jonah: notes.

momo no shio app.

craving death has never looked so hot !  　enter jonah grey, a spoiled prince with a confident strut in his step and a smile so bright he could probably blind half the population if you beamed it down from a satellite. honestly, he should've come with some sort of warning label: CAUTION. MAY CAUSE DEATH BY CHARM— or, at least that's how he'd tell it. that's the first thing you ought to know about him: he's sassy. full of quips and jabs and jokes and plenty of humor to spread around. he's clinically unable to take himself seriously, almost always hiding behind an exterior of post-irony and faux-princess complex in order to conceal what's really there: a laundry list of issues so long he's probably got nat geo beat twofold if not three. 

seriously. he's a mess. 

at first glance, it's easy to write him off. something like, oh, he's that flamboyant gay trope. you know the sort. all about the boys and the money and chasing the tailcoats of whatever trust fund boyfriend he's got in his sights. he's an utter whiz when it comes to charming others, and he'd tell you it's all in the smile. never intended but always genuine, jonah instinctively knows what people want. whether it's words or just someone there to talk to, a distraction from their troubles, what have you— and it is this very thing that fuel's jonah's seemingly effortless charisma. he's at his best around other people, deriving his own energy from interactions, and he plays this up to his advantage when out looking for casual flings.

yet to stop there would be exactly what he wants. facades are only skin deep, after all.

( but what happens when the mask is no longer just a mask? a second skin— )

behind the joking, innuendos, and proclamations of greatness, there's something else there. one with an astute eye may be able to see it immediately: he dances around questions, never answering them fully, always deflecting them with some humor or other playful tactic he's got riding in his sleeve. jonah is, despite his extroversion, deeply private. behind closed doors is a version of him he allows no one to see— and much less pity. behind the facade he's grown so attached to, anxieties, fears, dysphoria, all kinds of things he doesn't want the world outside to see. he finds these parts of himself pathetic, disgusting. parts of him to remove, surgically, like cutting out the cancer growing deep inside him. he's got intense abandonment issues thanks to the events of his life and self-doubt that prevents him from aspiring to be more than he is, even though he wants to be more than he ever could be— free. 　from what, no one is sure. probably not even him. 

perhaps he'd find the answer somewhere lost in a labyrinthine mind, where the minotaur lurks in the recesses of his memory. in this house, each hallway stretches on forever into the darkness, twisting, turning, tortile pathways where directions no longer have meaning. he feels like he's been running for as long as he can remember, chased by someone— something he doesn't understand save for one sole desire: 　to escape.

this house is falling apart.