

The more you looked at the three-year old photograph of yourself on your laptop, the more she looked like a stranger to you. It went behind your comprehension, the smiling girl on the screen was you. There was no doubt about that. The memory of the day when the memento got taken was still vivid in the back of your mind.

There was a gathering for the freshmen on your year, all majors were invited. High on being a newcomer, you got this unexplainable urge to attend any social activities that the campus offered. The excitement was so palpable back then, you actually thought it would last forever. (Funny, because in reality your socalled excitement did not even last for any more than three months). You got to the event with the friends whom you met just one day before. They were practically strangers with mutual condition as yours. It wasn't like you were provided with any other options anyway, you were basically a mere local immigrant who knew nobody in the new city.

One of the things you remembered the most from the function happened to be the disappointment of how disastrous it turned out to be. You should have known better though, of course your expectation would be so farfetched from actuality. Who even thought it would be a great idea to plan an outdoor event in the wet monsoon? The air was damp, there were mud all over the field yet the sun was unforgivingly bright. The event was delayed for almost an hour leaving the students drenched in cold sweat. To top it all off the MCs who were supposed to lighten up the show were just as awkward as everyone. Truly an absolute failure.

The picture which you took with your new friends remained as the only keepsake from that day. You stood up from the comfort of your bed to walk to the mirror. The reflection was someone you knew, a short-haired young woman with perpetual dark circles under her eyes. This, this person is familiar. It was baffling how the girl on the picture seemed like a total stranger to you. Was it the hair? The girl had longer hair, wavy black hair cascaded pass the juncture of her shoulder. Her eyes, they looked so hopeful. The gleam in her orbs were visible, captured in the moment. But it was her smile that surprised you the most. It looked so genuine, she--you looked like you were basked in unadulterated happiness. So absurd. It did not make any sense to you now, just how could you manage to find any bit in your heart to pull up a perfect fake smile like that. At least you thought it was fake, it should have been right?

As you sauntered back to your bed, you saw a flicker of light going on and off on through your peripheral vision. It seemed to come from your phone, the vibrating sound indicating a not-yet answered call. You shuffled to the desk in a hurry, impatient to know who was the person on the other side of the line. It's 2 A.M. for God's sake, who on their right minds would contact you?

Oh, your heart skipped a little when you read the caller ID. It has been five days since the "realization", as your friends gladly put it, and you found it hard to act normal in front of him. In your defense, slipping out of your own obliviousness was an overwhelming experience. Realizing that you had been in totally-not platonic-love with your best friend for God knew how long gave off a sense of foreign anxiety.

For a second, you were hesitant to press the green button. A wave of nervousness was opening up the subdued floodgates of emotions within you. Curiosity won over though. As per usual, you could never control yourself when it came to him. He was your best friend after all, random 'morning call' was a normalcy between you two. Why should it be different now?

'Hello?', you answered in a steady voice. Your inner self cheering quietly at this small win. You would never let him notice just how affected you were by his unexpected call.

'Hi', a shuffling sound could be heard from his side, it sounded like he just dropped something. Knowing him and his clumsiness, the assumption was likely to be true. He continued when it sounded calmer 'Sorry, I accidentally dropped my glasses, did I wake you up?'

Ha, I was right after all. Deciding to walk the sassy route, you replied, 'No, you didn't. I'm still awake which is exactly why I can pick up the phone, you see'

His chortle reverberated through the line, 'Nope, I can't see it. This is a voice call not a video one, you hear?'

'Wow. Real funny, Johnny. Really. I can barely hold my laughter', you could not hold back your smile this time.

'When was I ever not funny? I am the funniest man in your life!'

'Oh shut up, John', you groaned. Not long after the exchange of silly banters, you both were smoothly falling into mindless ramble. Conversing with Johnny was easy. You both had quick wit and an ability to jump from one topic to another in the speed of light, there was almost no moment of silence to fill the gap.

'By the way, did you remember the gathering on our freshmen year?'

'Hmm? The one on the basketball field? It was on our first week of college, wasn't it?', he answered correctly.

'Yeah, that exact one! I'm impressed, you've got good memory.'

He snorted, 'Duh, of course I do. What about it, anyway?'

You were going to describe that certain day but he beat you to it,

'I even remembered that it was the day where we first met. I bet you forgot that fact already, right?'

Thrown off guard, you were. Now that you think about it, Johnny was the one who took your photograph from that day.

Shit.

How could you be so dense? That day turned out to be not shitty at the end. You remembered a tall guy in denim shirt, confidently (and randomly) throwing a witty remark in your conversation—or more like a soliloquy consisting of whines and nags about the event—'I agree this is a shitshow. Why are we even here anyway.' Not gonna lie, you were judging him hard at that time.

'Oh God. How could I forget you? You were the weird stranger who jumped on another stranger convos.', you opened the forgotten laptop on your bed to see the picture again.

He squawked indignantly 'Hey! You were the shameless girl with no sense of public decency. Your hateful commentary was not very graceful either.'

You did not really pay any heed to his words because once again you were curious about the picture. 'I only had literally one remembrance from that horrible gathering and it was a picture which was taken by you.'

'Which one? Send it to me, I wanna see it' he demanded.

'I'll send you okay, chill.' You logged in to your messenger to send it to him. 'The weird thing from the photo is that I looked unrealistically happy '

He laughed 'That's morbid, what the fuck. What's wrong with being happy—Wait I just got the picture.'

There was a five second silence before he continued 'Well, you did look genuinely happy in it.'

'I know right? This is so weird because we all know just how shitty that gathering was.'

He hummed in response 'Perhaps..'

His words lingered and honestly your lack of sleep did not have time for this unnecessary pause. 'Perhaps what, John?'

'Well, perhaps you smiled like that because of me'

It would have been funny, you could have laughed at his words. Hell, you could entertain him by saying how he had been right. Of course, Johnny-honey. You brightened up my day!

However you just could not bring yourself to joke along. Somehow you sensed that something.. something was off. He was uncharacteristically serious. It even seemed that he was hesitant to say it, as if he was scared of your reaction yet at the same time, he sincerely anticipated it.

The time gap has been way too long now, none of you dared to say anything. It felt like tip-toeing around a ticking bomb, you both were one second away before the eventual awkwardness.

You took a glimpse at the clock on the wall, it was currently way past 3 A.M. Maybe your sleep deprivation pushed you to making a rash decision or there was a glitch in your system.

‘I think so, too.’ you finally breathed out the long overdue answer.

It was eerily silent, your reply sounded like a hush of wind. You were not even sure he listened to it at all. You hoped he did, though.

‘…You do?’, there was a hint of shock in his voice.. but it did not have an unpleasant tone in it. In contrary, he sounded thoroughly pleased by your answer ‘You really, truly do?’

You were pretty sure by now that he was clearly overjoyed, he sounded like a hyper puppy. Weird comparison, you brain that was wired for linguistic fluency has apparently went fried.

‘Yeah’ you tried so hard to stop your smile. Biting your lips, hiding your excitement—and failing.

He suddenly cracked up, it was the infamous boisterous laugh of his, contagious. You ended up laughing with him as well. It was all silly, the situation was all kinds of ridiculous. What were you both even laughing about, your own stupidity?

The laughter died out not long after, you wept off a tear from your eye. A consequence you had to face due to uncontrollable guffaws.

‘I’m glad, then.’ He said, ‘Going to that damned gathering was one of the best decisions I made, honestly.’

‘Why? ‘Cos you got to meet me?’ you teased him.

He chuckled, ‘Yeah’

‘Okay, then.’

‘Just okay?’

‘More than okay.’

#johnny #johnny suh #nct johnny #nct #nct 127 #johnny fanfic #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny fluff #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfiction

68 notes · View notes

soloburn · 7 years

Text

BOURNE AGAIN? TRAINSPOTTING 2? WHY SEQUELS ARE A BAD IDEA

Sunday mornings are the most vivid in memory. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ would echo through the house. We’d scramble down the stairs excitedly to the dining room table and take our seats, which were arranged oldest to youngest – my father at one end, my mother at the other. Across the table lay a delectable feast of pastries, cereals, fruits, eggs, bacon, the works. My father would enter the room, and the chatter would dim to an audible hush. He’d take his seat and mother would hand him the Sunday newspaper, and freshly brewed coffee. “Milk dear?” he’d nod in approval. He’d hold his mug up to his nose taking in the fresh morning brew, surveying his children like a General surveying his troops before battle.

He took his first sip, but on this particular morning something was off. Immediately he spat it out causing a collective gasp. “This milk is sour!” he said. “It can’t be dear,” said mother, “I bought it just yesterday?” “I don’t care if it was milked this morning. It’s sour. Who is responsible for this?” I hoped that my elder siblings, who knew of my late night weakness for dairy, would protect me. I was wrong. “It was Neil! He left it out overnight.” said Paul my eldest brother grinning sardonically. “Well, boy, speak up, was it you?” said father. I quivered unable to look up. “Yes but I -- ” “Yes, what?” “Yes Sir.” “Look at me when I speak to you.” I raised my head to meet his terrifying gaze. “You were a mistake. Lower than a mistake.” He growled. “I’ll check the fridge for a fresh bottle,” said my mother scurrying out of the dining room. “Stop crying, you sniveling ass, stop your nonsense.” He continued. “You’re just an afterbirth Neil. They should have put you in a glass jar, on a mantle piece. Where were you when Paul was suckling at his mother’s teat? Where were you? Not even born yet were you? A mistake waiting to happen.” “I can run down to the store and buy another bottle Papa? said Mary, my sister. “Hush child. The coffee is ruined. There’s nothing that can be done about it. It’s had. Draaaaainage. Drainage Neil, you boy. Here, if you have milk, and I have milk, and I have a straw, there it is, that’s a straw see, watch it. My straw reaches across the room and starts to drink your milk. I drink your milk,” he said, slurping from my bowl of sour cornflakes, milk dripping from his square jaw. “I drink it up.”*

My mother returned not having witnessed the theatrics with another bottle. “Here’s the fresh milk I bought yesterday dear” she said smiling. “Found it in the back of the fridge. That must have been an old bottle. Shall I make you a fresh cup?” “I’ll take it in my study” he said, exiting the dining room. “Harsh but fair” mumbled Paul through his bloated, confectionary stuffed mouth.

Although it’s painful for me to admit, sequels are a bad idea. Particularly when there’s been a significant gap between the original and its ill-conceived sibling - ten years younger, ten times the cost, the same DNA yet a poor reflection on the original and all who were involved in making it happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m rooting for the sequel. I want it to be as good if not better than the original. But every time I see one before me, I’m filled with the same contempt that my father must have felt every time I committed some minor indiscretion.

Naturally I approached Trainspotting 2 with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The original movie holds a special place in my heart. Exposed to the film at a young age I could barely make sense of what I was witnessing, but I knew it was brilliant. Parents and schoolteachers alike squirmed as they read the reviews. It was vile, rotten, shocking - “ALL RESPONSIBLE PARENTS MUST WATCH THIS FILM!” But all of those who dared would have sleepless nights, worried that their little Johnny or Janey were only a puff away from ending up in a scag den in some long forgotten council estate in Edinburgh.

The T2 trailer depicted of a group of middle aged, ex-drug addicts who through an unlikely set of circumstances meet again to take care of some unsettled business– in other words, the plot for every band reunion documentary film ever. And just like a reunion concert, this film never should have happened. Watching a group of withered looking men desperately trying to recapture a spirit that could only make sense during a specific time and place was a sad affair. While the original Trainspotting perfectly captured the zeitgeist of the time, the latest film felt about as relevant as a Dad joke albeit a very violent and crude one. The original story felt believable, the sequel seemed inconceivable.

Before you accuse me of being an ageist, I’m not arguing that Danny Boyle, Ewan McGregor or Robert Carlyle should give up making films. I’m arguing that they didn’t need to make this film. The same way Matt Damon and Paul Greengrass didn’t need to make another Bourne film or Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson didn’t need to do sully the image of Zoolander.

Hollywood keep green lighting these films in search of the almighty dollar and suddenly you get this:

“What kind of people are we dealing with here?” “I believe that like me, the people behind these robberies are extreme athletes, using their skills to disrupt the international financial markets.”

That’s not a quote from a Sean Spicer press conference but rather from the trailer of Point Break 2. Keanu Reeves must be glad he chose to star in John Wick 2 instead.

So why do we keep doing it? Making sequels when we know it’s a bad idea? I guess it’s because we’re all addicts, chasing that original high that’ll never be captured again. As Bonehead, ex-guitarist of Oasis puts in the documentary Supersonic, reflecting on their historic Knebworth gig in 1996:

“My attitude then was - give me more, give me more. Now, looking back, I honestly think we should have just went, ‘thank you, every one of you, for getting us here. We were Oasis, and good night, and walked off.”

“We should have,” Noel Gallagher added, “We should have disappeared into a puff of smoke. But you know, it was my idea to keep going, because I keep on fishing for it, d’you know what I mean? I’m an addict. That’s what shit-kickers do. They ride it until the wheels come off.”

In the end we’re all complicit. The only reason Hollywood keep rehashing perfectly good films is because we, the audience, keep paying the price of admission. You could choose to see an original film. You could choose Moonlight, Fences, Manchester by the Sea, The Salesman, or Arrival, or you can choose to be an addict.

*Dialogue paraphrased from There Will Be Blood: --Paul Thomas Anderson. The There Will Be Blood Screenplay. 2006.

0 notes