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I just got out of my last lecture of the day and my brain was completely fried. I put my headphone on as I walked down the underground stairs. Just as I entered the station I heard my train reaching the platform. I sprinted down the corridor and forced my way into the metro just as the doors were closing, carelessly bumping into someone’s arm. Knowing full well the new automated lines had a strong take-off I grabbed the bar with force. The man I collided with just seconds ago must not have known that I thought as I saw him almost fall down and hit his head on the bar, pushing his cap on his face even more. As he tried to grab the bar to steady himself he pushed my phone out of my hand, which landed screen first on the ground. I heard him whisper “fuck” under his breath as I got down to grab my phone off the floor. The English swear was probably said probably out of habit, the man, seemingly a foreigner, thinking no one could understand him in this French metro line. I took a quick look at my screen; and fuck, it was cracked. I could not refrain from shooting him a mean look. Though, he seemed slightly in pain for a second. My displease wore off immediately.
“Are you alright?” I asked, taking off my earphones. Usually, my timidity kept me from engaging with people I did not know but this particular stranger seemed oddly familiar in some ways. I felt acquainted with his tall frame and his voice. As he took off his cap to rub his head where it was hurt I understood why I felt like I knew him.
It was because I did.
I was used to seeing this face on my laptop when I watched videos of my favourite group. If my eyes were not fucking with me, NCT Johnny was standing in front of me in the subway. I knew his group had been granted holidays after a year of continuous come-backs but did not expect to meet him during my daily commute on the other side of the world. I was taken aback for a second before he answered me.
“Yeah, no worries. It’s all better now. Thank y-”, he stopped in the middle of his sentence, probably noticing a change in my expression. Against all odds, he did not seem bothered to be recognized. He laughed quietly before asking, “I’ll look really obnoxious if I’m wrong but you know who I am, right?”
I grimaced before answering, “Yeah, I do actually. Sorry about that.”
He laughed again after hearing my response; “Don’t worry. That’s what you get from being famous I guess.”
Not knowing what to say next and unwilling to bother him with unpleasant questions, I just took a quick look at my phone to make the situation feel a little less awkward on my part. His gaze must have followed mine because I heard a small gasp before he spoke again.
“Oh my god! I hadn’t noticed your phone was broken. I am so sorry. I’ll pay for that,” he said apologetically. “Can I have your Venmo?”
In some kind of late desperate movement, I turned my screen away from him, hiding it against my chest. “It’s fine. You don’t have to pay for it. It’s my fault, actually. I should’ve put my phone in my pocket,” I stammered, trying to dismiss his concerns. “Don’t spend your money on me,” I finally said, more surely.
“Well, you bought my album. Just think of it as a payback for supporting me,” he smiled.
Just as I open my mouth to deny it, he continued.
“Don’t try to tell me it isn’t true, I can see Mark’s photocard in your clear phone case,” he said with a smirk.
I felt my cheeks redden and buried my phone in my pocket right away.
He chuckled seeing my embarrassment then politely said, “I won’t give you too much if you don’t want to, just enough to change your screen.”
Noticing that I was still hesitating, he sighed dramatically and said, “Please save me from the embarrassment of breaking my fan’s property at least.”
His exaggerated expression made me chortle. I smiled before getting my phone out. “It’s probably just my protection screen that shattered, so don’t ruin yourself,” I insisted when he extended his arm to scan my Venmo code.
He was about to reply when he was shoved to the side by a woman getting out of the metro at the new station. The doors closed again and the subway took off again, just as strongly as earlier. I saw him grabbing one of the sidebars, avoiding troubles this time. He winked at me from across the wagon when he noticed me looking at him.
When the metro slowed down for my stop, my phone vibrated informing me of a new Venmo transfer titled “For your screen </3”. I shot a last look at him before getting off and gave him a smile as a thank you.
*
I had tried my best to keep it together in front of him but I walked home in disbelief of what just happened. How on earth did I meet the Johnny Suh during a metro ride from my uni to my flat? I tried not to think of it all evening even though my mind kept going back to this odd encounter at any possible time. I was tempted to delete his Venmo details off of my phone to not even have the possibility to consider a way to “reach” him. It was not how I wanted to be like and the temptation was too great.
I was sipping my after-revisions midnight tea when my phone notified me of a new Venmo transfer.
“Dinner tomorrow?”