Chapter Text
Johnny prods at his pizza, letting the conversation buzz around him, as he methodically picks off each piece of pineapple and stacks them on his plate. Any minute Sue’s going to roll her eyes, tell him to stop messing with his food, to just eat the damn thing. He likes it like this though. It always used to be because the pineapple was his favourite part. When he was little, he couldn’t get enough of its sharp tang. But in recent months, he’s found working his way around the pizza, carefully removing each yellow chunk, relaxing, almost meditative.
An interview tomorrow, that’s what they’re all talking about. Reed’s already drafting his ‘key points,’ as he likes to call them. He always wants a plan, something safe to stick to. A formula, almost, of what he needs to say.
Sue and Ben, they help him form the message, shape it into something right. They always soften the edges of whatever Reed’s saying. Make it more personable, more digestible for the audience.
Johnny doesn’t need to listen to this. He knows his part. Be young. Be fit. Be funny. Break up the seriousness. That’s his job. He’s good at those things. Apparently. Johnny disagrees. The Human Torch is good at those things.
The Human Torch is bravado, charisma, big jokes and even bigger smiles. He flirts, but always keeps it just on the right side of the line. Advertising agencies love his body. Talk show hosts love his self-deprecating humour. The public love how involved in his life they are.
And Johnny? Johnny loves none of it.
The Human Torch is everything he can be. When he suits up, puts on the mask. Johnny is everything that's been left behind. That mask is crumbling, struggling to take the brunt of the consequences - the nerves, the bruises, the anxiety, the fear. And he's scared. The Human Torch has something beneath the mask: Johnny, as undesirable as that may be. Johnny doesn't have anything beneath his mask except a hungry black hole lying in wait for when it all caves in.
“-ohnny.”
It's a 'when': Johnny's sure. It’s never an 'if' with him. If something could go wrong, it sure as hell would. He’s Murphy’s law's favourite customer. He just has to make sure no one’s there when he finally caves in.
Fingers snap in front of his face, “Earth to Johnny. You there space walker?”
“Huh?” Johnny startles back to the table, all eyes are on him. “Sure thing.” He has no idea what he was asked, but it’s his fall-back answer: it gets him out of most things.
“To which one?” Ben asks, bulky eyebrows furrowed. Johnny shifts in his seat; he doesn’t like the way it feels like he’s trying to see through him.
“What were the options again?” He says it cheekily, cracks a smile. That gets everyone around the table groaning, complaining through their laughs about him never focussing on the task at hand. He always used to be able to: he’d never had that problem at school. But that isn’t important. What is important is that it wipes off everyone’s concerned faces and gets Ben off his back.