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⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Jonathan improvises melodies to make you laugh. He keeps entire choruses scrawled in the margins of his Superbia notes, all about you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dates with him are spontaneous. One night, he takes you to a warehouse production of a postmodern Hamlet featuring roller skates, saxophones, and papier-mâché skulls.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He talks with his hands, eyes wide and shining, as he explains the structure of a new number or some obscure Sondheim motif. Even if you don’t quite follow, you nod along, because his excitement is the real performance.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He makes you mixtapes like love letters. They're carefully labeled, full of Broadway deep cuts, 80s synthpop, obscure musical demo reels, and songs he swears remind him of your voice, your laugh, your soul. Each one comes with a hand-drawn cover and frantic scrawls in the liner notes.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He teaches you musical scales in his bedroom. Every wrong note earns a kiss just below your ear, featherlight and distracting, until he's tracing kisses up and down your neck instead.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ His friends adore you. When you meet them for the first time, they greet you like a long-lost castmate. Turns out Jonathan gushes about you like you're the eighth wonder of the world.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ His kisses are as erratic and electric as he is. He’s a quickfire with his lips, kissing you mid-sentence, mid-rant, or mid-meltdown just to ground himself.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When he's low, because he does burn out hard sometimes, you find him curled up at the piano bench, head in his hands. All it takes is your touch on his shoulder or your fingers in his curls, and he melts against you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You are his muse, lyrically and emotionally. “You remind me why I want to finish this,” he said once, gesturing to his wall full of notes, sketches, and taped-up dreams. “You're my reason to keep reaching.”

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